Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Three, six, nine, keep until I say to stop, stop," I said under my breath, flicking my fingers as eyes flicked towards me.

Pity, concern, and disgust rang true most days. People stared at me, noticed my lips moving, and chalked it up to me being crazy.

"Three, six, nine," I continued quietly, pushing my thumb to create an indent on my index finger. The pressure was stabilizing, reassuring. It kept me still on the bar stool, my other hand gripping my glass tightly. The condensation dripped onto the bar. "9 x 3 is 27. 2 + 7 is 9. 9 - 3 is 6, 6 - 3 is 3, and 3-3 is 0. Zero until I say to stop, stop."

A breath of relief rippled through me, and my fingers slowly stopped flicking to rest on my lap. Gripping the top of my pants, I held on, smoothing the wrinkles out and allowing the texture to satiate me until the next compulsion wrecked me.

Staring at the bubbling vodka soda, I tracked the condensation wearily. Drip, drip, drip. Three, six, nine. Nine, six, three. Zero. "Keep until I say to stop, stop," I whispered.

Stop; it should've been the end of something: the end to my devastating compulsion loops. Numbers had always fascinated me, and when I learned to count as a child, they drew me in. Adding and subtracting was fun, and as I grew up, I began mouthing the numbers for comfort. Then, the tapping and need to execute certain formulas to completion began, quickly becoming the only way my breath leveled out, from ragged to calm.

Zero was completion, but it also gave room to begin again. Zero was nothing, and yet, it's what my formulas always began and ended with. Even unspoken, zero was there, whole and complete. Infinite. It was nothing; it was perfect. Safe. Nothing could go wrong with lines around it, a protective circle.

"Stop," I whispered, strained. Humiliated.

"What have I done that needs to be stopped?" I jolted and turned to face the source of the voice. Dark, hooded eyes considered me, paired with a neatly trimmed haircut, straight around the edges. Perfect lines; there was safety in perfection, just like a circle. Just like zero.

I swallowed roughly, tearing my eyes from his equally as trimmed figure. The muscles beneath his shirt expanded, causing his white, button-down shirt to strain against his chest and shoulders.

My cheeks heated with the oh-so-familiar twinge of humiliation. "Nothing. I'm..." I lifted my glass as if it would explain anything. I slowly set it down and averted my gaze. "Thinking out loud."

Taking the bar stool beside me, his slacks outlined and clung to his thighs, further accentuating his form. "Ah. I see." He crossed his arms, resting them against the bar. "You're not an aloud person."

My tongue darted out to wet my cracked lips, and I sat a little straighter. "What?"

"Thinking out loud," he mused. "Thinking aloud."

"Oh." Three, six, nine. Stop, pause, repeat; a never-ending cycle. "I guess I am." I struggled to swallow. My cup was turning warm. How long had I been sitting here? "You're an aloud...person?"

"I prefer the idiom, yes."

"Right." My eyes trailed across his figure for the hell of it. Ruggedly handsome, deeply intertwined with a breathtaking beauty, he stared back at me when my eyes grazed his. "Right," I repeated, then once more under my breath to make it thrice. Three, six, nine, nine, six, three, zero.

"Three times." His gaze turned more intent, a steady stream of intensity swirling within his pupils. "Was one right not right enough?"

"No," I replied carefully. I'm not crazy! My vodka soda was flat, and the bubbles had all but disappeared. How long had I been here, lost in my compulsions? I came here to take the edge off, to drink my worries away, but I couldn't drink until my compulsions had been complete, so here I was. Painfully sober. "I just...really agreed with you."

He was momentarily quiet. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me."

My lips parted. "Oh, no, I'm really not."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his head cocked to the left, away from the bar. "I see," he said eventually. His fingers tapped against his arm, and his head slowly returned to its original position. "It's been a long day. Office work."

"Sorry about that," I murmured. Cautiously pushing my drink away, I clasped my hands above the table. "It can be draining."

"Yes. It can." His thumb swiped over his bottom lip, lingering in the middle. Thinning at the corners, fuller in the middle, and perfectly sculpted, they framed his face nicely. I thought of mine, cracked and dry. I always tried to stop picking them until they bled, but lifelong habits were nearly as hard to break as compulsions.

It took 30 days to break and form a habit. What a lie. If that were the truth, OCD wouldn't exist, and I would be free of its torment. But alas, here I was. Tormented.

"Do you work in an office?" he asked, dragging me out of my thoughts.

I nodded. "In accounting."

"The backbone of a company." From his peripheral vision, he noticed the bartender approaching from the side. "Impressive." Pivoting slightly, he greeted the bartender before they could make themselves known. He prompted in a professional, firm tone, "Smirnoff cherry vodka soda." He paused, his nose twitched, and he concluded, "Ginger ale as the soda, please. Thank you."

The bartender nodded and retrieved what he needed, working diligently while taking someone else's order.

I looked at the man seated beside me, surprised. "How did you know my order?"

"I notice things," he said simply.

Unsure how to respond, I changed the topic after offering a surprised "oh". "What work do you do in the office?"

"Supervising."

"Like a team lead?"

"You could say." He extended his hand to accept his drink. "Thank you."

The bartender was off once more, bustling to keep up with patrons. I counted the pins on his apron, slightly anxious that the number wouldn't fall in my safe category.

"Do you like this drink?" I asked the man beside me, trying to distract myself. "Cherry vodka soda?" Nine pins. I sagged with relief. "With Ginger-ale as the soda?"

"I prefer bourbon, but vodka soda doesn't disappoint."

My nose wrinkled. "Bourbon is strong."

"I prefer strong drinks."

"Is it because you're strong?" The words left me before I could properly formulate them, and I winced. "Sorry. That was...sorry."

"I prefer blunt honesty. And it is true." His palm rested on his thigh as his other hand warmed his drink. "I am strong. How about you?" He lifted his glass, letting the rim rest against his lips. The latter twitched. "Do you lift weights?"

"Yeah, actually," I admitted, embarrassed. "Working out clears my head."

"It's a good outlet, working out. Sustains health, improves it, releases endorphins." He dipped his chin, swirling the ice in his drink. "It's a good outlet."

"It's a good outlet," I echoed, making it three.

He hummed, a deep, contemplative sound. "Three times is right enough." The vodka soda slipped past his lips to warm his throat. "What's your name?"

Whiplashed by how swiftly he read me, my bearings remained strewn longer than usual. "Luetta."

"Luetta." Another contemplative hum left him. "Hello, Luetta."

My stomach warmed. "Hi."

He held his hand out. As soon as my hand slipped into his, he offered his name and a firm shake. "Jungkook."

My throat bobbed. "That's a nice name."

"As is Luetta." Our hands returned to us. "Very whimsical for an accountant."

My lips started to mimic his, a small smile tugging at them. "I've never heard the name Jungkook before."

"It's Korean."

"That makes sense. Do you like it? Your name, I mean."

"If I didn't, I would've changed it." Amusement flickered in his eyes. "And you?"

"It's a good name. Six letters."

"Is eight letters in a name like mine not quite right?"

My throat tightened, and my fingers flicked on my lap. "It's fine." Be normal, be normal. "It's still a good name. I like how it sounds."

"Thank you."

I glanced at my untouched vodka. He followed my gaze. "Do you not like it?" he asked.

"Oh, no, it's fine." I placed my hands on the table and quickly returned them to my lap, beginning to squirm uncomfortably. "How's your drink?"

"Fine. Drinkable." He set it down. "Thank you for asking, Luetta."

My breath hitched. My name on his tongue, sifting into the air until it muted the sound around me. Underwater, barely breathing. "I need to go home."

He watched me stand abruptly. "Forgotten reservations?"

"No, it's—" I loosed a breath, my mind whirring with confusion, yet mingling with curiosity. "The way you talk is..." I shook my head. It didn't matter; none of this mattered. It would just end up as it always did. "I have to go."

"The way I talk?" I felt his eyes on my back as I grabbed my purse. "Will you leave me on a cliffhanger?"

I slung my purse over my shoulders. His presence drew me to him, and although I wanted to and would leave, there was no harm in a final glance. But it did harm me, every moment of it. The inquiry within his expression, the head tilt of blanketed intrigue, and the waves of acquiescence gently lingering. But I knew better; intrigue turned to disgust, repulsion, and an intense amount of misunderstanding. He wouldn't know me, he couldn't possibly take the time to, growing tired of me before I fully opened up.

Already wading through life, I didn't need him to drag me down to the pits, even though the idea of him was tantalizing. Ideas were never reality; they remained stagnant in fiction.

Pained, I turned toward the bar's exit. "Thank you for talking with me."

His voice eased into the air, low and raspy. "And you with me."

My mind spun. Surely, he wouldn't say that if he knew me and what I was made of. I felt more like an unsolvable puzzle, each piece pushing and shoving its way to a place they would never find. Never fitting. Never completed.

3, 6, 9. A formula, my favorite. The safest. And I would be safe by walking through the exit and forgetting about the man with vodka and my name on his tongue. 

Chapter Text

A scheduled call with my parents stared back at me on my fridge’s calendar.

3:45 on a Saturday afternoon. Three plus four is seven, seven plus five is twelve, two plus one is three, and three minus three is zero.

Twelve, in my mind, showed as 12. Once taken apart, it became 1 + 2. 1 + 2 is 3, and three is reduced to zero. Then my mind could rest for all of three seconds before it raced again, running a race I never consented to.

I fought against the fridge's suction, planted my feet into the floor, and tugged. Victory—and a handful of strawberries—was mine. Popping a strawberry in my mouth and sucking to savor it, I crossed my kitchen on tip-toes and reached for the phone with wiggling fingers until I claimed it, too. A wall phone: something from my childhood that still made me smile. A rarity, it was, to smile back at anything from then.

I pressed the numbers, wincing whenever I clicked on one that I deemed unsafe, and awaited the dreaded phone call with my parents.

Wren and Aderyn Dove, my parents. Successful and rich, but they lacked understanding, expressions, personality, kindness, empathy—

“Hi Mom,” I greeted. “Hi, Dad. It’s me, Luetta.”

Wren, my father, answered first. “We know who you are. This is your phone number.”

“Right,” I mumbled. “But for the sake of clarity—”

“—for the sake of our peace of mind,” Aderyn, my mother, cut me off, “tell us how work is.”

Our bi-weekly check-in. I would clench my teeth and bear it, more like a pet than a daughter. “It’s fine. It’s accounting. Numbers. And stuff.”

“And stuff?” Wren scoffed. “Luetta, elaborate. You’re an adult, so speak like one.”

I stiffened, struggling to hold onto the sweet taste of strawberry. “It’s fine.”

Aderyn sighed. “Give up, Wren. Your daughter clearly is in one of her moods again. She’ll probably blame it on that OCB.”

“OCD,” I whispered. She didn’t hear me; she never did. She always disowned me when I displeased her. After all, if she lent me affection, how could she ever spoil my brother, Keaton, with it?

Wren muttered to himself angrily before snapping at me, “Luetta, get it together. You’re twenty-three years old. You need to act like it. Your brother’s only nineteen, and he’s riding on a free scholarship from Yale, he’s the president of my old college frat, works at non-profit organizations in his free time, goes the extra mile—”

I tuned him out, curling the phone’s yellow cord around my finger. Colors in my kitchen blurred together as I slipped away, a quiet hum ready to be released, dancing excitedly when it was safe enough to. It strained to hear my father’s voice, anticipating when it would leave, and I let it, content to tune out everything unpleasant.

When the line went quiet, I returned, uncomfortably fitting back into my body. I blinked slowly as the colors unblurred, my mind returning to its frantic spinning. “Well,” I said dully. “I’m happy for Keaton and his accomplishments.”

“You should strive to be like him,” my father resumed rambling. “You’re wasting your life as an accountant. There’s nothing of importance in that field.”

“It’s the backbone of the office,” I mumbled.

He ignored me. “You can go back to college and get your bachelor’s in something worthwhile. You’ve been told that we’ll financially support you if you give us a reason to.”

Is being your daughter not reason enough? My fingers turned white around the phone’s cord. “I like what I do. It’s calming.”

“Calming doesn’t measure to greatness!” he bellowed, followed by Aderyn’s affirmative grunts and occasional overlapping verbal agreements. They made such a great team. Founders of a law firm, they were skilled at winning. Used to it. Complacent. And I, Luetta, was a failure. In their words, I was an OCB failure.

I could be an accountant for them, but why would they want me somewhere they could see me? No, it was better to tuck me away in an apartment that was falling apart, in need of a maintenance team that never returned my calls. If I moved, their disappointment would skyrocket. You can’t afford a better apartment with your unworthy accountant job! They would say, even though I could. We’ll cut you off from any idea of support! Even though they already had.

But still, I stayed put, wanting their approval.

Returning to myself once my parents took a breather, I said, “Same time in two weeks?”

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

“You look rough.” Luvandor regarded me with a small frown. “Same outcome on the phone call?”

I entered his car tiredly. “Same outcome on the phone call.” Quieter, to make it three times, I said, “Same outcome on the phone call.”

His brows tugged together. “Hey, kid. Can you look at me?”

Luvandor Crox, the only person in my life who wasn’t set on finding ways to leave or hurt me.

I fumbled with the seatbelt, struggling to fit it on. When it locked, I froze. Then, I tugged it viciously.

“Hey, whoa.” Luvandor put his hand out, tapping the center console. “Hey, hey. It’s fine. Put your hands down, let me grab it for ya. It’s been acting up.”

I tugged a few more times before releasing it, breathing heavily as I stared straight ahead.

Leaning over the center console, he was careful not to touch me as he fixed the seatbelt. “Why are you causing trouble for her?” he asked it, a lilt of warning in his tone toward the inanimate aggravator. “She’s had a day. You don’t need to go addin’ to it. Behave, ya hear?” He buckled me in and returned to his seat. “How’s that feel?”

A distressed hum left me. “I didn’t click it in. I have to click it in.”

“You don’t gotta. You want to?” he amended my words.

I struggled with the different wording when the compulsions felt like a need, but I managed a tight nod. “I want to.”

“Go ahead, then. Click it in.”

I unbuckled myself and pushed the seatbelt into the slot for the satisfying click five more times. “Good.” I sat back, my chest heaving. “A total of six times because five plus the one time that you did it is six, just like my name; six letters. Six, six, six. Six minus three is three, and three minus…” I mumbled the formula to completion, beginning a new one with my flicking fingers right after.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Luvandor grabbed the stick shift and eased it into a neutral position, pressing the clutch to the floorboard. “Easy math. Whaddya want for dinner? It’s Saturday. We could catch a movie first. My treat.”

I glanced at him, breathing shakily. “A movie?”

“Yeah, you want to watch one?” He turned the ignition key, pushed his boot onto the brake, and shifted into first gear. I watched him raptly, using the familiar motions to ground myself. “We don’t count these steps,” he reminded me. “We just watch.”

Our safe rule. It had taken me a while to get used to it, but in my tangled, OCD mind, it made sense to follow the rules of Luvandor’s car.

I nodded, starting to ease into my seat.

“Good, that’s perfect.” His southern accent filled the car, and the additional familiarity worked to relax me further. “Watchin’ is good.” He removed his foot from the pedal and placed slow pressure on the clutch, causing the car to slowly roll forward. “There we are. What’s next? C’mon, quick. We’re fixin’ to roll away.”

My breath fought its way back to me. “The accelerator.”

He gently pressed the accelerator. “Now?”

“Release the clutch completely, then you…” I took a deep breath, the first real one since I entered his car. I heard him say “atta girl” beneath his breath, and I smiled weakly. “Build up speed and switch to second gear.”

“Yeah, 100%. How do I do that? Think I forgot.”

“You have to take your right foot off the accelerator and activate the clutch with your left foot,” I recited. “We’ll keep rolling in the car.”

“Rollin’ right away.” He did as I instructed. “Help me out here. We’ll roll forever.”

My smile fought to stay. “You can move to second gear now.”

“And?”

“Let go of the clutch and apply the accelerator again.”

He whistled lowly. “Almost at the end here. What ya missin’?”

“We have to repeat that last part to keep building speed.”

He grinned, his gold dental crown winking like a friend, courtesy of the rearview mirror’s glint. “Yeah? You sure ‘bout that?”

“Positive.”

“You don’t sound positive. You tryna get us to crash?”

My smile slowly built as the air in my lungs did. “I’m positive.”

“Can’t hear ya.”

“I’m positive.” A small huff left me, almost a laugh, and although it tinkered out quickly, his grin softened into a smile.

“If you’re so positive, so am I.” He kept repeating the process until we were smooth sailing away from my apartment. “Right we are. Where the hell we goin’ to eat after the movies?”

My smile relaxed, settling in. “Somewhere good.”

“Am I hearin’ you right? Somewhere good? Well, shit. We’d better hurry so we can eat that good food, eh?”

“Yeah,” I said softly.

He opened the center console. “Pick somethin’. Let me hear those pipes.”

“Do you want me to break both of our ears again? I can’t stay on tune when I’m not stressed, so it won’t be any better when I am.”

“Singing helps release serotonin.” He rummaged through the pile of music CDS. “Go on, then. Break our eardrums, yeah? It’s nothin’ we can’t handle.”

So, I sang off-key, smiling when he joined in and sounded worse than I did. It was better when he was around, better enough to remember how to breathe again. No hitches, no tears. Luvandor was an angel. He always had been, ever since we met.

When we parked, I insisted that he stay seated. He cocked his head with that easy, knowing smile of his, and he did as I asked, laughing by the time I rounded the car to open his door for him.

He pinched the air near my face. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

I half-smiled. “Clearly, they haven’t met me.”

“Ah-a! Got a joker on our hands tonight. The joker want somthin’ good to drink before we get somthin’ good to eat after the movie?”

“I’ll pay,” I said decisively.

“You’ve got the drinks, and I’ve got the tickets.” He held his hand out. “We gotta deal?” We shook on it. “Good deal. Now, let’s go sit in some AC and drink some pop!”

My smile felt nice. It felt okay. “It’s called soda.”

“Don’t start this with me again.” His laughter trickled into the air as we entered the movie theater. “It’s called pop, and I won’t be swayed.”

“We’re not in the country anymore, Toto…”

“Now, you listen here.”

I kept smiling, easing into our playful banter. This was easy. This was better. For a little while, I could pretend everything was okay, that I was normal.

This was okay.

Chapter Text

“You’re fired.”

My world, already crushed, broke beneath the burdening statement.

“What?” I whispered.

“You’re fired,” my manager repeated flatly. “You consistently miss deadlines, you turn over work with countless errors, and you’re involved in several disagreements with your co-workers. Simply put”—she slammed a packet of files on her desk—“I won’t subject myself to this drama and tactless work style anymore.”

“That’s not true,” I insisted. “I’m only missing deadlines because so many people have quit, so the workload falls onto me, and I don’t even talk to my co-workers—”

“There, you see? Drama.” She set me with a steely look. “This is the workforce, Luteal.”

“Luetta,” I whispered.

“A better accountant would be able to succeed with whatever workload they get, and you’re not what we need.” She slipped her glasses on and peeked over the rim of them when I didn’t move. “Go! You have until 5 PM to clear out your desk.”

“My massive workload wouldn’t have errors if I had help and wasn’t being rushed,” I defended myself.

She waved her hand. “See? You’re causing drama right now. Go, or I’ll have security escort you.”

As I packed my things, much to the delight of my co-workers, I tried to keep it together. I was already in an OCD flare-up due to the excessive workload, but now that I was fired, it felt even worse. I had been stressed because of my job, but now I was stressed because I no longer had the job.

It felt like the end for me as I struggled to carry the cardboard box with my belongings to my car. My car didn’t have rules like Luvandor’s did, so I sat for two hours, unable to turn the key until the countdown in my head felt like enough. It kept staggering, beginning again, and halting until I hyperventilated and gripped the steering wheel for support.

At 7 PM, I entered the bar with swollen, sunken eyes.

This was it. My parents would find out, I would have to go back to college for a bachelor’s degree for their financial support, and my OCD would never calm down. I didn’t want them to support me; it meant I had to talk to them, be the picture-perfect daughter, and strive to be like my younger brother, Keaton. No. Accounting was what I liked—it’s what I wanted. When the workload wasn’t excessive, working with numbers and keeping my mind busy was what kept my OCD at bay. Now? Well. Now, I would drink.

Straight vodka burned my throat, but I drank shot after shot. Breathe in, take the shot, breathe out. Again and again. It was all I focused on until my eyes lost focus, allowing me to enter a more pleasant state: the state of being drunk.

I didn’t notice the nagging presence until it began repeating itself. Upset to be torn away from my drunken haze, I turned with a sharp glare to see an older man. At first, I thought it could’ve been Luvandor, but this man’s eyes held sick intent when he looked at me, a stark contrast to Luvandor.

Although I withered inside, I kept my glare. “Go,” I lisped, like my manager had said earlier. “Or I’ll have security escort you out.”

The man laughed, a hint of whiskey stuck to his beard. He moved closer, setting his palm on the bar counter and leaning down. “Yeah? You’re going to get security to escort me out?” He barked out a laugh that made me flinch. “Call security over here. I’m sure I could rope them into joining me and you for some fun.”

Acid homed in my stomach, rising to create a lump in my throat. “Go,” I repeated, but he didn’t listen to me.

I should’ve texted Luvandor my location, but he would’ve asked what was wrong, and I didn’t want to worry him. He had a community fundraiser today at his flower boutique, so he was busy enough without me adding to his exhaustion.

Staring at the man before me, I clenched my fingers into fists and prepared myself. I couldn’t hit, not well, and I was sure I’d break a bone in my hand, but I would still try to defend myself.

“There you are.” A deep, masculine voice appeared. I blinked wearily, struggling to view the beholder. “I’m sorry I’m late; that wasn’t on tonight’s agenda.” He paused and addressed my aggressor. “And you are?”

The older, bearded man I’d prepared to fight slowly turned, and his grip on the bar counter faltered. “Who are you?”

“I’m her boyfriend.” The man stepped forward, perfectly calm. “Now. It would be wise to answer my question and move away from my woman.” He cocked his head, and a cold smile greeted his lips. “Don’t you agree?”

The older man lifted his hand and leaned away from me. “She was flirting with me, man. I didn’t know she was hitched. Jesus,” he griped. “Sluts these days, always wanting more than they have. Greedy.”

“Funny.” The man’s jaw ticked. His features were becoming clearer, but I couldn’t differentiate who he was in this state. Not yet. “It seems to me that you’re projecting.”

The bearded man choked on a laugh. “What?” He pointed at me. “She was clearly flirting—”

“And you are clearly leaving.” The man continued smiling, but a darkness lurked beneath it, one that the older one wouldn’t breach.

He bristled and wiped his beard. “You can have her. Sluts like her aren’t worth it.” He left with angry mutters, shoving past a bar stool on his way to aggravate someone else.

The other, familiar man remained. “Hello, Luetta.”

I wiped my brows tiredly, digging my nails into my palms. “Who are you?”

He walked closer, keeping a marginal space between us. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah?” I waved my hand around, dropping it onto the table and laying my head against it. “We’re at a bar.”

“I have eyes.”

“Then use them,” I shot back, readying my fists again.

“You can’t fight when you’re drunk.”

“Yes, I can.”

“All right. You can. Is it smart?”

I looked at my fists, and a wave of sadness hit me abruptly. I choked up. “No. You’re right, I’m not smart. I’m not better or smarter than my brother, and I’m not smart enough to keep my job. I—I should’ve found ways to get through the workload faster, but because I was dumb, I didn’t think about it.” My eyes filled, worsening my blurred vision. “Now I’ll be forced to see my parents more, and I—I can’t take it. I’m too tired. I—” I stood, immediately toppling forward. “I can’t—”

He caught me by my elbows, initiating a firm grip that kept me from going anywhere but his chest. My hands fell there during their surprise, but now, they remained to enjoy the sturdy feeling.

“Jungkook,” I slurred.

“Ah. You remember me.” He grasped my fumbling hand, lifting it and uncurling my fingers. It allowed me a better grip on his shirt, and I held on tight. “Easy,” he instructed, his voice softer than I remembered it to be. Gripping my upper arms, he squinted as he viewed the windows. “Did you drive here?”

I hiccuped. “Yeah.”

He looked down at me when I tapped his chest. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m counting.”

“You’re counting.” He shifted me away from patrons, nodding curtly in greeting as they passed. “What are you counting, Luetta?”

My eyes fluttered tiredly, and the churning acid showed itself in another hiccup. “Just counting.”

“Are you counting your threes?”

Counting my threes. He remembered that?

A quiet groan left me, and my free hand tentatively caressed my stomach. “I feel…” I sucked air in through my teeth and held my breath. “Sick.”

He exhaled. Took a moment. “Is there someone we can call for you?”

I shook my head again and again. “No.”

“No one?”

I couldn’t burden Luvandor. I whispered, “No one.”

His grip on me tightened. “Do you live nearby?”

My surroundings spun. “I don’t know.”

He shook his head rigidly. Then, he led me forward. Surprised, I asked, “Where are we going?”

“Focus on your next breath.” He walked me out of the bar; I could tell by the gust of fresh air. “Or you’ll be sick.”

“I’m already sick,” I mumbled, stumbling after him as he continued leading me. “I’ve always been sick. I’ll never get better.”

I felt him looking at me, but my blurred vision couldn’t make him out anymore. “Focus on your next breath, Luetta.”

I didn’t know how much time passed, but as soon as I felt a soft surface beneath me, I passed out.

Chapter Text

“Good morning.”

I screamed, flailing around on a soft surface. Peeling my eyes open, I looked around wildly for the culprit.

I always locked my doors and set up safety protocols, especially because of my unsafe living arrangements, so how did someone make it past them?

“I have a gun!” I blurted out the lie, hoping the intruder believed me.

“Do you?” was their dry reply. I recognized that voice.

Blinking quickly to adjust to my surroundings, I gasped when I saw Jungkook. Dressed in a black suit, he held a bowl of food. Steam danced around his face.

“Jungkook,” I breathed out. Gripping the blankets, I pulled them over my chest. “What is this? Why am I here?” My pulse quickened. “Did we—?”

“Did we have sex when you were drunk?” He stiffly pushed around the food with a spoon, his features drawn tightly together with, what was that, hurt? Did my implication hurt him? “No.”

I felt a pinch of relief. “I had to ask. People can be…crazy.”

“I understand. Your safety should always be your priority.” He set the bowl on the bedside table. When we stared at it for a beat too long, he cleared his throat. “It’s for you. Broth is easy on the stomach.”

I rubbed my temples, keeping a grip on the blankets with my other hand. “You were at the bar.”

“I was.” He sounded distant, much different from what I recalled from yesterday. Opening his bedside dresser, he retrieved my phone. “Is there someone you can call, or is the answer still no?”

My breath hitched. “I…” I was in a stranger’s house—a man’s, no less. I should’ve called Luvandor, but I didn’t want to worry him. Plus, if I told him I was fired, it would make it real.

I stared at the bedpost adamantly. “No.”

I felt his eyes on me. “No?”

“No,” I mumbled.

He exhaled shortly. “There’s Tylenol and electrolytes in the kitchen.” He eased his hands into his suit’s pockets, looked at me for a moment longer, and turned to leave. “Drink the broth.”

My fingers shook. I trembled. My voice teetered and wobbled, aching for something. “Jungkook?” I called.

With one hand on the doorknob and the other in his pocket, he paused. He tilted his head; I knew he was listening. There was no one else here but us. Still, that hadn’t stopped others from ignoring me before.

Unsure, I fell silent, knowing my question would sound insignificant and useless, bringing nothing to the silence we were wrapped up in. Peeling it back, giving it space to breathe, something I wish I could do. My words didn’t hold power; how could they, when people wouldn’t listen?

“Luetta,” he prompted.

I twitched. “Yes?”

“You were speaking.” His fingers idly tapped the doorknob. “I’m listening.”

My heart jumped into my throat, nearly choking me. In a stranger’s bed, wrapped in his sheets and the silence, struggling to remember parts of last night, and yet, I was being listened to. Slowly, tentatively, I asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

He angled his body, and his eyes met mine over his shoulder. “You were drunk. It wasn’t safe for you to drive, and you didn’t have anyone to call.” His brow twitched. In a rougher tone, although quieter, he added, “You didn’t have anywhere to go.”

My voice dipped uncertainly. “You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me.” He stepped through the door. “Drink your broth.”

I looked after him for a while before I heeded his instructions and drank the broth, enjoying how it warmed my throat in a soothing way, opposed to alcohol’s burn.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

“I can call an Uber for you,” he told me while I eyed the lime-flavored electrolyte drink, too suspiciously close to the ginger ale in my vodka sodas. “Unless you would like an alternate option.”

I flaggingly accepted the cup he handed me. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” His fingers skillfully buttoned his suit’s cuffs. When he looked up from his phone and realized he held my attention, he quirked a brow. Perfectly sculpted, perfectly lined. “I abhor tardiness, Luetta, so please. A decision.”

Bristling, I poured myself a glass of the electrolyte drink and chugged it. Placing it down, I wiped my mouth and met his gaze once more. “I’ll call an Uber,” I said, a new edge to my tone.

His other brow raised at my tone. “All right.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “Your shoes are at the front door. Shall we?”

I popped the Tylenol and another swig of the electrolytes, hurrying after him to the door. I was sure I looked insane, hair disarrayed and my work clothes rumpled, but I couldn’t do anything about that.

Turning eerily slow, I asked, “Did we sleep in the same bed?”

“Do you mean did we sleep in my bed? No.” He grabbed his keys. “I slept on the couch.”

I resumed slipping my heels on. “Okay.” I eyed him as suspiciously as I’d eyed the electrolytes. “Good.”

“Perfect.” His dry tone filled the air while he waited for me. “Any day now.”

Hiding my embarrassment behind a scowl, I brushed my clothes off and stalked out the door. His apartment was decently sized and much better than mine, I knew that, but seeing the abstract exterior outside of it was a shock.

“Wow,” I breathed out. “This is…fancy.”

“Are you making fun of where I live?”

“What?” I scoffed, bewildered. “Jungkook, no, this is amazing.”

He stepped forward, his long strides putting him right beside me. Angling his face to see mine, he leaned back quickly after. “Ah. I see.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “Thank you. It is nice to come back to this, if fancy is what draws you.”

“It is nice.” I gaped at our surroundings. “Are we about to walk down a glass staircase?”

“Of sorts.”

My mouth wouldn’t close, even when we exited the building. “How much does it cost to live here?”

“Why do you ask? Am I acquiring a new neighbor?”

“The way you talk is…” I shook my head. “No, you’re not acquiring a new neighbor. I can’t afford this place. I was just wondering.”

“No, the way I talk is what?” He stopped walking when I did, busying myself with checking my Uber’s status. “You didn’t tell me before, and this might be the last time we see each other.” He stepped closer. “Tell me.”

My palm massaged my forehead in an attempt to alleviate the light throbbing behind my eyes. “What?”

“Tell me why the way I speak is so disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting?” I tapped my screen, squinting at the animated car on the Uber app. “Where is he…going?”

“What?” Jungkook looked over my shoulder when I angled my phone toward him. “He’s lost; how disconcerting. Does the definition still evade you?”

I sent him a look over my shoulder. “I know what it means. It’s just disconcerting to hear someone use it in a casual conversation.”

“Ah. Is this casual to you?”

“What else would it be?” I furiously tapped the phone, willing the car in the right direction. “Come on, come on.”

“He can’t hear you.”

“What?!”

“Does that surprise you?” he asked. “Now, this is disconcerting. Are you technologically troubled? As a former accountant, this does not look good for you.”

“No,” I insisted, shoving the phone toward him. “He canceled the ride.”

“How dis—”

“Don’t say it.” I buried my face in my hands. “What if someone stole my car while I was away?”

His chest rumbled with a deep breath. “We’ll take my car.”

“What?”

“I don’t stutter.”

I stammered senselessly as he walked to the parking garage. Hurrying after him, I managed to fall into line beside him. “You’re driving me?”

“Insane? Yes. I would assume as much.”

“I don’t…oh. I get it.” I clasped my hands for comfort, flicking my fingers together. “Why are you driving me?”

“The Uber driver canceled. Really, Luetta.” He looked down at me, never faltering in his sure, long strides. “You should remember that. It happened exactly one minute ago.”

I flicked my fingers faster, slightly annoyed. “I do remember that, but I still don’t know why you’re driving me.”

“Because I abhor being late, and you don’t have a ride. We need to hurry.”

His car was sleek, expensive, and smelled as nice as he did.

I carefully buckled myself in. The action made me sorely miss Luvandor, even though I’d seen him recently. The camaraderie and comfort he brought were absent, and as I missed him quietly, I wondered how his fundraiser had gone. I would ask him, and we wouldn’t speak of my lack of income. Being with him and talking about whatever was comforting in itself. I didn’t need to bring his mood down with my troubles.

“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook asked as he drove.

I picked at my cuticles. “My friend.”

“Why didn’t you call them?”

I watched the passing scenery, counting things quietly as we passed. “I don’t want to worry him.”

“I see.” We didn’t speak for the next five minutes. I counted each second. “What will you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your parents,” he said lightly when the topic was anything but. “You spoke of them last night in the bar. Your brother, too. They’ll help you, but at a cost, correct?”

“Correct,” I muttered.

“Will your friend help you?”

“I don’t want him to. He has enough going on as it is.”

“So.” His fingers strummed against the wheel. “Your plan is to face this without a plan.”

“I have a plan.” I pushed further into the seat, crossing my arms.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in the car. “Yeah. I’ll update my resume and apply for jobs. I’ll get hired, and everything will be fine.”

“Hm.”

I looked at him, then. “What? What was that?”

“A hum.”

“Why? Why did you hum?”

He placed his elbow on the window’s armrest, splaying his hand as he made a right turn, using his palm to guide the action. “Am I not allowed to hum in my car?”

“Forget it.”

“If you tell me why you don’t like the way I speak, I’ll inform you as to why I hummed.”

“Why does it matter?” I asked.

“Why does it matter that I hummed?”

I pushed closer to the door. “Forget it.”

“Fine.” His palm eased the wheel back into neutral. “Consider it forgotten.”

Another five minutes passed. “I think the way you talk is different, not disconcerting. Well. Maybe a little disconcerting.”

“I thought we’d forgotten about this.”

I jostled my leg. Three, six, nine. Keep until I say to stop, stop. “Why did you hum?”

“It was a contemplative hum. Why is the way I speak disconcerting?”

“It’s…professional,” I decided. “It reminds me of a business casual meeting.”

“How specific.”

“I’ve been in a few, back when I was employed.”

He stopped at a red light. Glanced at me. “Why were you fired?”

I shook my head rigidly. “They just…lied.”

“They lied?” His eyes narrowed. “How so? Illegal business practice? Mistreatment? Unfair conduct?”

My explanation faltered. “I…don’t think it was illegal. Mistreatment and unfair conduct, maybe?” I soothed my thumb over my index finger’s nail, enjoying the smooth feeling. “They piled my previous co-workers’ workloads onto me when they quit, but they kept the same deadlines, so I tried to work faster, but it caused errors in my work. No one helped me,” I proved my point, frustrated. “I was doing it myself, and I was so overwhelmed. Then, my manager said I was causing drama by not having conversations with my co-workers. I mean!” I gripped the top of my pants tightly, balling the fabric into my fists. “I was there to work, not to make friends. All they do is gossip about each other when one of them isn’t around.”

I readjusted my blouse and inwardly told myself to calm down. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” His eyes sharpened when they met mine, just as the light turned green. “That’s abhorrent.”

“You’ve used that word three times today,” I mumbled.

“Words are made to be used, but thank you for noticing.” His sarcasm wasn’t unnoticed by me, and it earned a roll of my eyes. “Will you go to HR?”

“What’s HR going to do? Respond to my email six months later with an apology not backed by any action? No. I’ll apply for jobs because that’s my plan.”

“It’s unfair,” he responded, his voice tightly wound.

“Why do you care? Unfair things happen all the time.”

“The number of times they happen doesn’t take away from their unfairness, does it? Why can’t the unfairness be felt? How will anything be done if you don’t feel the unfairness, the discomfort?”

I soothed my hands up and down my thighs. Three, six, nine. Three plus three is six, six plus three is nine, nine plus three is—

“Their company won’t last,” he rumbled. “Companies like that never do. They’re already losing employees, and now that your workload, which included the workload of others, falls to them, they’ll feel the loss of you tremendously.”

Surprised, my counting stalled. “They will?”

“From what you said, you had the largest workload, so yes.” He nodded curtly. Adamantly. “They will.”

“Oh.” My fingers slowly loosened their hold on my pants. “That’s…well, a type of revenge.”

“It is. One they deserve.”

I noted his clenched jaw and iron-clad grip of the steering wheel. “This is important to you?”

“Running a company isn’t a game, and employees aren’t pawns to be played with.” His voice had returned to a cold exterior, chilling the air in the car. “So many corporations forget where they started from and who holds things together. Their employees are their prized possessions, but they’re easily discarded, beckoning high turnover rates. It’s pathetic and absurd.”

“Abhorrent.”

“Yes, abh—” He paused. “Hm.”

“Why are you humming again?”

“You used the word.”

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “Words are meant to be used.”

“Yes.” Our gazes caught. “They are.”

We arrived at the bar ten minutes later, and I sighed with relief. “My car’s still here.”

He opened his car door. “Good.”

I opened mine and stepped out, catching his eyes from over the roof of his car. “Are you going into the bar?”

“No.” He walked to where I stood on the sidewalk. “I’m walking you to your car.”

I returned to eyeing him suspiciously. “Why?”

“You are a deeply mistrusting person.” His hands settled comfortably in his suit’s pockets. “I respect it.”

“You…respect it?” I hurried after him. “You don’t know where my car is.”

“I’m assuming it’s the one bearing an overnight ticket.”

I blanched. “No.”

“No?”

I bolted to my car, fretting over the ticket slotted in the window wipers. “A ticket? I can’t afford this right now, not when I don’t have a job.”

“You don’t have savings?”

“All my savings went to repairing my apartment.” I withdrew the ticket and beheld it in horror. “This isn’t good.”

He stood beside me to survey it. “Does your apartment not provide maintenance?”

“They’re supposed to, but it will take them months to come out, so I have to do it myself or everything will fall apart.”

“Send them an invoice.” His attention flickered to my car, a black 2008 Honda Civic LX that was barely holding on. “Bill it to them.”

“They’ll find reasons to kick me out,” I muttered, unable to tear my eyes away from the fine.

“Do you not have $60?”

“I spent it all,” I admitted, embarrassed. “Last night in the bar.”

“Ah. Your vodka shots.”

“Is this funny to you?” I shielded the ticket from him, humiliated. My Honda Civic was slapped with a ticket while his sleek, designer car, job, and fancy apartment complex awaited his presence. I felt small. Pathetic. “Three, six, nine.” I walked to my car, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk. “Nine, six, three. Zero.”

“I made an observation; I didn’t laugh.” He remained firmly planted, but his expression was unreadable. Stiff. “If you want to pick apart my sentence, then you are free to do so.”

I yanked my car door open and sat in the driver’s seat, pulling it shut shortly after. When he remained standing, I rolled down the window and poked my head out. “What do you want?!”

“I want nothing.”

“You’re standing there.”

“And you are sitting there,” he replied coolly. “What do you want?”

“I don’t—I just—” I released a short shout. “I want a job! I want this to be over! I want to feel better!”

He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to continue. I didn’t, chest heaving, heart beating, mind whirring. Three, six, nine. Three plus three is six…the traffic light was about to switch to red, and I had to blink exactly when it switched or something bad would happen, like becoming homeless or my oven exploding while I slept.

I blinked at the right time, but the relief was fleeting. There were too many formulas, too many compulsions, and I never ended the day with every single one perfect.

My throat tightened, and my unfocused eyes shifted to Jungkook. He considered me and the anxious flick of my fingers as they performed a pattern: tap once, tap three times, flick six times.

“You want a job,” he said casually, but a cautious essence lingered.

I tried to glare at him, but it held more pain than anger. “I said that; I just said that. Weren’t you listening?” No one was listening to me, no one was listening. I would be like this forever, unheard and pushed aside. Soon, even Luvandor would grow tired of me, and I would be alone.

“I’m repeating what I heard as a conversation starter.” An inch of indignation rose to his tone’s surface. “You have a plan: update your resume and apply for jobs. Well.” He stepped forward, right over the crack in the sidewalk, never touching it. Never touching any of them. “I have a plan.”

“A plan,” I repeated wearily.

“That’s what I said, yes. Weren’t you listening?”

I sputtered indignantly before crossing my arms. “It’s my way of asking what your plan is.”

“Oh?” He continued walking toward me, each step slow and sure. “I see. You can jump to conclusions, but I can’t.”

I said through my teeth, “What’s your plan?”

He stood in front of my car door, leaning down to where my head was sticking out of the window. “You need a job, and I need an employee.”

“What?” My flicking halted, my mind stopped whirring, and my breath hitched. Then, it all returned at full force. “What?”

“What?” he repeated. “See? It’s my way of asking what your what means.”

I gawked at him. “How can you hire me? I thought you were a supervisor.”

“Of sorts.” He cocked his head, measuring out his words. “I’m the supervisor of a company.”

“What does that mean?”

He restrained a resigned sigh and mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

“What?” I pressed.

His brow twitched. “I’m the CEO.”

“What?” I squeaked.

His forehead pinched. “I already repeated it twice. Is a third time necessary for your counting, or did you not hear me?”

“No, you’re—no, I heard you, but—” I shook my head, dumbfounded. “I didn’t expect that. It…makes sense.” I looked at his car more keenly than before. “Your car, your apartment, the furniture in your apartment…you must be a good CEO.”

He absently nibbled on the corner of his lip before releasing it from his teeth. “I must?”

“You talked about how important employees are, and you’re…well, rich? It’s a good combination.”

“Well. Thank you.” With a slight strain to his voice, he added, “I’m the CEO.”

“Oh, yeah, I…I know. You just told me.”

“I’m aware I told you, but I said it three times.” I stared at him. He elaborated, “For your counting.”

My pulse jumped beneath my wrist’s skin. “Why do you care about my counting, if I got home safe last night, and if I have a job? What do you want?”

“An employee with a good work ethic.” He moved back, straightening his spine. “Do you want the job, Luetta? You can send me your updated resume, and I’ll send you an offer letter.”

“This is crazy,” I sputtered uselessly. “Why would you want to hire someone you know nothing about?”

“I requested your resume, did I not? Or,” he added rather drily, “were you not listening? A resume will showcase your work.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Most employers don’t know their employees during the hiring process, yes. How discerning of you.”

“No, but I…” I wrung my hands, flicked my fingers, lost my mind. “I was drunk in front of you, you took me to your apartment, and you walked me to my car. You let me count.” My gasping breath flew into the air around us. “What do you want?”

His aloof exterior dipped into a pool of understanding. “Not every kindness is stained by an ulterior motive. As a matter of fact, there is a word for what I feel for ulterior motives. You may have heard of it. Recently.”

My lips tightened at the corners, reeling in disbelief at this 6-foot man in front of my rundown car. “Abhor.”

“That’s the one. It’s a good word, isn’t it? Practical. Useful. As you could guess, I use it often when speaking about things I despise. Such as…” He lifted an expectant brow.

I held my hands, wishing my fingers’ actions would halt. “Ulterior motives.”

“It’s your choice. I won’t force employment on you. However.” I tensed, awaiting the ulterior motive. “I can relay the name of my company so you can do research, if that would give you peace of mind.”

Peace of mind and OCD didn’t go well together, if at all. But, I whispered, “Okay.”

“Okay?” At the sound of my quieter tone, he dipped his face back to where it was minutes ago. “Are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t ruminate. “Jeon’s Protection. That’s the name of my company.” He pulled a business card from his pocket, and I gaped as he slid it onto my dashboard.

“Do you just carry those around?” I gaped.

“This is what business cards are for.” He looked slightly insulted. “So yes, of course I do.” He smoothed down his suit and wiggled the top of his tie to readjust. “Think about what you want to do. I won’t be late.”

I watched him walk away. For the second time that day, I called after him. He slowed his step and looked at me over his shoulder, quietly awaiting a follow-up.

“If I call the number on your card…” I took a deep breath. “You’ll pick up?”

“That’s why the phone number is there. And no,” he said, turning and walking to his car. “I won’t revoke my offer because you need time to think.” He opened his car door, let our eyes meet a final time, and said in a quieter tone, “Goodbye, Luetta.”

My heart pounded in my chest as he drove away. Fumbling with the business card, I investigated it thoroughly before grabbing my phone. I would be smart and research this, but as far as jobs went, I couldn’t be picky, not when the other options would be my demise.

Chapter Text

Jeon’s Protection: Your Security Destination.

At least, according to the official website.

Hovering my fingers over my laptop’s keys, I wondered if Jungkook penned the website heading himself. Shaking the thought away, I grabbed a strawberry from its container and scrolled through the website, using the fridge light to illuminate what my half-broken laptop couldn’t.

I had two options: be homeless or work for Jungkook. Telling my parents I was fired wasn’t even an option; I couldn’t stomach it. My option was clear, but my mind wasn’t. Shaken and exhausted, it whirred sporadically, leaving my eyes sunken and my forehead wrinkled.

I retrieved Jungkook’s business card from my pocket and stared at it blearily. “Your Security Destination,” I said, my voice echoing in my empty kitchen. Three words, twenty-three letters, and nine syllables. 23; 2 + 3 = 5. 3 words, 23 (5) letters, and 9 syllables. Five was an odd number; odd numbers were my favorite. Safe.

I exhaled shakily, glanced at the oven clock, and made up my mind. Dialing the number on the card and preparing to leave a voicemail this late at night, I nearly dropped my phone when a raspy voice filled my ear. “Jeon Jungkook.”

I tried to stand, realized I had my laptop on my thighs, and sat back down. “I—sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to pick up so late.”

He was quiet. Then, “If you didn’t expect me to pick up, why did you call, Luetta?”

Startled, I pulled the phone away from my ear, hesitated, and returned it to my ear. “How did you know it was me?”

“An educated guess.”

“Oh. Well.” I stared at my oven clock, mentally tracing the digital numbers for comfort. 11:57; 1+1+5+7 = 14; 1+4+5. Perfect. “I called to leave a voicemail, but if you have time now, we can—”

“I have time.”

“Oh, great. Um, okay. So.” I sat up straighter. “I called about the job opportunity. Is there an email I can send my resume to?”

“You can bring it to our building tomorrow morning. Does 7:30 AM work for you?”

“Sure, yeah, that—yeah, that works for me.” 7:30; 7+3 = 10. Half of 10 was 5. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he rumbled, causing vibrations on his end of the phone. I shivered. “Do you have the directions?”

“Yeah, they’re on the website.” I added off-handedly, “Jeon’s Protection: Your Security Destination. It rhymes. Kind of.”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“It’s a good idea.”

“You like it?” He sounded surprised. “Well. So do I.”

“You didn’t sound like you liked it a second ago.”

“I’m used to people making fun of it,” he revealed after careful thought. “I’m cautious.”

“So am I,” I admitted.

“I know.”

The line was quiet, but even so, my kitchen didn’t feel as empty as before.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I broke the silence. “Thank you for the job opportunity.”

“Thank you for taking it.” His voice was low, dusted with subtle meaning. “We’re in need of an accountant.”

“Thanks,” I said once more, flustered, and hung up.

I sat for another five minutes, simply contemplating, then I stood. I had an early start in the morning.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

Ten minutes early, overly caffeinated, and severely lacking confidence, I looked up at the huge building. I felt underqualified just looking at it.

I worked for a small business with five rooms. This was out of my league.

I almost backed out of my decision, but this was my only viable choice, so I pushed through the revolving doors.

Inside was fancier than Jungkook’s apartment complex. I tried not to look around in awe, but it was hard not to. I grew up in a rich household, but everything was painted white with a marble structure, even the furniture. This building exuded warmth with its intricate designs, paintings, and matching color schemes. I had never felt warmth growing up, not from my family, not from my teachers, and not from my peers, but in this foreign building, I felt a spark of it simmer in my stomach.

I walked to the front desk, surprised when the receptionist smiled at me. “Oh, hi,” I greeted, lifting my hand in an awkward wave. “How are you?”

Expecting her to bypass my question, usually seen as nothing more than politeness, she responded brightly, “I’m great! I slept through the night, actually.” She laughed lightly and lifted her cup of coffee. “Still need my caffeine though. You?”

“Good,” I breathed out, cautiously returning her smile. “It’s…” I gestured around us. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you!” she said, as if she had decorated it herself.

“Oh, of course.” My smile wavered as I struggled to keep up the conversation, afraid any word I said next would cause her expression to sour, something I was all too familiar with. “What coffee do you have?”

“This? Girl, I have to put you on.” She pointed at an area in the far corner. “We have a little cafe here. It keeps us sane for the most part.” She squinted at the sticker on her coffee. “This is a toasted white chocolate latte. I usually get a shaken espresso, but I needed the sugar today.”

“That sounds good. That’s…wow. You have a cafe here.”

“You could grab something on your way out, no problem. It’s open to visitors, just like it is to employees. Oh, speaking of! What can I do for you?” She laughed again. “Sorry, I was just running my mouth. I’m a morning person, and it usually annoys customers.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” I retrieved my resume from my bag and held it to her. “I’m here to drop off my resume.”

“Let me see…” She slid her reading glasses on. “You’re Luetta!” She flashed me a smile. “Mr. Jeon is expecting you at 7:30. You like to be early, huh? Great first impression.”

“He’s expecting me?” I asked, surprised. “I thought I would just drop it off.”

“Well, you have, and you can go see him for your interview now.”

“Interview?” I looked down at my outfit. I’d put thought into it just in case I saw him, but I hadn’t expected to actually see him. “But I’m not dressed for an interview.”

“You look fine, girl! Seriously, just go on in.” She pointed to the elevator. “Go to floor 5, okay? His office is the last door on the right.”

I sucked air in through my cheeks as I accepted my resume back. “Okay.”

She gave me a thumbs-up. “Good luck!”

I stood stiffly in the elevator, walking awkwardly to the end of the hall on floor 5.

Right in front of Jungkook’s door, I triple-checked that it was the last door on the right before knocking. His voice came soon after, deep and tantalizing. “Come in.”

I gripped the doorknob tightly. Here we go.

Stepping inside, I focused on closing the door instead of looking at him, working to find the courage to begin this interview. Finally, I turned to see him. I loosed a breath when our eyes met.

Dressed in a black, pristine suit, his hair was styled differently than the last two times I’d seen him. Sleeked back, only a single strand fell near his nose, accentuating his handsomely rugged face. Wondering if I imagined his eyes trailing quickly over my form, I grasped at words for a greeting, but he beat me to it.

“Luetta.” He set a stack of papers to the side and stood. “Good morning.”

I walked forward, one step toward him. “Good morning.”

“Yes.” His jaw tightened as his attention flitted over me again. “It is. You look nice.”

“Oh, that’s—thanks.” Another step toward him and his burgundy desk, complementing the dark brown couches in the corner. “So do you.”

We stood for a minute until he gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Sit. Please.”

I did, clasping my hands on my lap. “I brought my resume.” I placed it on the desk, right between us.

He picked it up as he sat, resting one hand on his thigh. “How are you?”

“How am I?” I repeated. “Good. Probably safe since I’m at the security destination.”

His lips twitched. “That you are.” He looked over my resume.

“How are…I mean, how are you?”

“Just as safe.”

“That’s good.”

He dipped his chin and read some more as I braced for his consensus. “Your last job,” he said momentarily. “Where you were fired from. It was your first accounting job, correct?”

“The first official one,” I confirmed. “I did some free accounting work in college for small companies to get experience.”

“I can see that.” He set my resume down, smoothing it down before slipping it to me. “If I hired you, what would you bring to my company?”

This is it, Luetta. Sell yourself. “Right. I wouldn’t bring a cafe because you already have one.” I wasn’t sure why I said that, maybe to see his lips attempt to hold back a smile. Seeing it relaxed me the tiniest bit, but that small amount was exhilarating. But when he chuckled? I melted.

“Noted,” he said, amused. “No hopes for a second cafe.”

“I could try to build one, but I’m more experienced with accounting.” I breathed deeply and began. “But…I want to bring my experiences here. Since I worked for an LLC that outsourced customer service, I worked with a lot of companies, so I learned a lot while honing in on the skills I already had.

“Talking with so many clients made me a great public speaker when I presented my work, and it proved the importance of a quick yet efficient work style." Deep breaths, deep breaths. "I want to bring my skills and experience to your company because it supports its employees, helps them thrive, and helps others, which is important to me, so I know working here will be fulfilling.”

His lips held a small, intent smile. “That was good.”

I smiled weakly, almost deflating with relief. “Really? I mean, thank you. It was. Thanks.”

His smile grew slightly before returning to a neutral setting. “Your previous job firing you was the worst decision they could’ve made. They’ll crumble faster without you since they’re already diving to their downfall. They’ll likely be gone in two years.”

My smile strengthened. Just a bit. “Thank you.”

“It was nice to hear you speak of yourself like that, optimistic and sure of your accomplishments. Did you practice?”

“Um…no? It comes naturally.”

He hummed, contemplative. “Self-assurance complements you.”

I felt as gutted as I felt seen. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

His miniature smile fit him so well. “When can you start?”

My lips parted. “I…I got the job?”

“Depending on your answer, yes.”

“As soon as possible?”

“Where did your self-assurance go?”

I straightened my spine. “I can start tomorrow.”

He held his hand out to me. “Then, yes. The job is yours.”

I shook his hand, enjoying the brush of his fingers against my knuckles when he pulled away. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he returned. “I’ll have Morwenna give you a welcome packet at reception before you leave.” He lifted the phone beside him, allowing it to hover over the receiver. “You met her this morning; she’s the receptionist.”

I nodded quickly. “Yes, I met her. She was very nice.”

“She is.” He pressed an option on the phone, waited a moment, then said into it, “Morwenna, please provide Luetta with the welcome packet when she returns to the lobby. Yes, and the brochure, good idea. Thank you.” He fitted the phone back in place. “If you have any questions after reading the packet and the brochure, everyone here is up to speed. You can ask.”

“Thank you,” I repeated, barely able to breathe through my elation and relief. “Really, Jungkook, this is…thank you.”

“Thank you for accepting the offer. My accounting team will be glad to have you.” He busied himself with the stack of papers. “So am I.”

My cheeks heated enough to make me embarrassed by them. “Thank you,” I repeated, unsure how to respond to his candor.

“Yes. Well.” He lifted his eyes to mine, his voice huskier than before. “I will see you tomorrow for orientation.”

“You’ll be doing orientation?” I asked. “Aren’t you too busy as the CEO?”

“As the CEO, I can make time.”

I couldn’t look away from him, captured in his gaze. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I forced myself to stand. “Have a good day.”

“You as well.” I didn’t walk away. He looked at me as if he didn’t want me to. “Have you tried the cafe?”

“No, but Morwenna told me about it. Can I try it tomorrow? I’m over-caffeinated.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I’m…I was so busy not practicing my self-assurance in the mirror that I was busy drinking three cups of coffee at 6 AM.”

“Ah.” There it was again, his lips fighting against a smile. “6 AM is a great time for that.”

“Yeah. Tried and true.” I urged myself to step back. “I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “We will see each other tomorrow.”

I was out of breath when I entered the elevator, barely heard what Morwenna told me at reception, and stumbled onto the sidewalk. Ten minutes before 8, overly caffeinated and with a job under my belt, I looked up at the huge building. I didn’t feel as underqualified as I did before.

I had a smile on my face all the way to my car.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

“Hey, kid!” Luvandor’s grin lit up his flower boutique. “What’s got you smilin’ this morning?”

I tried to wipe the smile off my face, but it only grew at the sight of him. “I upgraded my job.”

“Shit! You get a raise?”

“Yes, but not at the same job.”

His brows flew up. “Am I out of the loop?”

“A little.” I scanned the beautiful flower arrangements on my way to him, enjoying the pleasant smells. “I was fired.”

“What?”

“Yeah, but a different company hired me today. The pay is much better.”

He put a hand to his chest. “I feel whiplashed just hearin’ ‘bout this. You okay?” He peered into my face, worry creasing his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me what was goin’ on?”

“I wanted to make sure I had good news before giving you the bad news.” I stood in front of him. “Now you don’t have to worry.”

His brows knitted together. “I don’t mind worryin’ about people I care for. That comes with carin’.”

“I know, but you don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re always fine.” He looked at me a little too keenly. “How you feelin’ today?”

“Good.”

“Good.” He lifted his arm, and I tucked beneath it, sighing quietly when he embraced me. “I’m guessin’ your parents have no idea.”

“None.”

“Good. You do you.” He rubbed my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

I pressed my head against his side. “Thanks. I feel…ready to start this new job.”

“Good deal. What’s this place called?”

“Jeon’s Protection,” I answered. “It’s a security service, so they offer bodyguards and protection. I’m joining the accounting team.”

“Look at you fixin’ to show them what you’re made of. They should be glad to have ya.”

“They said they are,” I said, giddy to reveal it. “They even have a cafe, and it’s open to guests.”

“No shit? Sounds like a cool place.” He steered us toward the front register, where Asena was answering a customer’s questions regarding an aloe plant.

“Yes,” Asena said, tapping her cheek idly. “Overwatering can kill it, just like overwatering can kill every other plant.”

Luvandor sent her a look the customer couldn’t see, and Asena refrained from a sigh but plastered on a smile she didn’t mean. The number of times Luvandor scolded Asena over her bedside manner had become an ongoing joke, enticing a tally board in the backroom. This interaction would earn another number. Once it reached 2,000, Asena owed Luvandor dinner every night for a month. The tally was at 1,569. Now it would be 1,570. In Asena’s defense, some customer questions were common sense and repeated multiple times a day.

Luvandor took me to a hanging plant. “Look at how she’s growin’. Started last month, and she’s thrivin’.”

“She’s pretty,” I complimented. “Did she catch attention during the fundraiser?”

“She wasn’t the star of the show, but people love to see a growing plant. She got some attention, that’s for sure.”

“Pretty plants like her deserve it,” I said, earning a proud chest puff from Luvandor. “Did the fundraiser do okay?”

“Darn tootin’ it did! I was as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof.” He beamed. “We raised a lot of money, nearly enough to expand and assist with the community garden. You know how I’ve been wanting to make that empty plot into a gardening area? We got the permits and licenses we need, and now we’re on to finalizing it. What we raised last night will help with that, too!”

I smiled widely. “That’s amazing!”

“I know!” he gushed, rambling excitedly. “I was hopin’ for this outcome, and things are lookin’ as right as rain. If it keeps going this way, we’ll raise enough for everything we need. I swear, gettin’ everyone to learn how to grow their own food and plants is so rewarding. This is what community is all about! Learning how to come together, leaning on friends, helping our neighbors, and coming together to create somethin’ beautiful. It’s heartwarming.”

I side-hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Me too.” He sighed contentedly, returning my hug wholeheartedly. “Next time, you gotta come down. It was a time.”

“I will! I like coming to your fundraisers.”

“I know you had a late shift that night, but I’m guessin’ that’s the day you were fired.” He frowned, and my heart tugged guiltily.

“But I have a job now, so don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Everything’s fine.”

He patted my back quickly. “I know, kid, I know. I just worry.”

“You don’t have to, it’s okay. I’m okay. And I’m so happy for you and your pretty plants.”

He smiled. “You got time to go over to the farmer’s market with me? I’ve gotta whole list of produce I need for dinner tonight. You comin’ over?”

“Only if I can pay for dessert.”

He poked my side. “Dessert is a cheesecake already in the fridge.”

“I can buy ice cream.”

He groaned. “You’re tryna get me fat. Fine, I accept your terms and conditions. Just make sure it’s butterscotch ice cream.”

I smiled. “Got it. Is Asena coming with us?”

“Ha! She’s busy workin’ on her bedside manner.” He called to Asena, “Be back in an hour!”

“Fuck off!” Asena called back, earning a grin from Luvandor.

He and I walked through town, stopping often to talk to people he knew—and he knew everyone. Laughing and chatting, he belly-laughed most of the time, making people feel comfortable with his easy-going, southern charm.

He deserved every bit of praise people gave him for who he was and his community accomplishments. His passion and drive toward making a difference in so many important movements empowered people to do the same. In the five years he’d lived here, he’d done more to help the community than people who’d lived here their entire lives.

Ambitious, driven, and empathetic, Luvandor was a force to be reckoned with.

I stood beside him, content to listen to the conversations in favor of joining them.

A constant good-natured grin graced his face on the way to the farmer’s market. “Well, today is just a good day, ain’t it?”

I side-hugged him as we walked because of how much he meant to me, but also because I knew that good days were reminders of bad days, especially considering his background.

“It’s a great day,” I agreed with him. “Every day is Luvandor day.”

He laughed. “You’re a hoot.”

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

Most people didn’t remember early childhood memories, but there were specific memories I had, dating back to 4 years old. Lying on my mother’s bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling fan, and watching it spin. With my knees bent, I used my feet to push myself around until I was spinning like the fan.

I remembered pretending that I could see through the ceiling up to the sky, straight into Heaven. Then, something clawed at my stomach. I felt a pit in it like I was dropping and couldn’t stop.

My mother exited the adjoining bathroom with my brother in her arms, finished with bathing him. She yelled at me to stop spinning on the floor. I kept spinning for the rebellion of it, but I didn’t want to be punished, so I jumped up and asked her if we would have peanut butter and jelly for lunch.

She snapped at me and told me to ask my father in the kitchen. I skipped downstairs to ask him, away from the trouble my mother would put me in, but it didn’t matter. Trouble caught up to me; I was too loud, so my father put me in the corner while everyone else ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“Think about what you’ve done,” my father scolded me before pampering my six-month-old brother, Keaton, with affection.

When I was a kid, I thought I needed to be a boy to be loved because of how easy it was for everyone to love Keaton. Now that I was older, I knew I didn’t need to be a man or a boy to be loved, but I still didn’t know what I had to do or be to earn it.

Now, I adjusted my work blouse and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. The pink adorning my bedroom cheered me on: the blankets, walls, and stuffed animals. It was an act of rebellion toward my parents, one they would never know since they never visited me. Still, it invigorated me to finally have what I was never allowed to have as a child because, in the words of my mother, pink was too childish for a seven-year-old girl.

“Okay,” I mumbled, ensuring every strand of hair was in my slicked-back ponytail. “Orientation will be okay. We’ll be okay. We’ve got this.” I stared back at myself in the mirror. Are you sure?

I looked away and grabbed my heels from my room. Time to find out.

Instead of meeting Jungkook in his office like yesterday, we met at reception. His conversation with Morwenna continued, but he saw me as soon as I walked in, never once looking away.

“Luetta.” He dipped his chin once I stood in front of the desk. “You’re here.”

I tried to smile, but my nerves forced it into a wince. “I’m here.”

Still looking at me, he told Morwenna, “Have those faxed by noon.”

“Yes, sir,” she said cheerily, waving at me. I waved back. “Will you try the cafe today? They have a new summer special, a pink drink of some kind. It’s new!”

“A pink drink,” I echoed, my interest piqued. “That sounds good.”

Jungkook left the desk to stand beside me. Because of his taller stature, he looked down at me. My stomach fluttered. “We will stop by as a part of the tour.”

“We’re going on a tour?” I wondered.

“It’s a part of the orientation process.”

My wince didn’t transform into a smile, but it fell away. “Okay.”

He tilted his head toward the cafe, and we walked there together. When he cleared his throat, I looked at him questioningly. “You look nice,” he said, his attention remaining straight ahead.

“Oh.” My cheeks flushed. “You too. Your suits are nice.”

“Are they?”

“I think so.”

“Hm.” He stepped aside when we entered the cafe, and I followed. Startled at our sudden proximity, he stepped to the side again. “I moved,” he said.

“Oh, I…I know.” I burned brightly. “I thought this was where the line started.”

“I stepped aside to allow you room to order.”

“You don’t get coffee?”

“I do.” When I awaited further elucidation, he said, “You will order first.”

“Oh.” Stiffening, I quickly scanned the menu. “Thank you, but I’ve…I haven’t ordered here before, so I don’t know what to get, or what anything tastes like, so I”—three, six, nine—“think you should go first, if you want to. If that’s okay. You don’t have to. I can just go first. Sorry, that’s—” I shook my head rapidly, upset with myself. “I’m sorry.”

He stepped forward, causing his dress shoes to skim my heels. “You were interested in the pink drink. We will order that. Yes?”

“Oh, that’s—yes, okay, we can.” I swallowed roughly. “Sorry,” I felt the need to add, more of a compulsion heightened by past experiences. Apologize, Luetta. Think about what you’ve done. “Thank you.”

His hand flew to my back when someone turned too abruptly and bumped into me. It warmed me as the person immediately apologized, ensuring they hadn’t spilled anything on me.

“It’s okay,” I managed, flustered by Jungkook’s lingering touch. “It was just an accident.”

“Still sorry,” the man said sheepishly. “I should’ve been more aware of where I was going.”

He struggled to juggle the multiple bagged pastries in his arms, and when I realized he was trying to extend his hand, I carefully took a few bagged pastries. Once the pastries were no longer in danger of falling, we shook hands.

“I’m Patton,” he introduced himself, still wearing that sheepish smile. His cheeks were rosy with a twinge of embarrassment, and his blonde hair was tousled, most likely from being in a rush. “But you can call me Pat.”

“Hi, Pat.” I shook his hand. “I’m Luetta.”

“Oh, Luetta! You’re new, right?” He beamed. “Welcome to the team! Sorry about the greeting gift.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The morning rush has gotten to me. Our team needs breakfast, you know?”

“Breakfast is important.”

He laughed again, seemingly happy to do so after our crash. “Yup. Well, I guess Mr. Jeon is taking you on the tour. Is this your first stop? I don’t want to hold you both up, and I’ve got work to do.”

“It is our first stop.” With his hand still on my back, Jungkook’s eyes gestured to the row of bags lining the front of the register.

Taking the hint, Pat retrieved a few, promised the baristas to bring them back during lunch, and used them to carry the pastries, including the ones I held.

“Perfect,” he said, relieved. “Thanks, Mr. Jeon. Sorry about the run-in.”

Jungkook dismissed his apology with a handsome smile that left my knees weak. “Have a good morning, Patton.”

“Will do, sir.” Pat waved to me. “See you soon!”

Confused, I asked Jungkook as Pat scurried away, “Is he in accounting?”

“He is.”

“Oh.” I blushed; I couldn’t stop blushing when he smiled like that. “That’s why he knows who I am.”

“Yes.” His hand slowly left my back, and his smile settled into something more neutral. “Shall we?”

I nodded, striving to settle my nerves as I approached the register, but as the barista asked what she could get for me, Jungkook responded, “I would like the new pink drink, Harlow. How is your morning?”

“It’s busy, Mr. Jeon,” she responded. She looked to be around the same age as Keaton, nineteen. As she conversed with Jungkook, I wondered what Keaton was doing.

“Luetta?”

I jolted, torn out of my thoughts. “Yes?”

“What size would you like?” Jungkook asked, watching me intently.

I squirmed. “Oh, thank you. A medium, please.”

Jungkook pulled out his card when Harlow announced the total. All I could do was stare at the familiar black card Jungkook swiped to pay, recalling my parents’ wealthy status and how they held it over people’s heads. Too lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize Jungkook had paid for me until we stepped aside to wait for the order.

“Jungkook,” I said in a hushed tone, not wanting to disturb the customers and baristas. “Why did you pay for me?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“What?” I shook my head. “I’ll pay you back.”

“This is a part of the tour. If you like the pink drink, you can come back and buy another one. This one is on me, yes?”

“Yes,” I said before I could refuse, frowning after my quick agreement.

“Very good.” His slack pockets warmed his hands while I tried to ignore how the praise worsened my blush. “After this, we’ll explore the different floors. Onboarding will start tomorrow, so you shouldn’t be here long today.” Watching the barista’s work, he asked off-handedly, “Do you have any plans after this? Visiting your friend, perhaps?”

“I saw him yesterday.”

He looked at me from his peripheral vision. “Does he know you were fired?”

I nodded. “Only after I told him I was re-hired here.”

“A nice way to break the news.”

“I thought so.” I shrugged. “He cares a lot, so he tends to worry, and I didn’t want him to. He had a big event going on the day I got fired, too, so I didn’t want to take away from its excitement. It turned out great,” I added, proud to talk about Luvandor’s accomplishments. “It was a fundraiser for a community garden and expansions for his flower boutique.”

“I see. Is he the owner of the boutique?”

“Yeah, for five years now. He’s incredible.”

“I see.” His lips parted to speak, but he thought against it. “There. Our pink drinks are complete.” Stepping forward to retrieve them, he grabbed two straws and inserted them into our drinks. Mixing mine lightly with a gentle shake of the cup, he handed it to me.

“Thank you.” Hiding my monstrosity of a blush into a large sip of my drink, my shoulders sagged as soon as the first burst of flavor hit my tongue. Pulling away to breathe, I blurted, “This is good.”

He hadn’t sipped his yet, waiting for my consensus. “What does it taste like?”

“Um…pink.”

“Pink.”

“Pink,” I confirmed, glad I could have spoken it to completion at three times.

He took a much smaller sip than I did, humming contemplatively right after. “Yes. Pink is the correct answer.”

I found myself smiling just as the analog clock hit the number 7:41 AM. Once the formula was complete, the answer was three. Perfect. “You hum contemplatively a lot.”

“I contemplate often.” He sipped his drink again. “Are we ready to continue the tour?”

Everyone was kind and friendly, even if some were more reserved than others. There were breakrooms—a foreign concept in most places I worked—a game room with a pool table and other activities—?!—and spacious work areas on each floor. Although Jungkook’s office was refined and expensive, so was everywhere else, and a pleasant feeling bloomed within me. It was equal here, full of diversity, kindness, and an actual work/play life, even at the office. It felt unreal, so when the tour ended, I told Jungkook so.

His smile was distant. “It shouldn’t be. We work most of our lives; our workspace should be comfortable and accommodating.” He lifted his arm and shook it slightly, revealing his wristwatch. “You didn’t tell me if you had plans today.”

“I think I’ll just go to my apartment.”

“The apartment that’s falling apart.” I bristled. He watched me flick my fingers and mouth the numbers that I mentally counted. “It’s the fault of the landlord, not you.” He dipped his face slightly, startling my flicking to a stop. “Do you know that?”

I averted my gaze, discomposed. “I should’ve paid for better contractors, then I wouldn’t be broke, and my apartment would be fixed.”

“They should’ve contacted the maintenance team contracted to them.”

I lifted my right shoulder in a small shrug. “I should go. You’re busy.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“Oh. I should still…go.” I jutted my thumb toward the doors, thought about how stupid I looked, and slowly lowered it. Balling my fingers into fists, I repeated, “I should still go.”

“Would you like to say that one more time?”

“I should still go.”

“Three times,” he commented lightly, but the way he looked at me felt anything but light.

I took three steps away from him. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

He noted the space I initiated between us. “The appropriate teams will assist you with onboarding. Accountants train new accountants, security guards train new security guards…etcetera.”

“Right.”

“Yes.” A muscle in his jaw popped. “Whatever the rest of your day is made up of, I hope it is good.”

I chewed my bottom lip and managed a nod, hurrying onto the sidewalk while I wondered if my heart could beat any faster.

Chapter Text

I didn’t see Jungkook for a while, going through onboarding and training with accounting.

Pat’s nervous tics made him spill his cup of coffee every other hour, Kiera’s tone boomed throughout the room whenever there was a better way to do something, Wilden laughed at everything anyone said, even if it wasn’t funny—including when I realized the chairs had wheels—and Makaio helped me with a grunt every other sentence, scowling to hide his amusement toward Pat’s coffee-dropping antics.

After two weeks with my new team, waking up for work didn’t cause as much physical pain as it usually did. If I missed the safety of my pink bedroom, I ordered a pink drink, helped Pat bring coffees and pastries to our floor for everyone, and dove into learning about Jeon’s Protection’s policies as quickly and efficiently as I could.

“So,” I said on Friday, counting each tap on my spinning chair as Makaio idly jostled the bottom of it with his shoe. “Am I ready to stop shadowing on Monday?”

Wilden laughed. “You’re pretty fucking good at what you do, so yeah, I’d say so.” He spun around in his chair to point at everyone. “What does everyone think? You agree with me? Knew it! It’s settled; you’ll officially start the account on Monday!” He winked at me.

Kiera, cleaning a spill Pat wasn’t aware he’d made on the other side of the room, bellowed, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You did in your heart.” Wilden put a hand on his heart. “I heard it; it spoke directly to me.”

“What the fuck,” she said, then shouted, “What the fuck, Wild? Can you stop telepathically communicating with my heart?”

He grinned and cupped his hand over his mouth, leaning closer to tell me, “She’s superstitious and actually thinks I can do that, even though I told her I can’t.”

I glanced at Kiera. “Maybe you should stop saying that if it upsets her.”

“Listen to the new hire!” Kiera shouted, then smiled at me. I smiled weakly back, still figuring out how to effectively communicate with her when she shouted every other sentence.

“Oh, it’s all love here.” Wilden put his arms behind his head and propped them against the back of his chair, heaving a big sigh. “Who’s ready to get drunk after work?”

From where he was tapping away quickly on his computer, Pat said, “Oh, I’m actually working overtime today.”

“What?” Wilden used his shoe to point at him. “Don’t be lame.”

Pat replied sheepishly, “I love working.”

“It’s nice to love what you do,” I told him, earning his grateful smile.

“But overtime on a Friday?” Wilden fake-gagged, shooting Pat a charming smile afterward. “You’re wasting your weekend.”

“Technically”—Pat fixed the glasses on his nose—“Friday isn’t the weekend yet.”

Wilden groaned and spun in his chair. “You obviously don’t know how things work.”

“What about you?” Makaio continued jostling my chair as he focused on his Sudoku puzzle. “Drinking tonight?”

“No, I…no,” I responded awkwardly.

Wilden’s head jerked toward me. “Why the hell not, new hire?”

I tapped faster, mouthing my formulas instead of answering.

“Leave her alone,” Kiera instructed snippily. “Did you finish your workload?”

“Yuppp.” Wilden wheeled over to me. “Hey. Hey. Hey.” I tried to subtly wheel away from him. “Come onnnn. Everyone but Pat is going. Again, Pat, super lame that you’re not coming with us.”

Pat focused on his work. “Sorry again.”

Wilden positioned himself so his head was lying backward on his headrest, viewing me upside down. He grinned lopsidedly. “You coming with us? Drinks are on Kiera, right?”

“Oh, enough.” Kiera threw the cleaning cloth into a sanitizing bucket, never once scolding Pat for the mess. She hadn’t, no matter how many spills he made today; no one had. “It’s Makaio’s turn.”

“That’s right.” Wilden snapped his fingers. “Makaio’s paying, so come on; it’ll be a greatttt time. We’re even meeting up with the second accounting team on the third floor.”

“Why are we separated from them?” I asked.

“We work better split up.” He shrugged. “We work on different clients, and they have privacy policies, so there shouldn’t be any chance that we’ll see their information, and vice versa.”

“There are just two accounting teams, us and them, right?”

“Righttt, so don’t you want to meet them?”

“Oh, I…” I trailed off uncertainly. “I’m not great with new people.”

“What? So untrue. You’re great with us.”

Hope flickered in my chest. “Really?”

He laughed. “Yeah, really, now are you coming or not?”

Kiera walked over and slapped the back of Wilden’s head, just making him laugh harder. There was no heat behind the slap and minimal force, but still, I watched the interaction with wide eyes.

“It’s fine,” Makaio said boredly. “They’re always like this. Pat, we’ll have everyone wait if you want to drink with us.”

“What?” Pat peeped. “No, no, I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.” He readjusted his glasses and peeked over the top of his computer to look at us. “I’m rewatching Law & Order tonight anyway.”

“Again?” everyone but Pat and I rose in question.

“What?” He blushed, slowly returning his face to his computer. “It’s a good show. Perfectly re-bingeable.”

Kiera answered my unasked question. “He rewatches it every six months.”

“Isn’t there 24 seasons?” I asked, agape.

“Don’t underestimate the power of Pat’s obsession,” Wilden teased.

Pat’s face reappeared. “Do you watch Law & Order, Luetta? You know there are 24 seasons.”

“Oh, no, I…I mean, I watched a few episodes when I was younger, but it’s a little too intense for me. I’m glad that you like it so much, though,” I offered.

He slowly returned to his computer. “That’s okay.”

Wilden cackled. “Not one of us likes that show. You just crushed his soul.”

I looked at the fluff of Pat’s hair, the only visible part of him. “I’m sorry, Pat.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to be sorry!” he said, high-pitched. “It’s my fault.”

“What? No, no, it’s mine,” I refuted. “I’m sure if I watched it again, I would like it.”

His face popped up hopefully. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

“Uh-oh,” Wilden teased. “If you say no, you’ll crush his soul all over again.”

“Yeah, I can watch it with you,” I agreed, not wanting to crush his soul.

Pat hesitated. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

Makaio scribbled in his Sudoku book. “Enough of this. Yes or no; one of you say it and be done with it.” 

“I can try,” I told Pat, hoping my smile looked reassuring enough.

“Maybe we can try during one of our breaks?” he suggested. “If you don’t like it, I won’t ask you to watch it again.”

I marginally relaxed. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Kiera powered her computer off. “Okay, team. Now that that’s settled, let’s clock out and get out of here. Makaio, enough with the Sudoku; it can’t love you back. Wilden, sit normally before you get stuck that way. Pat, you’re doing amazing; we’ll see you on Monday. Don’t overwork yourself for that hour, okay? Make sure you clean up any spills you make so it doesn’t stain. Luetta.” I stiffened in preparation. “Come drink with us. It will be good for you to meet our team, and you can sit by me if you’re nervous.”

I gave another weak smile. “Okay.”

“Yesss!” Wilden fist pumped, yelping when Kiera pulled a strand of his curly, black hair. “Kiki, there is something deeply wrong with you. I think I should kill you.”

“Death threats in a workplace are highly illegal.”

“I’ll make the threat once we’re out of this building, just you wait.”

“Don’t piss me off.” She grabbed her purse. “Come on, boys and girl. Say goodbye to Pat.”

“Bye, Pat,” we all chorused.

“Bye, everyone,” he said while we closed our stations.

In the elevators, I looked at the fifth button, wondering if Jungkook was working overtime or if he left early on Fridays. Did he have a large social circle? Did he go to the bar where we met often? Did it matter?

“I’m going to kill you,” Wilden promised Kiera outside.

“Luetta,” Kiera said sweetly. “Hold my bag.”

I accepted it tentatively, watching in mild horror as she and Wilden entered a tousling match five feet from our workplace.

“No,” Makaio said sharply. “Further away from the building.”

They tore away from each other, looked both ways before crossing the street, and continued their tousling math despite the passing judgment from pedestrians.

Makaio muttered to himself and pulled a Sudoku puzzle from his jacket pocket.

Surprised, I wondered, “How did you…fit that in there?”

“Sudoku holds no bounds.” He walked across the street without looking both ways, earning more of my horror and angry honking. I hurried to him, grabbing his elbow to carefully navigate him as I waved my apologies to angry drivers.

Drinking with the second accounting team was okay, and Kiera wordlessly ensured I was settling in, whether it be a free refill, roping me into the conversation, or by giving me several glasses of water at the end of the night instead of more alcohol. The second accounting team was kind, everyone seemed to be, leaving me whiplashed.

At twenty-three, it was the longest time I’d stayed out, Friday or otherwise. My oven clock alerted me that it was 1 AM. Kiera drove me home as the designated driver, just like she’d driven the others home. I’d driven my car home before we went to the bar just for this very instance, not wanting to earn another overnight parking ticket, which I'd thankfully already paid, courtesy of my first Jeon’s Protection paycheck.

Stumbling into my shower, I cleaned myself as best as I could while drunk, unwilling to get germs in my room. Exhausted throughout the process, I almost fell asleep various times while washing my hair, counting, and blinking in time with my smoke detector. I would replace the batteries before bed, or I would stay up counting each beep.

Batteries changed, clothes in the washing machine, and my hair falling loosely around my shoulders, I dived into bed and passed out before I could cover myself with blankets.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

On Saturday morning, my parents posted a photo of Keaton with a litter of puppies, paired with a lengthy, adoring caption.

I hurled up my breakfast after I saw it.

At nineteen, Keaton was more than I ever had been. I would never forget that; my parents wouldn’t let me.

Keaton is the perfect example of what a child can be if raised right! Instead of partying and drinking on a Friday night, he found a stray litter of puppies and brought them home to care for them straight until morning. If anyone is interested in adopting these sweet puppies, although not as sweet as our boy, you can contact the pound by calling or emailing the number below. We love Keaton!

What a stupidly annoying caption. Yes, I was out drinking on a Friday night, but that’s what Friday nights were commonly known for. How was I to blame for this? Although my parents weren’t aware of my Friday night, the caption felt targeted, like they knew.

When I stopped vomiting, I grabbed Tylenol and an ice pack for my migraine, courtesy of my hangover.

Lying on my bed after positioning a bucket for puke beside it, I mindlessly scrolled through Keaton’s social media. Compiled with pristine, crisp photos of school books, his group of smiling white men, who had their mouths slightly open in a fake laugh, and photos of vacation spots from around the world, his social media was carefully curated to show the model son and college student.

I refrained from throwing my phone across the room, faltering when I saw a photo of us at ten and six years old on a Florida beach. Palm trees were in the corner, right beside a drink bar, and older relatives conversed in the background. All that mattered in that moment was my brother and I eating red and blue slushies, sticking our tongues out so the camera would see our suspiciously red and blue tongues.

It was the only photo he had of us, and the only photo my parents had of us. Otherwise, no one would know that Wren and Aderyn Dove had a daughter and that Keaton Dove had an older sister.

I turned onto my right side and readjusted the ice pack on my temples. If I had never been tormented with OCD, maybe I would be worthy enough of being a daughter and a sister. Maybe OCD was what they hated. Maybe it wasn’t me after all. Maybe if I could just fix myself, they would love me.

Not keen on furthering my torture, I turned off my phone. OCD barely showed up in my dreams, so burying my face in my pillow, I slept my Saturday away, too exhausted and hungover to do anything else.

The next afternoon, I hurried across the street to meet Luvandor for Sunday ice cream.

Luvandor sat inside the ice cream parlor on a bar stool, turning when the bell above the door chimed. “Hey, hey. Look at you in your Sunday best.”

I smoothed down my black slacks and self-consciously touched the pink barrettes pinning back my dead-straight, brown hair. I wanted to curl it, but if I left the curler at home after using it, I feared it would catch on fire, even if it was unplugged.

“It looks okay?” I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, stepping up to him. “I don’t know how I feel about the barrettes. The curtain bangs I got are getting too long, and I don’t know when I’ll get them trimmed, so I just…” My fingers trailed over the barrettes again. “I used these.”

“They look stunnin’, darlin’.” He patted the stool beside him. “Come sit.”

“Are you sure?” I pulled myself up to sit on the stool, awkwardly petting the barrettes on each corner. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t feel fair, and my thoughts would revolve around doing it and what awful things could happen until I did. “They’re pink.”

“Yeah, what about it? Pink looks great on you, just like it looks great in your bedroom. If you bought pink furniture for your living room, it would look great, too.”

“I can’t buy furniture for my living room,” I mumbled. “My room is the only safe area. What if bugs were under the living room’s couch seat and came up and crawled all over me?” I shuddered. “I can’t.”

“Then you don’t gotta, yeah? As long as you got a nice, pink bed to sleep on, who’s complaining, eh? Not me.” He reached over and patted my hand. “How about some strawberry ice cream to match your pink barrettes?”

I smiled abashedly. “Okay.”

“How’s the new job?” he asked after we put in an order.

If I said it was going good, my mind screamed that it would suddenly turn bad. I fiddled with my fingers. “It’s going.”

“It’s going?” He viewed my expression. “Well, I’m glad it’s going then, huh? As long as everybody’s kind and helpful, we’re all good.”

Relieved he didn’t press the topic, I smiled gratefully. “Yeah.”

“Now, have you left a negative review online for your previous job, or am I gonna do it?”

“No, it’s okay. They’ll be finished in about two years.”

“No shit?” He set his forearms on the counter and leaned toward me, his surprise mingling with curiosity. “What’s the latest?”

“It’s just how their company is run.” I hugged my elbows to my chest. “They won’t last.”

He grinned, displaying his dimples. “Darn tootin’ they won’t.”

The employee handed us our ice cream, I licked my cone contentedly. “How’s your pretty plant?”

He savored his ice cream before answering. “She’s fantastic. Buddin’ all pretty like, sitting tall and proud.” He smiled like a proud parent. “She’ll be ready for a home soon. She is now,” he laughed, “but I ain’t ready to part with her yet.”

I smiled, settling into my seat when the familiar, soothing sound of his laughter coaxed me to. “That’s really good.”

“Ain’t it?” He wrapped a napkin around his ice cream cone. “The joys of raising plants.”

I gave an almost pleasant hum of agreement, seizing his attention.

“That ice cream’s good, I’m guessin’,” he said lightly.

“Yeah.” I thought about the highlights of last week, holding them close, but not too close. When things were at the cusp of goodness, it would be stolen from me, so this feeling would remain just out of reach. Still, I could almost taste the pink drink awaiting me, come Monday morning.

“It’s a good company,” I commented absently, tracing the indents of my waffle cone. “They have morals, from what I can see. It’s…different.” Not good, not bad. Just different. Different couldn’t be taken from me, so different it would be.

“A company with morals? It must be a small company,” he said half-teasingly, but his tone held a hint of seriousness.

“No, it’s… medium-sized, I think? It only has two accounting teams, so there are ten of us. They’re well off. Extremely well off,” I said under my breath, recalling Jungkook’s expensive car and apartment.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” He began to expand on our conversation, but the bell above the door chimed again, alerting us to a new customer.

Ever the friendly, heartwarming man, Luvandor turned to greet the newcomer. Expecting to see him smile widely, my brows furrowed when his easy-going expression took a defensive approach. Startled, I turned to see who had entered the store, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

My brother stood at the entrance. Wearing a thin unzipped jacket, a dark blue striped shirt, white shorts to match his jacket, and gold Versace sunglasses that cost over 15k, his designer shoes eloquently tapped the measly ground beneath his feet as if reminding it of its place.

His bright hazel eyes dimmed when he saw Luvandor, and it didn’t take long for him to drag his eyes to me. His brow twitched just as a strand of hair, sticking upward from the wind, toppled over to join the rest. His beach waves, I could hear my mom say, even now. He takes after me.

Taking a calculated step forward, he’d already attracted everyone’s attention, including a table full of giggling high schooler girls. Envy, spite, and adoration filled the parlor, notifying it that a true Dove had arrived, not one like me.

He arrived next to us quicker than I was prepared for, not that I was sure how I would prepare. Steeling his expression, he turned to Luvandor and said his name as a way of greeting him. Then, he turned to me.

Flashes of our childhood shot through me, hot and cold. The only good part of my childhood had been him.

“Lu,” he spoke my nickname casually, like it wasn’t something we giggled about in blanket forts, comparing Lulu to the word coocoo. He’d shortened it when we were older, when things changed between us. “What is this?”

I felt too small when he looked at me, as if I had suddenly reverted to the younger sibling. “Hi.”

He flicked one of my pink barrettes. “What are you wearing?”

I flinched. “Pink barrettes.”

He flicked my ear next, tickling beneath it lightly before pulling away. “Does the Dollar Store fund your entire wardrobe?”

“Enough, Keaton.” Luvandor’s usual sweet southern tang held intense warning. “Keep your hands off her.”

“She’s my sister.” Keaton straightened, and his voice returned to a chilly exterior. “Should I remind you that you’re a 32-year-old hanging around my 23-year-old sister?” He leaned closer to Luvandor, setting his palm on the counter. “If you knew what was good for you and your boutique, you’d stay away from her.”

“Leave him alone,” I defended Luvandor. “Age doesn’t matter in friendships.”

Keaton scoffed, twisting to look at me from over his shoulder. “With an age gap like that, a person can only want one thing from the younger party, and I can tell you right now, it’s not friendship.”

“He’s my friend,” I said heatedly. “We’re having ice cream with other people around. How is that wrong?”

“Because other people aren’t always around when you’re with Luvandor. Jesus, Lu.” He flicked my forehead, and his voice dipped just as his brows did. “I know you dropped out of college after getting an Associate’s, but you can’t be this stupid.”

Pain engulfed me. “That’s not fair. He’s an adult, and so am I. We’re friends.”

“He.” Keaton scoffed again, eyed Luvandor with annoyance, and pushed away from the counter. “Right, whatever you say. Keep hanging out with him. You end up in a bad situation, don’t call me crying.”

“Why would I call you?” I blurted. “You never pick up.”

“Maybe because I have a life.”

I failed to steel myself like he was so easily capable of doing. “If you’re here for ice cream, go order. We’re not bothering you. You’re the one bothering us.”

“Am I?” His tongue swiped over his teeth, sporting a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “My apologies for believing my sister would want to talk to me.”

“You consider this talking?” I bit back, feeling years of pushed-down resentment rise to the surface, tickling my gut to evoke nausea.

“My lips are moving, aren’t they?” He sent Luvandor a final dirty look before reaching over and tugging a stray strand of my hair. “You made your choice: Luvandor over your own family. Stick with it and enjoy the misery.”

“I’m not miserable with Luvandor,” I snapped, my defenses over my only friend heightened and intense. “He always makes me feel comfortable, something Mom, Dad, and you don’t do. If you consider safety and happiness miserable, then fine. I’ll live miserably with Luvandor.”

He rolled his eyes, done with the conversation, and stepped up to order. “Blueberry ice cream,” he requested, reminding me of how we’d stick our tongues out to display the changed color due to a dyed sweet treat.

I couldn’t stop mourning the person he used to be.

Taking his ice cream in a cup (“The ice cream cone gets too sticky, Lulu!”), he side-eyed us to the door. “I have places to be and people to meet who, let me make this clear, are my age.” Disdain stained his features. “Have fun in your misery, Lu. It’s what you do best.”

I pushed out a scowl that looked like more of a cry for help. “Just go.”

“I already am.” He removed the spoon from his mouth with a loud pop, waving to the adoring audience he had, and left.

I breathed shakily. “Don’t listen to him, Luvandor. What he said isn’t true.”

“I know, kid. I’m not worryin’ about that. How do you feel?” He leaned closer, familiar worry creasing his forehead. “I know you haven’t seen him in months.”

I bristled. “I’m fine.” I angrily chewed a strawberry bit from my ice cream. “I’m fine.”

He nodded slowly. “If you ever wanna talk about it, you know where to find me.”

“I know,” I said, my voice losing an ounce of tension. “Thank you, but I’m fine. It’s just that…what he said about you was so degrading and unnecessary. I think we both know the only reason he cares about your age is so he can keep perpetuating the right-wing beliefs our parents shove down everyone’s throats.”

“It’s his belief now, too,” Luvandor said somberly. “When your parents shoved those beliefs down both of your throats, Keaton swallowed, but you choked. That’s the difference between you and them. Okay? That’s what matters to me, the way my friends treat me, not random people who hate on us because they claim their religion tells ‘em to.”

I rubbed my face tiredly. “He just…he used to be…” A lump formed in my throat. “He used to be Keaton.”

“He still is Keaton. But people change and choose their own paths.”

I ignored the burning in my eyes and resumed eating my ice cream, too choked up to discuss the topic further.

Keaton looked taller than the last time I’d seen him, but his face held remnants of the boy he once was, short and awkward, tripping over his feet when we played tag in our front yard. I wished I could’ve spoken to that version of Keaton and told him who he would become if he followed in my parents’ footsteps. Maybe I could’ve saved him.

“I see that look on your face,” Luvandor warned. “Don’t do it, darlin’. You can’t save someone who don’t wanna be saved.”

I shook my head rigidly. “He used to be different.” My voice cracked, worsening my humiliation. “He used to be my brother.”

His voice softened. “I’m sorry for the world’s cruelty. It can really sneak up on ya.”

My ice cream melted as I withered into myself, ruminating about the interaction with Keaton, someone I used to know as well as I knew myself. We grew up in the same house, but we were strangers.

Chapter Text

The community dinner party went well.

I tended the drinks, smiling when needed, and engaged in small talk. By the second hour, I dearly missed my room. The volume of the dinner party stressed me enough to seek control through compulsions. Tapping and counting, I blinked in time with the music's beat blasting through the speakers.

Exhausted by the time Luvandor walked over to me, I still tried to smile.

"You ready to call it a night?" he asked, leaning against the table with me.

"But the party isn't over yet."

"I know this kind of scene ain't your thing." He smiled. "Besides, ain't you got work in the morning?"

"Well, yeah, but this is important to you." My brows furrowed. "I want to stay."

"We have one of these every month, eh? You're good to go. Two hours is a great ending time." He held up his hand for a high-five, and I started to smile when our palms met. "Your pink room is callin' your name."

"It is," I said slowly, mentally processing everything I would need to do before entering it. Decontaminate myself by showering, wash the clothes I currently wore, wash my hands after every task, and then change safely in my bedroom. But it didn't end, not even in my room. I would have to check in the closet and under the bed to ensure I was safe, that I was alone, and I had to keep checking until it felt right.

"You still with me?" Luvandor brought me back to the present moment.

I blinked. "Sorry, yeah, I'm here."

His lips formed a thin line. "Your flare-up isn't lettin' you take it easy."

I stiffened. "I don't want to talk about it. It makes it worse."

"I know, I know." He ran a hand through his ruffled hair. "Take care of yourself, yeah? Go home and rest."

"But—"

"We're fine over here. I'll get someone else to man the drinks. Now git." He squeezed my shoulder gently, saying in a softer tone, "Go home, kid."

With downcast eyes, I nodded and gathered my belongings. I wasn't as drunk as I wanted to be, but the alcohol sat dimly in my stomach, sloshing around as I walked home. The community dinner was only a thirty-minute walk from my apartment, so I tugged my cardigan tighter around me, gripped my bag, and headed out.

People at the community dinners were polite, but they were deterred by my quirks, as they called them. I'd overheard conversations about their pity, talking about why I acted the way I did, as if it was a conspiracy theory they could crack. God forbid a woman had OCD.

The streets were darker toward my apartment complex, lacking the street lamps that adorned downtown. Entering the sketchy neighborhood I called my own, I dreamed of a day when I would leave here, even if it meant learning how to stomach my parents' disappointment. I already had so much of it, but leaving the apartment they insisted I would thrive in felt like the final hit of it, giving me no chance to ever be enough for them. The ties between us would be cut, and I would lose my family forever.

I went through my excruciating night routine, one reason I pushed it off for as long as I could. It could take up to an hour, repeatedly walking around my apartment to check closets, lock the doors, even if they were already locked, and ensure each faucet wasn't continually dripping.

Once I finished, my hands were raw from their continual washing, their skin beginning to peel. Before my head even hit my pillow, I was crying. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the knowledge that tomorrow was my biweekly call with my parents, maybe because I felt like I let Luvandor down by leaving two hours in, or maybe it was because I'd ruined a conversation with Jungkook.

Night was the worst; there were no distractions, even with the white noise I turned on and the ceiling fan. I was inconsolable all the way up until exhaustion won and plunged me into darkness, the only relief.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

My parents didn't take the news about my new job well. It didn't matter that it paid well; it wasn't what they wanted for me, so again, I had failed them.

And then, the kicker came.

"Keaton said he saw you in an ice cream parlor," Aderyn said snippily.

"With that predator," Wren spat.

My fingers tightened around the phone cord. "He is not a predator," I defended heatedly. "He's my friend."

"Enough!" Wren bellowed. "You keep defending her—"

"Him!" I shouted. The line went quiet, save for my heavy breathing. "He is a he, not a she, and there is no evil bone in his body. He isn't hurting anyone, but you are with your unnecessary snide remarks and hatred, and that's predatory behavior."

I caught myself too late. I felt the rush of adrenaline pouring off of me, making my teeth chatter and my body shake.

Wren's voice was sharp, aiming for the kill. "Luetta Dove, apologize to your mother and me this instant, or there will be consequences."

Tears of anger filled my eyes. "What else can you do to me?" My voice cracked, but instead of humiliating me, it invigorated me, letting me know the anger I felt was so intense that it broke a part of me, pushing me forward to complete what I started, as stupid as it might've been. "You stuck me in an apartment two hours away from you in a horrible neighborhood, you hate on my career, even when it can financially sustain me and take me to a better neighborhood, and you laughed in my face when I was fifteen after I found the courage to tell you that I thought I had OCD."

"Luetta Dove—"

"No, but it wasn't just the laugh—it was looking at each other, trying to hold it in, and laughing anyway. I was fifteen." My nose stung with feeling. "I'm officially diagnosed now, it's officially documented, but you still laugh and mock it and call it OBC. Why should I ever hope for anything other than cruelty from you toward me or my only friend, Luvandor? He is kinder to me than either of you has ever been!"

"Luetta Dove," Wren snapped.

"No!" I shouted, my simmering anger coming to a full-blown fire, the flames licking at the back of my throat and eliciting years of bottled hurt. "You've disowned me as your daughter so many times, so I'll make it easy for you. Stop calling me, keep Luvandor's name out of your mouth, and—and tell Keaton that if he wants to be like the both of you, then he can stay away from me, too."

The last part hurt, a nail in the coffin of my relationship with my brother, but it had long since been broken. Still, a part of me hoped it was repairable, even now. As I yelled at my parents, bearing the hurt and pain and resentment, I clung to the hope that they would hear me, that maybe yelling at them was all I ever needed to do, and oh, wouldn't I feel stupid then? What if yelling was all I had to do to earn their attention and love?

"Is this what you want?" Aderyn said, her voice chilling me to the bone. "You have always been so childish, so immature, and here you are, yelling at the people who have only ever supported you."

"You have never—"

"Do not speak over your mother," Wren cut me off harshly.

My tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I put my fist over my mouth, trying to cover the sounds of my choked sobs.

"I did my best to raise you," Aderyn continued, each word sharp and calculated. "You never listened, talking to yourself like you were crazy, and now, it's all too clear to me that you are. For God's sake, Luetta, you're fraternizing with the enemy. Luvandor will not be seeing the kingdom of Heaven, and the Bible says that bad company corrupts good character. You are on your way to a dark eternity."

My chest heaved wildly. "You said your god's love is unconditional, but the second your right-winged beliefs take center stage, his love is suddenly conditional. You say that I'm the crazy one, but you're reveling in the assumed fact that Luvandor will burn in eternal hell because of who he is."

"She will burn in hell," Wren corrected, disgust lacing his tone. "She was born a woman, and no matter how much she wants to pretend to be a man, nothing will make her one. Predators deserve to burn for eternity."

I saw searing white as anger came to the forefront of my mind. Luvandor, the only person in my life who had taken me under his wing, supported me, and loved me unconditionally, had gone through enough. I could take the brunt of their yells and underhanded words, but when they threw predatory accusations about Luvandor around simply because of his identity, the anger turned into resolve, so stifling that I couldn't stray from it.

And it hurt, more than I could comprehend, to speak against my parents instead of in their favor—no, to earn their favor. My childhood had come and gone, never truly feeling like one, and although my hope for their love to appear remained, it frayed, and I felt like I was doing the same.

"I don't want to speak to people with so much hate for others who've done nothing but live their lives the way they want to, without hurting anyone. I want to be with people like Luvandor, who accept and love me and make time for me, things you've never done and probably never will." I kept choking; I could barely breathe. Anger was the only thing pushing me to end this.

"OCD is real and tangible," I told them, fighting against my chattering teeth and screaming inner child to backtrack and beg for my parents' love. "The good Luvandor's done for him and his community, just by being his true self, is real and tangible. All you have to show for your life are lackies and riches, and if we're going to talk about the Bible, 1 Timothy 6:1 states: For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils."

I straightened my spine and loosed a ragged breath. "Maybe you're the ones with a dark eternity ahead of you. Luvandor is more like Jesus than you could ever hope to be."

Wren was shouting, but I tuned him out. My mother backed him up, their shouts mingling, but I fell into a dissociative state until, eventually, I pressed the phone into its receiver. Releasing the yellow cord I had wrapped around my finger, I watched the blood slowly return to the latter. The silence was daunting, but for a second, it felt peaceful to say the words I'd shouted to the shower walls, pretending I'd said them to my parents. Now, it had been said.

They couldn't revoke anything from me, they couldn't punish me any more than they had. They couldn't take my toys away, not like they did at seven years old, claiming I was too old for childish things. They couldn't make me do the household chores while they cooed over Keaton, and they couldn't yell at me for hurrying around my room at night when OCD kept me awake with its insistent checking to ensure my safety.

I leaned against the wall, and then I crumbled to the floor. Burying my face in my hands, I was quiet. Minutes passed, no tears fell. Just silence and me wrapped within it.

Slowly bringing my knees to my chest, I hid my face between them and rocked like I wished my mother would've rocked me to sleep all those years ago. Wishing, for me, ended in a heart so broken that it wasn't sure how to piece itself together again. I was a cliche; a broken-hearted cliche of the oldest daughter yearning for her family's love that they never gave.

I fell asleep in the kitchen, my head between my knees, and my back hunched in defeat.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

"Are you...feeling okay?" Makaio asked the next morning.

Eyelids drooping, I suppressed a yawn as I tried to locate where he was. "I'm fine."

A motion caught my eye, and I turned. "I'm over here, Luetta."

I blinked to clear my blurred vision. I yawned again. "Hi," I croaked.

"Shit." Wilden drummed his fingers against his lips, squinting at his computer screen. "Did someone catch a little cold?"

Pat fixed his glasses. "I have cold medicine in my desk. Do you need some?"

I wiped my swollen eyes and shook my head. "Thanks, Pat."

"Oh, sure." He closed the drawer he'd already opened. "If you need it, just let me know. I'm always prepared."

My silence drew on as my eyes refused to focus on the work Kiera was doing on her computer, something I was supposed to be watching. Minutes later, she turned to me. "Okay, that's enough. What happened in the last 15 hours?"

I blinked slowly, struggling to open them once they closed. "Nothing," I mumbled, the pain searing me to the bone.

"The accounting room holds no place for lies!" She slammed her hand on the desk, making me jolt. "We can't work when one of us is down, so blurt it out. What happened?"

Wilden wheeled his chair backward until it bumped into the back of mine. "Spill it."

"Spill...what?" I questioned, out of it.

"The details." He hit the back of my chair lightly, making me jolt again. "We're a team."

I eyed him and Kiera wearily. "Yes, because we work in accounting together."

"We're the glue of the company," Wilden said proudly. "But how can we glue the company together if the glue in here is falling apart?"

"That...doesn't make sense." I leaned my head against my chair, but he lifted it, earning my wide-eyed gaze.

"Listennnn," he drew out his words. "If it doesn't make sense, it's because you haven't been part of such a glue-tastic team before."

His pun broke through the barrier in my mind. Because it reminded me of the pun Jungkook made last night. But I'd upset Jungkook, just like I'd upset my parents and Keaton.

I hung my head.

"Heyyyy, why the long face?" He patted my chair reassuringly. "What happened? Shit, my joke couldn't really be that bad, could it?"

"It could be," Kiera, Pat, and Makaio said.

"Well, shit!" Wilden spun in his chair. "Come on, Luetta. What's got you down in the dumps? We can help. Besides, it's either you talk about it or spend the day so miserably that you don't retain anything you're learning. Do you want that?"

Alarms blared in my head, and I shook my head quickly. I wanted to learn; I wanted to help my team, who had only helped me.

"Good," he cheered. "Now, tell us what's wrong. Pat, close your eyes."

"What?" Pat sputtered. "I can still hear through my ears."

"No, no, I distinctly remember that covering your eyes means you can't hear anything." Wilden grinned at me. "Wellll? We're waiting."

"Cut her a break!" Kiera scolded, but I could see she was curious, too. That, and she was waiting for me to retain her teachings.

I stared at the chair's wheels. "I...was rude to my parents."

"Okayyyy, and? We've all done it at one point or another," Wilden said. "This is not down-in-the-dumps material."

I shrugged non-committedly.

"What aren't you telling us?" he said in a sing-song voice, enjoying this entirely too much.

Makaio grabbed Wilden by the back of his shirt and tugged him back, making his chair's wheels squeak with the force. "Break unspoken boundaries, and I'll break your back," Makaio promised.

"Jesuuhhhhs," Wilden complained, but spun his chair all the way back to his desk. "Look what you made Makaio do to me, Luetta. Ughhhh. Sit in the corner and think about what you did."

I twitched, and it was all over. Tears flooded my vision, poured down my cheeks, and past my parted, chapped lips. I choked and choked, unable to stop crying, and a hush fell over the room.

I would be fired; I ruined the team dynamic. No one wants to see your tears, Luetta! Only babies cry! My mother's staple words. You always ruin everything!

I was proving her right; I was ruining the team, I would lose my job, I would be homeless—

"Okay, okay." Kiera brought our chairs inches from each other, bumping our knees. "Let it out, it's fine. We're ahead of schedule, so a cry isn't stopping anything. Wilden," she warned sharply, "shut your mouth before I permanently shut it for you."

He was quiet.

"Just breathe through it," Kiara instructed. "You're choking because you're trying to stop crying. Don't. Just cry." She patted my arm roughly. "It's fine." When I kept choking, she set me with a stern look, and I swallowed my protests as I reluctantly relinquished my power to my tears.

Falling, rippling—almost like a waterfall, but those were beautiful, certain to catch a rainbow if the light hit just right. No rainbows were in my tears. No beauty homed the wetness on my cheeks.

Eventually, when I realized I could speak through my tired huffs and sobs, I blurted, "I used Bible verses to call my parents evil."

Kiera patted my knee and offered a few sharp pats. "Okay, this is the perfect time for an explanation because I don't know what the hell that means."

"Kiera," Pat insisted quietly.

Kiera amended, "Take your time explaining."

"They always throw Bible verses around to justify their cruelty!" I exploded, balling my fingers into fists. "I can never be good enough for them, and I—I live in an unsafe apartment they put me in it two years ago because they think it's all I deserve, and because it's two hours away from them, and they don't want to see me, and they—they are so cruel to my only friend, Luvandor, and they purposefully misgender him, and I can't take it anymore, so I yelled at them and said that they would go to hell instead of me and Luvandor like they kept saying! No one misgenders Luvandor and gets to keep doing it! It's wrong!"

My face burned red as the volume of my voice bounced off the walls. I shrank into myself. "Sorry, I—I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Makaio's Sudoku puzzle rested on his thigh. "For not yelling at them sooner? For not adding a 'fuck you' during the process?"

I blanked. "What?"

"If you're not apologizing for that, don't apologize at all. They're clearly in the wrong."

Pat asked with tentative indignation, "How unsafe is the place you live? There are plenty of apartments open in the complex I live in. You can afford it with this salary and live comfortably. Do you want the details?"

"Let her research places first." Makaio pointed his pencil at Pat. "You want someone nearby to watch Law & Order."

"What?" Pat sputtered. "No!" He blushed. "I was trying to be nice."

Kiera demanded, "Shut up, all of you! Pat, not you. Well, yes, you, but just be a little quieter." He nodded submissively while Makaio returned to his Sudoku. "Listen here, Luetta. With what you just told us, your parents deserved everything you said. Purposefully misgendering someone is derogatory and disgusting, and your friend doesn't deserve it. Furthermore!" She pointed at no one in particular, just up. Then at me. "Neither of you deserves to go to hell just because of your gender. You got that, newbie?"

I nodded, afraid she would pat my knee roughly if I didn't.

"Good," she snapped, then stood. "Wild, apologize to her. You obviously said something to set her off."

Wilden's guilt permeated the room. "Whatever I said, I won't say it again."

He shrieked when Kiera made a move to slap him over the head.

"Kiera," Makaio warned, sitting back in his chair as he squinted at his puzzle. "No violence in the workplace."

"He made her cry," Kiera reminded him.

Makaio's tongue darted out to wet his thumb, using the latter to turn his puzzle's page. "Light violence."

Kiera chased Wilden around the office, and I watched with rapid blinks, unsure what exactly was occurring.

"I don't know what I did!" Wilden insisted, begging for mercy. "Luetta, just tell me so I can survive Kiera's wrath!"

I clasped my hands, wide-eyed and anxious. "It's fine. I don't want to talk about." I pushed my wheely-chair back when Kiera switched her target to me.

She pointed at me. "If you don't tell him what he said that made you cry, he could accidentally say it again. Do you want to cry again?" I shook my head quickly. "Then tell him what you said, so we can get back to work."

I swallowed thickly, unable to meet anyone's eye. "It was just...you said for me to sit in the corner and think about what I did, and it..." I whispered hurriedly, "Reminded me of my parents."

"Shit. Sorry." Wilden sat back down, keeping a distance between himself and Kiera. "My parents said that to me all the time, too, but they don't believe in Hell. If they did, I'm pretty sure they would be Satan and Lilith."

I looked at him, taken aback.

He grinned. "They're in prison. Don't ask."

My lips parted, and I squeaked, "Okay."

"Of course, I'm making a better life for myself, as you can see." He spread his arms out. "I'm such a good accountant. Such a good boy."

Kiera glared at him, and he put his hands up in surrender.

"Anyway," Wilden said brightly. "Fuck your parents, and fuck my parents. Fuck bad parents. We survive without them, and lots of baby animals survive without their parents, too. I mean, some of them have to worry about their parents eating them, so compared to that, we're kind of thriving."

"I...guess."

"You're still in one piece, so yuppp. That's not a guess, that's a damn right I'm thriving!"

His strange demeanor and lop-sided grin caused a wave of comfort to rush over me. "Okay."

"Uh-uh. You need to sayyyy it. Say: I'm thriving!"

"I'm thriving?" I guessed.

"Say it like you mean it!" Wilden hollered.

"Wilden," Kiera scolded.

He ignored her and looked at me expectantly. Wanting to get this over with so I could learn with Kiera, and to remove the attention from myself, I decided to listen to him. But, even with all my reasons to do so, one was hidden away, tucked deeply beside my childhood rebellion that liked the color pink, running through mud, and climbing trees like my brother did. Tangled in that rebellion, there sat a desire to be loud. Loud enough, perhaps, to be heard.

Girls can't be loud, they can't climb trees, and they certainly can't jump in mud! They must be quiet and proper and dress nicely.

But my mother and her philosophies weren't here. My new accounting team was, and so was the request to yell my agreement, so I ran with it.

"I'm thriving!" I shouted. It was loud, so it felt scary, but no one reacted like it was.

Makaio chuckled while focusing on his puzzle, Pat grinned toothily, Kiera put a hand to her heart with sheer surprise, and Wilden echoed the sentiment back at me, meeting the volume of my shout.

I blinked, a tentative smile tugging at my lips.

"Fuck them!" Wilden yelled.

"Fuck them!" I yelled with him, even if I still loved my parents. How strange, to love such hateful people and want them to love me. My expression dropped.

"Nuh-uh," Wilden chided. "Louder. Don't think about them."

"Fuck them!" I tried again.

"Oh, this is just about the most ridiculous thing to happen in this room for months." Kiera crossed her arms, took a breath, and screamed, "Fuck them!"

I gaped, but then Pat joined in, and so did Makaio, although his attention remained on his puzzle. They believed me, they heard me, and they yelled with me.

After a minute of this, Kiera wiped her forehead. "Well! We're back on schedule, boys and girl." She pivoted my chair to her computer. "Ready? There's one right answer."

"Ready," I said breathlessly, adrenaline coursing through me. "Did...anyone hear us? Will they worry?"

"I'm always one step ahead." She gestured to her phone. "I texted Morwenna to let her know we're fine."

"Oh." I wondered if Jungkook was at reception when Kiera's text went through to Morwenna. Did he see it? Did he care? Was he upset with me? "Okay."

Wilden wheeled himself to his desk, but not before throwing a look over his shoulder, aimed right at me. "I'm sorry for making you cry. And in case our shouts weren't enough, fuck your parents. I'm sure Luvandor is a fine gentleman."

The mention of Luvandor made me relax further into my chair. "He is."

"And hey, if we spend some more time together, we can be a team of friends. Yeahhhh? You guys in?"

"Shut up, Wilden," everyone but me said.

"It's fine," he told me, grinning good-naturedly. "They love me."

"Define love," Kiera said flatly. Wilden flipped her off when she couldn't see. "I saw that."

He waved her off. "Anyone want to get drinks after work again?"

Makaio slowly looked at him. "It's barely 8 in the morning. None of us is thinking about alcohol."

"I am. I'm thinking about it. So. You lie." Wilden typed away on his computer. "Okay, I call for silence. I'm working now."

Kiera threw a crumpled piece of paper at him, embarking on an argument with him, and as I watched, I felt confused but not entirely out of place after our shared shouts. Maybe, just like we shouted about, I would thrive someday. I didn't think it would be soon, but it felt nice to imagine it would be.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

After drinking with my team after work, I sat in my room with a notebook in front of me.

My pencil stilled over the page, afraid to write a future plan in case it wouldn't come true. What if penning my dreams made them never happen? What if speaking or thinking about them was enough to make them wilt before coming to fruition?

Superstition or OCD? I thought it might be a mix of both.

Hovering the pencil over the lined pages, I waited for the courage to write my dreams for the future: dreams where I thrived, lived somewhere safe, became friends with my team, and watched Luvandor achieve all of his dreams while cheering him on. Within my hopes and dreams was a wish to be loved, something true and real, nothing that could easily dissipate. It would be filial and kind and fun. Someone who could love me despite my muddled, OCD mind.

I wasn't sure if that kind of love was for me.

Defeated, I lowered my pencil. Slipping off my bed, I grabbed my notebook to put it away—or put it up, like Luvandor would say—when a gunshot sounded. Dropping to my knees, I scooted forward to the window, ensuring I couldn't be seen while I peeked into the night. Squinting, I saw two men aiming their guns around, laughing as they shot at nothing in particular.

This was a common occurrence in this neighborhood, so although my heart beat faster, I wasn't surprised. Shifting to a more comfortable position, I didn't plan to call the police. From experience, they took three hours to arrive, no matter the intensity of the crime.

I shifted my feet behind me and clasped my hands above my knees. Unfortunately, I bumped my knees against the wall. Freezing in place when the two men's heads whipped around, my heart dropped when we made eye contact.

One of the men with dirty blonde hair laughed hysterically. "You see something funny, bitch? You think it's okay to stare?" He aimed his gun at me, and I ducked, pushing myself as far away from my window as I could. The shot hit near the bricks beneath my windows, and for what felt like the millionth time, I was thankful to be on the second floor. They couldn't seem to aim properly, especially when my apartment was at a higher level.

"Fuck!" the second man cursed, threatening to shoot the first man with dirty blonde hair if he kept laughing.

Had I locked the doors? I checked countless times before staying in my room, but what if it wasn't locked? What if it unlocked by itself? What if they came upstairs and into my apartment?

Panicking, I stole across my apartment quietly, using my phone as a flashlight. Entering the living room where the front door was, I held my breath as I inched closer as quickly as I could. Relief flooded me when it was locked, but horror was quick to return when I heard heavy footsteps.

"That bitch was up here, wasn't she?" the second man asked gruffly.

My heart dropped to my stomach. I didn't have any furniture in my living room to push against the door, and they could shoot through the door. What if they kicked it down? The doors were old and would easily break in.

I hurried back into my room, locked the door, and grabbed the pepper spray and taser Luvandor gifted me a while ago. I held them tightly, my fingers turning white as my breathing turned sporadic.

People would often knock on my door during the night and try to come inside, but eventually, they would leave. The police never did anything, and one time, they blamed it on me hearing things because I was half-asleep. But no one had ever threatened to shoot me.

This is because you thought too closely of your future plans, my OCD screamed at me. You almost wrote it down. Look what you did, look what you did!

Luvandor was hours away at a convention, my parents were two hours away, and I didn't have Keaton's number. I didn't have my team's numbers, and I wasn't sure how far away they lived, so there was no one to call. I would have to rely on myself again, just like I had been doing since childhood.

The two men banged on neighboring doors during their search for me.

My palms sweated. What would pepper spray and a taser do against two guns? I was going to die because I had dared to wish for more.

As I closed my eyes, waiting for the end to come, I glimpsed something from my dresser. Opening my eyes, my breath caught in my throat. Jungkook's business card.

Choking on hope, I stumbled to grab the business card, falling to my knees to collect my phone when it slipped through my trembling fingers.

I spoke each number beneath my breath as I entered them, counted to three for good luck, and dialed his number. My hope dimmed when it rang five times to no avail, but as fear bubbled in my gut, his voice rang through.

"Luetta?"

Chapter Text

“Luetta?” Jungkook repeated.

I inwardly cursed my tongue for not pushing against the roof of my mouth to shove words out of me: an explanation, a greeting—anything. But nothing came, and the two men quickly approached.

Frozen in place, I held my phone in one hand and the taser and pepper spray in the other. I was going to die, and it was my fault. If I had checked if the door was locked three more times, this wouldn’t have happened, or if I hadn’t tried writing down my plans, I would still be safe. Maybe if I had tapped and counted more, or maybe if—

“Luetta?”

A sharp gasp left me.

“What is this?” he questioned, his tone laced with rasp and exhaustion, but there was a hint of alertness holding it together. “Did something happen?”

The men sounded closer than before, and I was wasting time. I was going to die.

“Jungkook,” I blurted, the words finally breaking free. “Jungkook.”

His tone shifted, dark and alert. “Luetta, if something happened, I need you to tell me.”

I had no time to formulate my thoughts properly. Only stuck a few moments ago, my words flowed rapidly, not caring to form coherent sentences during my desperation to be heard. My survival instincts kicked back in, and ensuring my voice was quiet to avoid the men from hearing me, I told Jungkook, “Two men are trying to get into my apartment. Shoot me—they’re—and I don’t have anyone to call. Luvandor’s gone—really gone, far away—I’m going to die—”

“Luetta,” he cut me off, infinitely more alert than before. “Tell me where you are.” I rattled off the address, barely breathing. “Can these men get into your apartment? Do you have anything to protect yourself with?”

My voice sounded small, like I was fading away. “Pepper spray and a taser.”

“Pepper spray and a…” He exhaled shortly, rustling on his end of the phone. “Lock yourself in your room and put furniture against the door.” I didn’t respond. “Luetta,” he said sharply. “Do you understand?”

“I—I understand.” I scurried to my feet, taking my phone with me. “Will you send security here? When will they get here?”

“Ten minutes.” A door closed on the other end of the phone. “I assume you already thought to call the police.”

“They never get here fast enough.”

There was a slight pause, and another closed door. “Does this happen often?”

“No one’s actually tried to shoot me before,” I said, my voice thinning and breaking. “Just—only in the—they do it in the parking lot. Shooting.”

“At your apartment complex?” My silence confirmed it. “Five minutes, Luetta. Stay as far away from the windows and your bedroom door as possible. Don’t engage with them if they enter your house or room. Stay hidden.”

Pushing my dresser as quietly and quickly as I could to my door while I propped my phone on my shoulder, I managed a quiet agreement as I ruminated over worst-case scenarios.

“Have you put furniture against your bedroom door?” he questioned. I nodded. “Luetta.”

“Yes,” I blurted.

“Are you hidden?”

I darted into my closet, sat where the clothes draped over hangers could hide me, and closed my eyes. “I’m hiding.”

“Keep hiding. Three minutes.”

I held the phone like a lifeline, not daring to say another word.

A harsh knock on my front door sent a jolt of fear through me, and my hands fell limp around my phone, causing it to drop on my lap. I couldn’t hear Jungkook anymore. All I could hear were the two men’s jeers and taunts as they tried to break in.

Focusing on counting, I took a breath every ten seconds. This repeated as the taunts grew increasingly loud, jarring, and misogynistic. Taken out of my concentration when a new sound arrived, I strained to listen.

Tires peeled into the parking lot, and a vehicle skidded to a stop. The two men’s yells were hindered by their gunshots, still laughing and cussing, but this time, neither action was aimed at me. However, their laughter faded away as overlapping gunshots were issued, and their footsteps retreated from my door, most likely to find a place to hide. Shouts were heard, frenzied and frantic, and minutes later, my front door’s knob was jiggled. The walls were thin, but my breath was even thinner.

I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to move, knowing I was safest in my closet with my taser and pepper spray. Fumbling for them, I held them close, even with the lack of feeling in my hands. I had to stay focused, had to protect myself until the end.

Throughout my childhood, when my parents spoke of my accomplishments as if they were failures, I learned to keep trying, to be better, to be enough, and although hiding in my closet from armed men was different, it had the same aftertaste. The same fear and bitter sting of forewarning: tears were on the way. But tears were punishable, and it wasn’t brave to cry. It was childish, just like the color pink, and with my taser and pepper spray, I refused to cry in my pink bedroom.

They pick-locked my door; I heard them approaching, more than two of them now. Jungkook’s security would be here soon. I had to be patient. I had to protect myself; I always had to protect myself, but this time, I had failed. I didn’t check under my bed enough times or in the closets—this was my punishment. I failed, I failed, I failed.

“Luetta.” A gentle knock on my door startled me. “I’m here.”

The clothes in my closet were suffocating me. “Jungkook?”

“I’m here.” His tone was rough but level. “My men are checking the area, but we took care of the men who tried to break into your apartment.”

“Took care of them?” I managed.

“We disarmed them. They’re being held until the police arrive.” His voice was quiet. Gentle, like it had been at the grocery store before I’d ruined it. “Can you open the door for me?”

“No,” I heard myself say. “I’m in my closet where it’s safe.”

“I know. It’s good to be where it’s safe.” His hand settled on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it. He waited. For me. “You called me for a reason. Do you remember that reason?

“To be safe?” I whispered.

“That’s right.” His voice was steady. Calm. “I won’t leave until that reason has been completed.”

Something drew me toward the steadiness he exuded, something firm and grounded. Something I needed—something that wouldn’t leave. With shaking limbs, I battled with my closet doors before winning, opening them, and stepping out.

Fumbling with my dresser after placing my two weapons above it, I tugged and tugged until I pulled it back. Once it was far away enough, I grabbed my two weapons, hesitated, and unlocked my door.

I looked up at Jungkook as he looked down at me.

“There you are,” he said huskily, his expression a stark contrast to the calmness of his voice. Taut and lined, his features were set with a building anger. I didn’t get a chance to further evaluate when he leaned down, diminishing the height between us.

His eyes flickered to my weapons. “Your pepper spray and taser. Very good.”

Even in my current state, the praise settled me and spread like wildfire. “I have them. I was going to use them if I needed to. But I was hiding in the closet.”

“I know you were.” His forehead pinched, and he loosed a breath as his eyes took me in as quickly as they could. “No one’s in your apartment. My men did a sweep, and like I said before, the two men who tried breaking in are in our custody until the police arrive.”

It’s then that I noticed three men behind Jungkook, and I jolted back. He followed my gaze to them, and with a quick, subtle flick of his fingers, the men walked into my living room, out of sight.

“You’re safe.” Jungkook looked at me intently, dipping his chin to solidify his words. “Even if you don’t feel that way yet. Your body will catch up to your mind. Yes?”

“Yes,” I echoed quietly.

“Good,” he murmured.

He readjusted slightly, causing his foot to shift back, and out of sheer panic, I blurted, “Don’t leave me.”

His features were cinched at the corners, and he immediately reinstated the lost inch between us. “I won’t.”

A breath shuddered out of me. Everything had been building, no longer having an exact starting point. My throat closed up, I couldn’t stop shaking my head, and the pressure I had around my two weapons could’ve caused damage.

“Luetta.” His voice brought me back. “Would you like me to stay?”

“No,” I breathed out. “No, not—no, not here. I didn’t count enough, so something bad could happen, and I didn’t check the closets and under the beds, or if the doors were locked enough times, so it’s not safe here. I—I messed it all up.”

“All right.” He held his hand out to me, palm up. Noting my confused, deterred expression, he said firmly, “We’ll leave and find somewhere safe.”

Hope clogged my throat. “We will?”

“We will.”

My hand flew into his. “Where?”

His thumb soothed over the top of my hand, the touch fleeting. “My apartment has a guest room, and we will make it up for you. I’ll send one of my men there, and you and I can sit in my car in the AC and catch our breaths. How does that sound?”

“My…things.” I chewed my lip, feeling myself slip into a dissociative state, similar to the ones during phone calls with my parents. My legs felt like lead when I tried to move, tried to reach my bed, where my comfort was: my stuffed animals.

Jungkook caught on. “We’ll take them with us.”

I tried to calm myself down. “They’re not childish. Pink isn’t childish. My room is good, and it’s the safest room here. It kept me safe.”

“Pink is just a color, your room kept you safe, and we’re taking your things with us. They,” he confirmed, “are not childish.”

I eyed him suspiciously, not fully trusting him, but the thought of spending my night here alone after the close call was enough for me to nod.

He squeezed my hand, the lightest touch. “Can my men come collect your things?”

“Not my stuffed animals. I don’t want them to touch them because they’re dirty.” My face burned with shame, and my voice broke as I tried to explain my muddled thoughts. “Your men’s hands are dirty because they touched things outside, and my stuffed animals are inside things, meaning they’re clean. No, they—no, your men can’t.”

“We’ll bring sanitary bags. They’re unopened, still in the original packaging.”

I hesitated, then conceded. “Okay, but I have to put them in the bag.”

He clicked his tongue, and startled, I looked at him with confusion. He shook his head slightly, softening his tone when speaking to me. “That wasn’t for you.” Still unsure, it only made sense when his three men appeared, heeding his call: the click of his tongue. “Bring the sanitary bags in here. We’re taking her to my apartment. Do not touch her things. Am I understood?”

Silent and quick agreement followed, and his men dispersed to do his bidding.

His attention was fixed on me, keeping my hand in his as I swallowed as much air as I could, pushing past the lump in my throat to do so. Counting and counting, breaking off in my mind when it felt like it wouldn’t make a difference. The compulsions shoved me face-first into continuing them, but exhaustion fought back, leaving me stagnant.

When Jungkook’s men returned, they relinquished the bags to Jungkook, who gave them to me. With his hand still in mine, I stepped forward and collected my stuffed animals, numb and teetering with each step.

Once I finished, I tied the bag, ensured touching my stuffed animals was impossible, and gave the bag to Jungkook. He carried it with ease, dipping his face to mine, minimal space between us. “Is there anything else you would like to take with you?”

I shook my head.

He assessed. “Are you ready to go breathe in my car’s AC?”

I agreed, and he took me there, helping me take each fearful step to the parking lot. I rushed into the backseat, further from the windows that could be shot through, and curled up to avoid being shot at—just in case.

Jungkook didn’t question my actions. He ensured the AC vents were pointed towards me, locked the doors, and instructed, “Put the seatbelt on.”

“I can’t.”

“You can continue lying down, but put the seatbelt on.”

“I—”

“Luetta. Seatbelt.”

I clicked the seatbelt on and closed my eyes fitfully, wishing and wishing that tonight had never happened.

My stomach was in knots when we arrived at his apartment complex, but we remained in the car until a few of his men, not the ones speaking with the police officers who had just arrived, notified him of the guest room’s readiness. When he told me this, he added, “No one is in my apartment or the guest room you’ll stay in. You can sleep; it will be quiet, and I have safety measures in place.”

“Safety measures?” I could barely hear myself. But he did. He heard me.

“I have security cameras, a deadbolt along with other locks, and an alert that will have the police in my house in five minutes if someone trips it. You’ll be safe here.”

I blinked at him groggily. “Are you scared of the night, too?”

He removed the keys from the ignition. “Are you ready to go inside?”

I looked at his hand as we walked out of the parking garage. His strides matched mine, ensuring it always did, even if I fell behind due to exhaustion.

In his apartment, he walked me through every lock, latch, and security system on our way to the guest room. Mindlessly, I checked under the bed and in the closet three times each. I looked back to see him watching me. As shame slithered up the back of my neck, my feet took me backward when he stepped forward.

Lowering his height, he dipped his head to the side, checked under my bed three times, and did the same for the closet. “Safe,” he concluded.

“Safe,” I echoed, tried to sit on the bed, then realized I was in my pajamas, which were now unsafe since they were in my unsafe apartment. Instead, I awkwardly fell on my knees. “I’m in dirty clothes.”

He sat close enough to give me space, but not far enough for me to feel alone. “Would you be comfortable wearing a pair of my clothes?”

Worry amplified my anxious tapping. “Are they clean?”

“My clothes are still in the dryer from the wash this morning. Would you like to pick something?”

I followed him into the laundry room, spacious and clean. The smell of pine and fabric softener filled my senses, and I inhaled greedily, focusing on my clothing options. I settled on a large T-shirt and sweatpants, taking them into a bathroom he guided me to, so I could change. Once I finished, I washed my hands, stepped out, and left my contaminated pajamas on the floor.

“I can’t pick them up,” I told him. “And you can’t either. Not yet. It will…be safe tomorrow.” I stood beside him awkwardly. “Can you close the bathroom door? I can’t touch the doorknob because it’s…contaminated,” I whispered.

He closed the door. “Would you like water before bed?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Tea?”

I sat at his kitchen table as chamomile tea warmed my stomach. “Thank you,” I said quietly, his back to me as he filled the tea kettle with soap and water to soak overnight. “For the tea, and the clothes, and…for answering the phone.”

“You called.” He turned the faucet off. Gently tugging a cloth from the counter, he dried his hands and met my eye. “I assumed it was important.” He exhaled slowly, and the anger he so carefully tucked away earlier made an appearance. “It was.”

“Yeah.” I let the tea’s steam circulate my face. “Are you okay? I…I didn’t think you would come because it was so late. I thought you would send security guards. You must be tired.”

“You called,” he said as if it were an answer. Maybe it was. Maybe I was too tired to decipher it.

He folded the cloth back into place. “How is your tea?”

“It’s good.” I held the cup tighter. “I’m…tired.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah?” he murmured.

My body and mind melted. “Yeah.”

He tilted his head in the direction of the guest room. Once inside, it smelled clean, like the rest of his house, and it made me feel better. Perched on the bed, my posture hunched as I took deep breaths.

“Is everything in here to your liking?” he asked.

“Your men cleaned it.”

“They did.”

I nodded slowly, relieved. “They did.”

“They did.”

Three times. I toppled back into the pillows, too tired to do anything else. “I’m tired.”

“You can sleep. Would you like me to lock the door?” He demonstrated how it was possible to lock it from the inside and still be able to close the door behind him. “Or would you like to?”

I nibbled my lip as my eyes drooped. “Not…yet.” I shuffled beneath the blankets, pulling them up to my chin. They smelled so nice, so clean. “Please.”

He released the doorknob. “Take your time.”

I was losing myself to sleep; I could feel it. I wasn’t sure how much time passed before a plea slipped past my parted lips. “Don’t go.”

“I’m right here, Luetta.”

The bliss only sleep could bring washed over me. Soon, OCD wouldn’t torment me. In my dreams, I was free. I felt myself smiling as I fell asleep, comforted by the knowledge of Jungkook’s presence.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

I woke with a start, breathing heavily as I grew accustomed to my surroundings.

Last night came flooding in, sending me into a flurried panic. Harsh knocks on my door, two men promising violence against me, and it all happened because I didn’t follow through with my compulsions, but—

My nose twitched, and I looked down at the striped sheets and baby blue comforter. It pressed an amazing amount of pressure against my chest, allowing me to take a deep breath. The familiar smell of mold and rusted pipes within the walls were nowhere to be found. Instead, it was replaced with the smell of clean sheets, the gentle flow of an AC, and a pleasant cologne.

Wiping my eyes drowsily, I lifted my head above the plush pillows, startled at the lack of pink surrounding me, but the sight of my surrounding stuffed animals eased my panic. Grabbing my stuffed bear in a jester outfit, I clutched his paw for support, at a loss for words when I saw something rather important in the corner of the room: Jungkook.

He sat on the dark blue couch, his arms folded across his chest as he slept. He was shivering slightly from the AC, and he twitched in his sleep, especially his nose. I watched him in dumbstruck silence before sitting up.

“Jungkook?” I whispered.

He slept on.

After a moment’s thought, I left the room with determination, leaving my stuffed bear on the clean bed. Entering the kitchen, I washed my hands and set to work. New things were automatically dirty or contaminated, but if I didn’t touch anything on my body when using them, washing my hands afterward would be enough to keep me clean. With this in mind, I scrounged around the kitchen cabinets for breakfast ingredients.

Jungkook helped me last night, giving me a safe and clean place to sleep. Making breakfast was the least I could do.

I wasn’t good at making coffee, but he had an espresso machine, meaning he must’ve liked it, so I tried my hand at it. I’d watched my father do it in the morning, peeking into the kitchen while he and Keaton talked. Sifting through the memories of the tidbits I caught of their coffee-making, I put it into action.

Grabbing the prettiest mug with a luscious brown design, I decided he liked hot coffee because he liked hot tea. Pouring the espresso into the mug, then the milk, I stared at it for a while, unsure of what I had made. I wondered when Jungkook would wake up—and if his coffee would be more on the iced side by then.

Unsure, I yelped when I realized I’d left the pancakes unattended for too long, hurrying to toss the burnt ones in the trash. Starting on a new batch, I had a few ready by the time Jungkook’s gravelly morning voice appeared.

“Good morning.”

Shivers tore through me, the very sound of his voice rattling my bones. “Jungkook.” I turned quickly enough to send batter sticking to the fridge. “Sorry, I’ll—sorry. I’ll clean that up. How did you sleep?” I gestured to the cold coffee—and the matching cup for me. “I made coffee. I didn’t know how you liked it, and I’ve never made coffee before, so you don’t have to have it.” The spatula dripped batter onto the floor. “I’ll clean that up, too.” I pointed to the skillet. “I’m making pancakes.”

He stepped forward, and I realized he was wearing slippers, softening his step. “You’ve been…” His attention fell on the trash can. “Busy.”

“Oh, yeah, you—actually, you don’t need to look in there.”

He stepped on the trashcan’s pedal, causing it to open and reveal a stack of burned pancakes. His lips tugged. “How did this happen?”

“I was making espresso.” I held my chin high to deter embarrassment, my method only slightly working. “I was busy.”

He stepped away from the trash can, expertly avoiding the pancake batter painting his floor. “The surviving pancakes smell wonderful.”

“They do?” Pleasantly surprised, I nodded. “Thank you. How about the coffee?”

“They smell wonderful as well.” He glanced at the two mugs. “Which is mine? I’ll embark on a taste test.”

“Embark, please. The brown mug is yours.” I waited anxiously, this time remembering to flip the pancakes.

He sipped the coffee. “Hm.” His tongue swiped over his lips, his throat constricting and relaxing as he swallowed. “Iced coffee without the ice. Lovely.”

I was burned alive in that very spot. “I can add ice.”

“No, I prefer cold coffee without ice. Room temperature coffee is my favorite.”

Slightly deflated, I nodded. “The pancakes will be warm.”

“Luetta.”

I glanced at him. “You don’t want pancakes anymore?”

“I like the coffee, and I’ll like the pancakes.” He grabbed a paper towel and a cleaning solution from beneath the sink. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do either.”

“Don’t clean up,” I demanded, pointing the spatula at him in warning, which only made more batter fall. “It’s my mess.”

“I’m perfectly capable of cleaning pancake batter from my floor, but thank you for your concern.” He stood after his quick cleaning, stopping by the fridge to clean it, too. “Shall I…” He cleared his throat. “Set the table?”

I nodded, slightly dazed. “Okay.”

He set the table while I finished breakfast. The plate I chose was stacked with pancakes, and I placed it in the middle of his table. He brought our coffee to the table along with syrup and the fruit I cut up, and we sat to eat.

I nibbled a strawberry. “Do you like the pancakes?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m currently ravishing a blueberry.”

I giggled, surprising myself—and him, by the looks of it. A slow smile graced his lips, and finishing the blueberry, he picked up his knife and fork.

“This is the moment,” he said. “To see if this pancake is as good as the coffee.”

“Better, hopefully.”

He chewed slowly, taking his time. “Hm.”

“Hm…?”

He sliced the pancake for another bite. “It’s wonderful.”

My shoulders sagged with relief. “Wonderful.”

“Wonderful.” He lifted the syrup and held his hand out for my plate. I eased it toward him, thanking him when he poured a drop of syrup on the side. “I haven’t had breakfast in some time. This is…” His hand encircled his mug. “Pleasant,” he decided, nodded, and repeated, “Pleasant.”

“Pleasant,” I finished.

We ate in silence for a minute.

“Jungkook?”

“I’m listening.”

My heart thumped faster. “Thank you for last night. I…I know I was acting crazy, and I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I know making breakfast won’t make up for it or be a proper thank you for your help, but I hope it’s still pleasant, like you said.”

His knife paused mid-slice. “You weren’t acting crazy.”

“Yes, I was.”

“No.” He set his fork down. “You were not. You were frightened, and you did what you needed to regulate and feel safe. That’s not crazy, that’s smart.”

“That’s—” My brows pinched together, and my voice quieted significantly. “Smart?”

“It is.” He cocked his head. “You were protecting yourself. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I…” You never listened, talking to yourself like you were crazy, Luetta. You are on your way to a dark eternity. “I don’t see it as smart.”

“What you do is a pattern, correct?”

I agreed carefully, treading a very thin line.

He continued, “You believe that by completing certain patterns, you’ll receive a certain outcome.”

I paled. “I…”

“You’ve felt out of control, so this helps you feel in control.”

My fork shook in my grip, so I put it down. “Why are you saying all of this?”

“I want to understand.”

Confusion faltered the building humiliation. “Why?”

“Understanding will help you feel less alone. It has done the same for me.”

“Do you…feel like this, too? Out of control?”

For a moment, his eyes grew distant like at the grocery store, but soon, they cleared. He released a strained breath. “Yes.”

“Is that why you have so many security measures in your apartment?” I asked carefully, not wanting to scare him.

“Security measures are smart, and I work in security. I know what I’m up against.”

I nodded slowly, detecting the dismissive answer. “Okay.”

He straightened in his seat. “We have work in two hours, and we still need to discuss your living arrangements.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Your apartment clearly isn’t safe. While I know that you can’t currently afford a down payment for another apartment, you’ll be able to after working at my company for a month.”

“I know,” I agreed. “So I’ll stay at my apartment until I save up, and—”

“No.”

“Then where will I stay?” I asked, flabbergasted. “I can’t be homeless, Jungkook, that’s worse.”

“That is simple.” He sipped his cold coffee. “You will stay here.”

I almost choked. “What?”

“I do not stutter. You will remain here in the guest room until you save up for a safer apartment.”

“Jungkook, I can’t stay here.”

He frowned. “Why can’t you stay here? What is wrong with here?”

“Nothing’s wrong with here, but Jungkook, we barely know each other,” I stressed my point. “You’re my boss.”

“And you’re not safe. Until you are, you will remain here. That will be in about a month.” He set his cup down. “Yes?”

My tongue fought against the prompt, wanting to simply agree, but it wasn’t that simple. Right? “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

“You need a place to stay, and I have a place you can stay. It is simple.”

I simply stared at him. “You’re my boss.”

“I am. But I met you at a bar first, where we spoke. Then we met again before you worked for me. Does that not make a difference?”

“No?”

“It’s your decision.” He picked his knife and fork back up. “We’ll eat breakfast and go to work. Take your time to think about it, but for tonight, at least, take the guest room. Last night was rattling.”

“Okay,” I rasped, only because of how much last night had rattled me. “Tonight, I’ll stay. I…I don’t know about a month.”

“You can stay here until you make a decision.”

My eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re doing.”

He breathed deeply, his jaw clenching slightly as his chewing paused. “What am I doing, Luetta?”

I tried and failed to stop his appearance from flustering me. “If I take too long to think about it,” I explained, expertly avoiding eye contact to keep my cool, “I’ll just stay here until I have enough money for a new apartment.”

“Very smart.”

“Thank you. I mean, no!” I snapped, discomposed. “Stop it.”

“Stopping.” He paused. “I do have to say something, however.”

I looked at him wearily. “What?”

“This breakfast truly is wonderful.”

I brushed him off with an incoherent response, busying myself with stuffing my face with strawberries that matched the color of my cheeks.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

My team made the day go by quicker, their help and kindness making things smoother, and by the end of the day, I felt an inch lighter.

“Do you want to get dinner with us?” Pat asked me as we shut our stations down. He and I had watched Law & Order during a break. Although I hadn’t liked it, I promised to try again tomorrow.

Wilden chimed in, “We’re going to karaoke after. The pipes I have on me? Insane. That’s all I can say.”

Kiera rolled her eyes and threw a pencil at him. “Close your station.”

“Close your mouth,” Wilden said bravely, shrieking with laughter when Kiera charged at him.

Makaio packed his bag, ignoring the chaos around him. “I’ll be at the restaurant.”

“Wait,” Pat said hurriedly. “We don’t know if Luetta’s joining us.”

“Oh.” I frowned. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?” he wondered. “Different plans?”

“I think so. I’m…yeah.” I grabbed my phone. “I’m meeting with someone.”

Makaio walked to the door. “You don’t sound sure.”

“I am. I’m sure.” I checked my phone for a text from Jungkook. Nothing yet. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can have dinner another time, if that’s okay?”

“Sure, yeah!” Pat said agreeably. “Right, guys?”

“Right,” everyone concurred, Wilden and Kiera still very involved in their tousle.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully. “I hope you have a nice dinner.”

“I hope you have a nice time meeting with whoever you’re meeting with.” He showed me a thumbs-up. “See you tomorrow! Oh! And you’re doing a great job, by the way. I know I tell you that a lot, but I mean it.” He smiled widely. “You’re awesome.”

Relief hit me square in the chest. Too many times today, I’d second-guessed my skills because of past managers and co-workers belittling me, but my new team was the complete opposite. “Thanks, Pat.” I smiled and returned his thumbs-up. “You’re awesome, too.”

“Oh, thanks!” he replied, a blush rising to his cheeks. “That’s kind of you.”

I waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He waved, and as I called my goodbyes to Kiera and Wilden, I joined Makaio in the elevator.

He pressed the lobby button. “Who are you waiting for?”

“What?”

“In the past hour, you’ve checked your phone five times every five minutes.”

I blanked, slightly perturbed. “It’s…someone.”

“I figured.” He set me with a look. “They’re making you nervous. Is it your friend Luvandor?”

I shook my head rapidly. “No, of course not.”

“He’s your only friend. Is someone bothering you? Your family?”

“No, it’s…no. I haven’t talked to them since…you know.”

“You can always change your number if someone’s bothering you,” he told me sternly.

“No, it’s not like that. Really. It’s fine. I’m waiting on someone for a ride.”

“I don’t believe you, but then again, I’m too hungry to care and too tired to press the topic.” The elevators dinged open. “Goodnight.”

I waved to his retreating form as I followed him into the lobby. “Goodnight.”

I waited in the lobby, slowly gravitating toward Morwenna. It took me a few minutes to garner the courage to say hello, but when I did, she whipped toward me and beamed. “Hey, Luetta! How’s accounting treating you? How’ve you been?” She laughed. “I’ve been so lost in work that I forgot to ask!”

“Oh, no, you didn’t have to ask. I’m sure you’re busy.” I settled closer to her desk. “Accounting’s being very helpful and kind.”

“Great! They’re a good bunch. Love those guys!” Her fingers flew away on the computer in front of her. “Just sorting through the last bit of emails, then I’m clocking out! Any plans for tonight?”

“I’m just waiting on my ride.” I looked at the elevator, waiting for Jungkook’s appearance. My stomach flipped eagerly. “What about you?”

“Relaxation, girl! I’m tired.” She laughed. “My husband has food in the crockpot, and we’re going to dig in and have a movie night.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It does!”

The elevator dinged, and there he was. My ride.

Jungkook, with his briefcase in hand, was the essence of a businessman. Radiating power and efficiency, he walked to us, looking straight at me.

“Hey, Mr. Jeon,” Morwenna greeted cheerily. “How was your day?”

“It was good, thank you.” He stopped beside me, our eye contact intense and unrelenting. “I hope the same can be said for yours, Morwenna.”

“Good and busy! Ready to go home.”

“As am I.” His eyes flickered toward the doors: a silent question. Ready?

I nodded subtly. Ready.

He dipped his chin and pivoted. “Goodnight, Morwenna. Say hello to Elian for me.”

“The hubby will say hi back!” she responded. “Goodnight!”

I walked with him, and once outside, he exhaled deeply. “How are you?”

His full attention. Dizzying. “Fine. You?”

“Also fine.” We walked to his car. “Do you feel hungry?”

“A little.”

“Do you like steak?”

He held the passenger door open for me. I duly ignored the fluttering in my chest. “Do you know how to cook it?”

“No, I eat it raw.” He was smiling when I looked at him. “Do you know how to make mashed potatoes?”

“No, I eat them raw and enjoy the potential food poisoning.”

“Wonderful.” He closed the door and rounded the car to the driver’s seat.

Our banter filled my head with sated enjoyment, the occasional glee seeping through only to be stomped out by the fear that all good things disappeared.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

Dinner was a disaster. A thrilling, intoxicating disaster.

Potato skins lined the floor from my lack of potato peeling skills, the steak was still pink in the middle, no matter how many different positions Jungkook maneuvered it in, and although the asparagus heads were burnt, the stalks were raw.

We ended up eating cereal. It matched the color in his apartment, those fruit loops. They painted the milk with color, and I thoroughly enjoyed the twinge of pink it caused.

“We had breakfast twice today,” I pointed out, the stove fan circulating to alleviate the burnt smell. It was working slowly, but it reminded me of our shared smiles during our shared disaster. Something shared, something real. Together.

“That we did,” he agreed. It was almost strange to see someone so professional trade his pristine suits for jogging pants and a t-shirt. He looked warm and comfortable, even with the usual concentrated and intense look in his eye. “Luetta.”

I sipped the milk from my spoon. “Yeah?”

“Have you spoken to Luvandor?”

“Yeah, I texted him good morning.”

He scrutinized my expression. “Last night, you said he was far away. Did something happen between you?”

“Of course not,” I defended his honor. “He was hours away at a convention. He’s not gone forever, but when I was scared last night, my words just came out all…wrong.”

“Ah.” He pushed his bowl aside, finished. “I’m glad to hear everything is fine.”

“Yeah, it is. Why do you ask?”

“You seem close.”

“You’ve never seen us together,” I responded, confused.

“The way you speak of him conveys the care.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, of course. I care about him a lot.”

He fiddled with his spoon. “Are you and he…” His throat bobbed. “Romantically invested?”

I choked on my cereal.

Quickly leaning over the table, his hand reached forward, skimming the surface. “Are you all right?”

I remembered the warmth of his hand while I caught my breath, making me choke harder. Rubbing my throat to alleviate tension, I managed to catch my breath—but not my bearings. “I’m fine.”

His brows furrowed. “You were choking.”

“I’m not anymore.” When he remained motionless, I repeated, “I’m fine.”

He slowly returned to his seat. “All right.”

I pushed my bowl away, eyeing the milk I choked on. “Luvandor and I aren’t dating or, like you said, romantically invested.” I scrunched my nose. “Who even says romantically invested?”

“I do.”

“Well, we’re not. Romantically invested, I mean. I’m not…that with anyone.”

“Define that.”

I shoved an upcoming groan of embarrassment down my throat, unwilling to release it. “Romantically invested. It’s just me.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, you do, because I just told you.” We stared anywhere but at each other. Within the silence and lingering burnt smell, I found enough stupidity to ask, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

I rubbed the side of my face, hiding half of it with my hand. “Are you romantically invested in anyone?”

“No.”

“Oh.” My stomach flipped for reasons I didn’t understand. “We’re both single.”

“Good job using your observation skills.”

“Thank you—I mean, whatever.” I stood with my cereal bowl. “Your sarcasm doesn’t affect me.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” I confirmed pointedly.

Washing my dish, I watched him approach from my peripheral vision. Together, we washed our dishes. When we finished, he dried his hands idly. “Do you retire early?” he questioned. I looked around his apartment, and he followed my eye curiously. “What are you attempting to locate?”

“You’re well off,” I stated.

“I…am.”

“Do you pay for a translator? Is he here?” I pushed onto my tip toes and opened a kitchen cabinet. “Hello? Translator? Can you act as a thesaurus and give Jungkook easier ways to say words? What’s that?” I cupped my hand over my ear, leaning closer to the cabinet. “Jungkook, your translator offers two examples: “Do you sleep early?” and “What are you looking for?” Keep that in mind.”

I lowered onto the balls of my feet, losing my balance, but he was quick. Wrapping his arm around me, he brought my back to his chest, lifting me with ease until my surprised squirming stilled.

His breath was warm against my ear. “Do you see how dangerous it is to speak to my translator?” Carefully setting me on my feet, he stepped forward and closed the cabinets. “That is why he remains in there. He’s rather troublesome.”

My breath came in sharp pants. “I didn’t know that.”

“I know you didn’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have risked finding him.” He returned to me, checking my facial expression. “Are you all right after your sudden scare?”

“I wasn’t scared,” I declared.

“Ah. Your quick pulse steered me wrong?”

I hurried back to the cabinet. “I need to talk to your translator again.”

A low laugh rumbled deep in his chest, and when I pushed onto my tiptoes, he held my waist, keeping me steady. Lifting above my head, he opened the cabinet. “Go ahead. He’s listening.”

I began to speak before I paused. “Does he have a name?”

“His name is whatever you decide.”

I swallowed. “Um…Fernando.”

“Hm.”

“Do not hum contemplatively at me.” I straightened my spine. “Fernando, escape when you can. I’ll leave the cabinet open for you.” I slowly tilted my head back to look at Jungkook, noting his amused expression. “Okay, that’s all I wanted to say.”

I stood normally once more, and his hands lingered momentarily before releasing me.

“Do you normally speak to imaginary cabinet people?” he inquired.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” I marched to the end of the kitchen. “And to answer your question, I don’t sleep early. I have…a routine.”

“Do tell.”

“You first.”

He leaned comfortably against his kitchen island. “I shower, brush my teeth, and read in my living room. Then, I sleep.”

“What do you read? A dictionary?”

“Only on the weekends.”

I started to smile. “What other books do you read?”

“I have bookshelves, if you would like to take a look.” He regarded me inquisitively.

Intrigue pulled at me. “Where is it?”

In a lounge area with a warm color scheme and an armchair, bookshelves lined the walls. Wonder filled my eyes. “This is all yours?”

“As you put it, I’m well off.”

“Yeah, but this is…well off.” I took an aborted step, turning to him with a quick eagerness that felt intensely foreign. “Am I allowed to touch?”

“You’re allowed to touch.”

His permission kick-started me, and I hurried across the lush rug to reach the first bookshelf. Each shelf was color-coded when needed, but it still managed to be alphabetically organized. The brighter colors caught my eye, and I settled on a pink book. I glanced at him questioningly, and when he dipped his chin, I gingerly pulled it free.

Leafing through the pages, the inked words, the book smell, and the summary called to me. Books had been a great companion growing up, but during OCD flare-ups, the enjoyment was crushed. I would re-read certain parts, trace certain letters until it felt right enough to stop, and skip over “unsafe” letters. Despite this, my question left me, containing an eager wisp. “Can I join your routine?”

He was closer; I hadn’t heard him step across the carpet. “My routine?”

“You shower, brush your teeth, and read in the living room.” I paused and blurted, “Only the reading part.”

“You don’t want to shower? The guest bathroom is open to you.”

“I meant together,” I tried to explain, only digging myself into a bigger hole. “I don’t want to shower together.”

“I never offered that option.”

“Sorry, I—sorry, I got excited, and my words messed up, but I didn’t mean…” I trailed off, and the sudden rush of dopamine fell flat, leaving a pit in my stomach. “Sorry.” I put the book back. “I’ll do my routine. It’s…I just do it later at night, right when I’m about to go to bed, and it’s different than yours.” I stopped talking. “Sorry.”

He retrieved the pink book. “We’ll shower. Separately,” he added, making me blush. “Brush our teeth, also separately, then we’ll read in the living room. Together. Yes?”

My shoulders drooped. “Yes.”

“I’ll bring your book to the living room. How about we meet there in half an hour?”

“Half an hour.”

“Half an hour,” he confirmed.

My smile fought to return. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you then.”

The guest bathroom was clean, but new showers and bathtubs always triggered my OCD. What if it wasn’t clean enough? What if the grime sank into my feet? Bathtub/shower mats were lifesavers, but this shower didn’t have one. It was between not showering after a day of work or braving this new shower. I chose the latter.

On my tiptoes, I hurried to wash myself with an unopened bar of soap, finished off by cleaning my feet, and hopped out to dry off. In a new pair of lounge clothes Jungkook offered me before he showered, I dressed, brushed my teeth, and entered the living room. I would ask him where the hamper was later, but the clothes I’d worn were contaminated, so I couldn’t pick them up just yet.

Jungkook was still in his bathroom, so I decided to make tea for us. Choosing chamomile, the tea kettle whistled when he appeared. Drying his hair with a towel, his lips tugged when he saw me working diligently.

“Tea,” he commented.

“Chamomile. You like honey, right?”

“And you like sugar.”

“And lemon,” I agreed. “Just a little.”

On opposite ends of his couch, each of us favoring the armrests, we sipped our tea and read. I kept stealing glances at him between pages, but eventually, I lost myself to the book. For some reason, with the safety measures his apartment had and him a few feet from me, someone who had come when I called and taken me out of a dangerous situation, my OCD when reading calmed down enough for it to be enjoyable.

The lamp on the side table lit our surroundings with a gentle, warm glow, and I sank further into the couch with every passing minute. There was no real routine for me to follow in his apartment. The door was locked, it had been since we returned from work, and I wasn’t in the guest room yet. All I had to do with check beneath the bed and closet three times each, unless three times felt like it wasn’t secure enough. As far as the rest of the house went, it was his to protect, not mine, and my OCD strayed to what was mine to protect: the guest room. It was a relief, making his proposition to stay for a month sound less incredulous.

Resting my head on the couch’s armrest, I turned page after page, delving into the characters’ stories, troubles, and developments. It gave me a break from my life to focus on theirs, and a tired smile sat on my lips as I read. However, when the book slipped from my fingers some time later, I gasped.

“Luetta?” Jungkook asked, breaking through the peaceful silence. He awaited an explanation, and when he received it in the form of a yawn, his brows eased back into a neutral position. “Are you tired?”

“No.” If I kept reading, I could stave off my routine. I could stay in this bliss for longer. “I’m not tired.” I retrieved the book and curled into myself. “I’m just taking a break.”

“Of course.” He leaned across the couch and resituated my tea further away from me, taking away the chances of a possible spill. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“I won’t.” I twitched as sleep remained close to the border. Suddenly, I blurted, “Jungkook, the door.”

“What about the door?” he asked calmly, propping his book on his thighs.

“Is it locked?”

“It is.” He effortlessly crossed one leg over the other. “The cameras are on, and so is the alarm.”

He said it was locked, and that was part of his territory, not mine. I didn’t need to check; I could keep taking a break. Still, I took a peek over the couch to ensure the doors were locked. I blinked three times, each time checking if it was locked, and returned my head to rest.

“It’s locked,” I informed him.

“Thank you for checking.”

I smiled to myself, shimmying closer to the couch’s edge. “Yeah.”

The pages of his book rustled, following his deep, steady exhales, and the smell of chamomile pleasantly wafted in the air. The plush couch cushions, easily sinkable, bore a hint of his cologne, most likely from a previous night. Nestling my nose into them, I sniffed tentatively, and when I earned his cologne as a reward, my eyes fluttered to a close.

I wouldn’t sleep; I would only take a break from reading. I repeated my plan until everything else but the present moment faded away, darkness blooming behind my eyelids, dim satisfaction blossoming in my gut, and waves of exhaustion gently nudging me to sleep until a part of me gave in.

Chapter Text

In the morning, I clutched the throw blanket that had settled around me. Taking my time waking up, I practiced deep breaths and enjoyed knowing it was Saturday. I could see Luvandor today, maybe go to the farmer’s market with him, and catch him up on everything.

Settling further into the couch with resolve, I yelped when something brushed my feet. Lifting my face with rapid, drowsy blinks, I saw Jungkook on the other end of the couch. Leaning back with his arms crossed and thighs slightly spread, he breathed deeply during his sleep. He didn’t have a blanket, and looking down at mine, I recalled him using it last night. An unfamiliar warmth tugged at my chest, and I held the borrowed blankets tighter.

What did he do on Saturdays? Did he have an early coffee, or did he sleep in and go out for brunch? Did he read magazines and do the crossword puzzles on the front page?

Sitting up, I shifted closer and carefully pulled the blankets around him. My agility was lacking, and he woke up within the second, catching my wrist and tugging me forward. A quiet gasp flew past my parted lips, my eyes wide when they looked at him for answers.

“Luetta.” His morning voice was deep, almost a growl. “What are you doing?”

My breath hitched. “Giving you blankets.”

“Giving me…” He looked down at where the blankets were half strewn across his chest and on the floor. Wiping his hand over his face tiredly, my captured hand went with his, feeling his light stubble. Startled, he released my hand when he realized, rumbling an apology as he shifted away from me.

Grabbing the blanket, he tossed it over himself, lay his head on the armrest, and covered his head with the blanket. Only a peak of his hair could be seen.

Unsure how I was still breathing, I took a moment to remember how to function.

The sun streamed in through the windows, slightly muted by the drawn curtains, and he released a muffled groan. The rasp it contained made me shiver.

“Jungkook,” I tried.

He tugged the blankets so far over his head that they uncovered his feet.

“Jungkook,” I tried again. “What do you do on Saturdays?”

“Sleep,” he said through his teeth.

I wiped my eyes and left the couch. “Okay.” I walked backward toward the kitchen. “I’ll probably be back around dinner time, okay?”

His head popped up, the blankets falling around him. He was more awake than before, his eyes sharper and more alert. “Where are you going?”

“To see Luvandor. I’ll stay at the boutique with him for a while, then we’ll go to the coffee shop next door, walk around town, and stop by the farmer’s market. It’s what we always do on Saturdays, even though we do that on other days sometimes.”

He sat upright, braced himself on his thighs, and stood. He walked to me in silence, his sock-padded feet quietly stealing across the floor until he was right in front of me. His eyes were softer in the mornings, their intensity slightly dimmed, and I felt myself take a step closer. He took this in, his eyes flitting to mine in question. I couldn’t answer; I didn’t know how.

In his kitchen, inches apart from each other as birds sang their morning greeting, he broke the silence. “What roast does Luvandor prefer?”

My thought skittered, stumbled, and stopped. “What?”

“Coffee roast. Light, medium, or dark?”

“I’m not…following.”

“You mentioned you will get coffee together, so I assume he likes coffee.” He arched a brow. “Does he make coffee at his residence?”

“Yeah, he—yeah.” I nodded. “He likes a dark roast. French dark roast.”

He passed by me to open a kitchen cabinet, revealing rows of coffee bags. Sorting through them, he claimed a French dark roast. Setting it on the counter, he turned to me. “When do we leave?”

“We?”

“You said you will inform Luvandor of your current situation, and he might have concerns about your safety. Meeting him might ease that, and as it stands, I would like to meet him.”

“Why?” I asked, whiplashed.

“Because he is important to you.”

Still not understanding, I just nodded, baffled. “Well, okay. Are you going to leave a little while after meeting him?”

“No.”

“…no?”

“I want to meet him properly, Luetta,” he spoke firmly. “A few minutes isn’t adequate.” He leaned down to create level eye contact, something that never failed to ignite something buried deep inside of me. “Is that all right with you?”

I nodded.

“Yes or no, Luetta.”

“Yes,” I said quickly, blinking in the same manner.

“Thank you.” Lifting himself, he nodded as if sealing our plan. “When do we leave?”

“After we get ready.”

“All right.” He ran his hand through his mussed hair. Sleep made him look so soft. “I will dress.”

Finding my voice, I called after him, “You can dress casually.”

“That’s a kind sentiment, Luetta, but there is nothing casual about my outdoor clothing.”

Before he closed his door, I remembered, “I don’t have my clothes here.”

“We will stop by your apartment on the way.” He paused. “How were you planning to see Luvandor without your car?”

“I would take the bus.”

“I was right there on the couch.” He almost sounded offended.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” I explained. “I don’t need you to drive me around.”

“You’re saving up. You don’t need to spend money on transportation.” His lips pursed. “Would you like to bring your car here when we pick up your clothes?”

I crossed my arms. “I haven’t decided if I’m staying here.”

“Well.” He resumed closing his door, but not before adding, “An extra space in the parking garage can be easily arranged.”

I stared after him, baffled. Hadn’t he just been fighting the blankets to fit over him properly and groaning about the sunlight streaming through the windows?

I shook my head, scratching the top of it as I wondered how this morning had occurred—and how the rest of it would go.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

Luvandor’s scrutiny of Jungkook began when we entered his boutique. He looked at me, wordlessly communicating his question: Who the hell is this?

Preparing myself, I ushered Jungkook further inside, letting the door close behind us. Jungkook kept his attention fixed on Luvandor, scrutinizing him just as intensely. Unsure what was occurring, I looked between them multiple times, grappling for words to begin introductions.

Their acute study of each other came to an end when Jungkook stepped forward. Holding out his hand and the French dark roast coffee bag, he said, “Hello. I heard you liked coffee.”

Luvandor cautiously accepted the bag and shook Jungkook’s hand. The latter said, “It’s nice to meet you. Luetta speaks fondly of you.” The firm handshake came to an end, and Jungkook concluded the introduction with his name.

Luvandor, still confused, was slightly appeased with the greeting and gift. “Well, you know who I am, then.” He squinted at the coffee bag. “And that this here is my favorite coffee roast.” He squared me with a look, questioning and curious. “How about that?”

“How about that,” I repeated twice.

He noted my repetition, and by the sudden attention from Jungkook, he did, too. “C’mere, kid. You want to check on my pretty plant with me?”

I didn’t understand why this meeting felt important, but my nerves were in disarray, and I couldn’t stop flicking my fingers. “Can we talk when we’re there?”

“‘Course we can, darlin’.” He wiggled his fingers, and I gratefully accepted his hand. “Jungkook, if you’re stayin’, please see my employee, Asena, for any inquiries.”

Jungkook, dressed in a crisp, white button-down shirt and slacks, dipped his chin. “Understood.” We locked eyes, and his tone softened. “I’ll be here.”

“We’ll be right back,” I felt like I should tell him. The boutique was new to him, after all, and I knew that most places made me feel out of place. Maybe it was the same for him.

“Take your time.”

I nodded and grudgingly looked away from him, settling closer to Luvandor as we walked to his pretty plant, which happened to be blooming pink flowers. I felt better talking beside it.

Luvandor watered the soil. “What’s been goin’ on?”

I stored air in my cheeks.

“Breathe,” he reminded me. “We’re just talkin’. You can’t be in trouble with me, can ya, darlin’? We’re friends.”

I exhaled a stammered breath. “I know, I’m just…nervous.”

“What’s got your nerves in a tizzy?”

“It’s…well, it’s something that happened the other night.” I chewed my lip frantically. “You know how I live in a bad area?”

His lips set in a straight line, and his watering came to an abrupt stop. “What happened?”

I explained the close call as quickly as I could, wincing throughout, and waited anxiously for his response to the small portion before I continued explaining. His watering can had long been forgotten, set next to the plant, and the creases in his forehead were prominent with anger.

“Who are these people?” he questioned heatedly. “Did Jungkook and his security find their information?”

“They’re just people,” I replied, digging my nails into my palms. “His team stopped them.”

“He works in security; he should’ve reported it to the police as soon as it happened.”

“He did, but they took a while to get there. They always do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, removing it when he remembered it was stained with soil. “Shit,” he said under his breath, then walked back to the front of the shop. I called after him, but he was on a mission; he could never be stopped when his mind had been made up.

I found him in front of Jungkook, who looked to have been conversing with Asena. The latter, for the first time in a while, seemed to be enjoying the interaction, her expression flatlining when Luvandor walked up with a stern expression. She and I both knew what it meant: someone was about to be chewed out. She looked at me for answers, but when I shrugged anxiously, she blew a bubble with her gum and wished Jungkook good luck as she went to fertilize plants.

Jungkook, although confused, remained as poised and professional as usual. Lowering his chin, he listened to Luvandor, his hands deep in his pockets as he tilted his head to convey his attention with occasional nods. Once I was close enough, I could make out more of the conversation.

“Yes,” Jungkook said when Luvandor gave him a chance to speak. “We do have their information. As of that night, we did not, but my men investigated and asked around, and we do now. The police aren’t keen on releasing information like that, so they didn’t tell us when we asked, but the break-in wasn’t targeted. They have multiple crimes like that in their file, and this one was enough to claim jail time.”

“Why weren’t their identities found out that night?” Luvandor demanded. “For all you knew, the police would’ve let them off with a tap on the wrist, and they would’ve gone right back to Luetta’s apartment for revenge.”

Jungkook looked at me, then. His irises held question, wondering how far my discussion with Luvandor had gone. I shook my head marginally to convey, he doesn’t know.

Jungkook returned his attention to Luvandor. “I believe you should finish your conversation with Luetta. She still has information to relay.”

Luvandor pivoted to see where Jungkook’s attention lay. Upon seeing me, he took a deep breath to calm himself down and beckoned me over with a soft prompt, “Come talk to us.”

I walked over, jumping when Asena whispered out of nowhere, “Good luck.” I couldn’t locate her, and with a shiver, I assumed she was hiding behind plants and snickering to herself.

Beside Jungkook and Luvandor, I rubbed my hands together awkwardly. “I still had more to tell you,” I told the latter. “I should’ve spoken faster.”

“No, not your fault,” he refuted. “I’m listenin’.”

I rubbed my knuckles against each other. “Okay. So. After Jungkook and his men came, I…I was too scared to stay at my apartment. Jungkook”—I gestured to him—“offered to let me stay in his guest room.”

Luvandor’s brows flew straight into his hairline. I winced and added hurriedly, “It’s safe at his place, and he has a lot of security measures in place, so everything’s fine.”

Luvandor’s head turned eerily slowly toward Jungkook. “Do you take all of your clients to your apartment to keep ‘em safe, or just Luetta?”

“Only Luetta,” Jungkook responded.

My cheeks burned a little brighter.

Luvandor wasn’t impressed. “Luetta, you don’t know this man.” He tore his glare away from Jungkook to talk directly to me. “You should have called me. He could’ve remained with you at your apartment until I arrived. It would’ve taken me two hours tops.” He shook his head, growing more upset by the second. “We’ll get your things, and you’ll come stay with me. My house is big enough, and you know that.”

“No, I can’t,” I refused. “You already do enough for me.”

“The same could be said for you,” he continued, undeterred. “Friends help each other, and they remind friends not to trust strangers.”

“He’s not…a stranger,” I told him. “We met at a bar.”

Luvandor tried his best to remain calm. “Luetta, that isn’t exactly the safest place to meet men.”

“No, it’s…what I’m trying to say is that we’ve known each other for a while before the break-in.”

He hesitated. “You have?”

“I met him twice, and when I told him I was fired, he offered me a job at his company. Okay? So, it’s fine because we know each other.”

He was too flabbergasted to speak for a moment. Then, at full force, “This is the CEO of Jeon’s Protection?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” I confirmed quietly.

“So,” Luvandor recapped incredulously. “Not only is he your boss, someone you met at a bar and barely know, you’re currently living with him. Luetta.”

At a loss for words, I stared at him helplessly.

Jungkook cut in his a smooth, deep tone. “I understand your concern. I know how it appears, but understand that while Luetta needed a job, I needed an accountant. It was mutually beneficial. When the near break-in occurred, she had nowhere to go, and she wasn’t comfortable remaining at her apartment, even if I stayed, so I offered my guest room.”

“Why would you offer your home to her?” Luvandor said through clenched teeth. “A stranger?”

Jungkook didn’t have to think; he spoke clearly and firmly. “Her situation wasn’t strange: alone and afraid, with nowhere to go, something I am familiar with. I have a guest room, empty and unused. When I was in a similar situation, I was not offered a room, guest or otherwise. I wanted to make the offer to Luetta, even if she didn’t accept. She did, however, so the guest room is hers until she says otherwise.

“I understand your weariness toward men, especially strangers. However, I will only protect Luetta. If she wants to live with you for a month until she can save up for a safer apartment, then so be it. It is her choice, and I will respect it. I suggest you do the same.”

Luvandor’s eyes narrowed. “What was your similar situation?”

“I would rather not discuss it.”

Luvandor’s fingers tapped against his arms sporadically, clearly displeased. “Luetta, you know that men usually have ulterior motives.”

“I know,” I agreed quietly. “But I feel safe at his apartment.” Wanting to put him at ease, I added, “I fell asleep without a routine.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “That so?”

“Well, I checked if his door was locked three times, but I didn’t check under the bed or the closet. I was so tired, I fell asleep on the couch. It was…nice. Safe,” I made my point. “If I didn’t feel safe, my body would react. I wouldn’t be able to sleep because of…the counting,” I opted for instead of OCD.

He pondered over my words. After a minute, he sighed, at a loss. “Kid, I don’t want to see you gettin’ hurt, but I trust you, and if you feel safe, then I gotta be okay with that. But,” he added sharply, his words aimed at Jungkook, “if you so much as hurt a hair on her head, I don’t care if you’re the CEO of the White House. I will ruin you.”

“You’re free to do so,” Jungkook said simply.

Luvandor sighed again and dropped his hands to his side. His lips formed a concerned frown, but he held back his already spoken worry for me. “If you change your mind, you call me or come on down to my house, kid, you got that? My doors are always open for you.”

“I know,” I murmured. “And when I get a safer apartment, my doors are always open for you, too.”

I stepped forward with open arms, and with a resigned, soft sigh, he enveloped me in one of his warm hugs. Resting his chin on my head, he said for our ears only, “Be careful.”

“I will,” I promised, and hugged him tighter. “Thank you for caring.” I buried my face in his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, kid.” He patted my back, and after we swayed back and forth a few times during our hug, we pulled away. “All right.” He pointed at Jungkook. “You’re joinin’ us for our Saturday activities.”

Jungkook replied, “That was the plan, yes.”

Taken aback, Luvandor asked, “Was it?”

I revealed, “I told him about our Saturdays, and he wanted to meet you.”

“Is that so?” Luvandor regarded him skeptically. “Wait here. I’ll grab my wallet.”

While he retrieved his wallet from the breakroom, Jungkook commented, “He seems nice.”

I set him with a sharp look. “Be kind. He means a lot to me.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic, Luetta.” I looked up to see his serious expression. “He cares for you deeply, and I respect it. Friendship is important.”

“Oh. Yeah, it is. He’s amazing.” I bit my bottom lip absently. “Do you have friends?”

“I have a friend, yes.”

“What’s their name?”

“Taehyung.”

To lighten the mood, I teased, “He’s not as cool as Luvandor.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.” His teasing tone matched mine, coaxing my body to relax beside him.

“Maybe I can meet him,” I suggested casually.

He looked down at me. “Would you like that?”

I melted closer to him. “Yeah.”

“I will speak to him to see what can be arranged.” He contemplated. “Would you be comfortable meeting him at my apartment for dinner?”

“Sure, but we should probably order takeout.”

He chuckled lightly. “We’ll make Taehyung cook for us.”

“Is he a good cook?”

“He dabbles.”

“Okay,” I said, pleased. “We’ll set the table.”

“We’ll do our best at it.”

“We will.” We shared a smile that made me weak in the knees.

Luvandor reappeared. “Everyone ready?” He hollered over his shoulder, “Asena, stop hiding behind the hydrangeas and get back to the front desk!”

She popped out from behind a row of them. “Jungkook’s coming back for his purchase, right?”

Surprised, I asked him, “You bought something?”

“I did. Asena’s holding it until we return from your usual Saturday activities.”

Luvandor held the door for us, calling instructions to Asena before joining us. “What did you purchase?” he inquired, weariness coloring his tone.

“A pink moon cactus,” was Jungkook’s reply.

“You like tendin’ to plants?”

“A pink cactus will brighten my apartment.” He was looking at me; I could feel it. “I will take good care of what’s mine.”

“Don’t overwater it,” Luvandor instructed. “It only needs water every few weeks, and do not put it in direct sunlight. In this summer heat, it’ll stress it out. You don’t want it stressin’, do ya?”

“That is the last thing I want.”

“Then keep it in your windowsill if it’s a bright location, make sure it gets good air circulation, keep your temps around 70-80°F, and do not water unless the soil is completely dry, ya hear me?”

“I do.”

Luvandor’s scrutinizing attention only heightened. “I will check in on this moon cactus every day it’s with you. It will be properly cared for, won’t it, Jungkook?”

“It will be provided with the utmost care,” he said firmly.

I looked between them. “Are we…still talking about the moon cactus?”

Luvandor hooked his arm through mine and patted my hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head ‘bout nothin’. We’re gettin’ coffee.”

“Right. Okay.” I glanced at Jungkook when he fell in line on the other side of me. “So, remember the cafe at my new job I told you about?”

Luvandor grunted. “The job where Jungkook is the CEO?”

“Yeah, so, the cafe has a pink drink. It’s really good.”

“You’ll have to bring one to the boutique one day.”

Jungkook said, “The cafe is open to visitors. You can visit at any time.”

Luvandor side-eyed him. “What a money grab.”

“Cafes can bring community together,” Jungkook said, seemingly unbothered by Luvandor’s displeasure. “If the sign outside my building advertising my cafe makes people feel comfortable enough to get the security protection they need, even if a confiding ear from baristas is all they take from the experience, it is worth it. A money grab? No. It is an opportunity for community.” He jutted his chin toward the coffee shop we approached. “You’ve been here often if this is a weekly activity. I assume it’s garnered connections for you and possible friendships.”

Luvandor sized him up. “It has.”

“Community is important,” Jungkook proved his point, although sounding slightly distant. “Everyone can benefit from receiving help sometimes.”

“They can,” Luvandor agreed, looking at him closely. He opened the coffee shop’s doors for me, still eyeing Jungkook, but now with a hint of cautious curiosity. “In we go.”

I told Jungkook the coffee options. Even though the board on the wall displayed them, he only looked at me, listening intently. We sat with our coffee, all three of us not quite breaking small talk until I mentioned drinking with my accounting team. It opened up Luvandor to a story about drinking during his college days, earning an amused, attentive audience from Jungkook and a pleased, giggling me.

Jungkook talked about humorous client interactions, and his vocabulary seemed to tickle Luvandor, who was still trying to cling to his stern front with him. When an hour had passed, however, a smile or two had snuck its way onto his face.

Jungkook lit up at the farmer’s market, talking almost animatedly to the owners and fellow customers, asking specifically about peaches, strawberries, and bananas. Everyone was charmed by him, offering discounts and exchanging light-hearted small talk. Although still resigned, Jungkook looked more at home in this setting than anywhere else I’d seen him in, including his company. And his home.

He left the farmer’s market with three baskets, each full of peaches, strawberries, and bananas. The sun twinkled in his eyes, showcasing a smile that hadn’t reached his lips, but I could tell he felt it all the same.

Walking around town for a while, the afternoon approached quickly, and the summer sun beat down on us.

Luvandor wiped sweat from his forehead, sighing shortly. “Well, I’ll be! It’s hot as all get-out.”

I fanned his face with my hands. It didn’t do much, but he thanked me as if it did. Walking backward and in front of him to continue, I said, “We should get back to the boutique, or we’ll fry.”

“Like an egg on the sidewalk,” Luvandor groaned, fanning me with his hands.

Jungkook watched us interact, quietly curious. “This was an enjoyable Saturday morning.”

I smiled widely. “It always is.”

The sight of my smile drew a small one from him.

Luvandor brought the rim of his shirt to his face for a good wipe. “Let’s get Jungkook his moon cactus and call it a day. I’m half-alive.”

I giggled. “Me too.”

He grinned, surprising me with a tickle attack. “Really? ‘Cause you seem pretty alive to me.”

I ran back to the boutique, yelping when I heard him follow quickly. “No, no! I’m half-alive!”

He and his laughter followed me, both of us out of breath when we arrived at the boutique.

Asena wasn’t impressed. “Running in this heat? Idiotic.”

“Oh, shut your trap,” Luvandor said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

I stayed out of reach, breathless and grinning. “I won.”

He pointed at me, ready to scold me, but he could never bring himself to really do it. One look at my grin was enough to make his resolve crumble, and he hid his smile with a playful scowl. “This isn’t over.”

After a fond parting and a promise to update him via phone call or text—or just popping into his boutique or home—Jungkook and I walked to his car. I carried his pink moon cactus since his hands were full, admiring the color.

“This is nice,” I told him. “I didn’t know you liked plants.”

“Neither did I.”

My brows furrowed. “Then why did you buy it?”

“She caught my eye.”

“Oh, so it’s a woman?”

“A beautiful woman.” He opened the car door for me. Thanking him, I stepped forward to sit, but he gently squeezed my shoulder, and his touch abruptly halted me. “The front seat is for the cactus.” Setting his baskets down on the car’s floor, he retrieved the cactus from me and—

“Are you buckling the cactus in?” I couldn’t stop laughing once I started. It was freeing. Wonderful.

“This is not a laughing matter.” But he was smiling. The seatbelt clicked into place. “She needs to be safe. Surely, you know I work in security? Safety is very important to me.”

“She’s a cactus.”

“Don’t objectify her.”

I waved dismissively and opened the back door, but he stepped forward and brought me back with a gentle hold on my elbow. My back met his chest, allowing me to feel his slightly elevated heart rate. It almost matched mine.

“I was teasing you,” he told me, his voice suddenly much too deep. Much too tantalizing. “I’ll clear the front seat for you.”

“It’s okay.” I swallowed. “Your cactus should be safe. And the fruits you were so excited to buy.”

“I want you in the front seat.”

That did it. “Okay.”

Once everything was in the backseat and buckled in, we both sat in the front.

“Well,” he announced, turning the key. Our gazes caught from our peripheral vision. “We’re ready for a safe drive home.”

“The safest.”

I had to massage my jaw on the drive home to massage away the pain that my smile caused.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed, and I remained at Jungkook’s apartment.

His pink moon cactus, Cordelia, was thriving, and so was my bank account. Thankfully, my lease renewal was at the end of June, only a few days away. I would end it and continue my search for an apartment. My new salary immensely reduced the stress of apartment hunting.

Jungkook peered over my shoulder from where I sat on the living room couch. “That looks spacious.”

I zoomed in on the apartment listing, tilting my laptop upward for a closer look. “Right? It’s in a great neighborhood, and it’s close to work. I could even walk.”

“That’s impressive.”

I nodded, pleased. “I know.” I watched him round the couch to sit beside me. “And when I get my deposit back, I can put it towards my new place. My credit is good, so a new deposit shouldn’t be too high.”

He hummed. “Very good.”

I squirmed. “Thanks.” Focusing was suddenly out of the question. I closed my laptop. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Taehyung is surprising us tonight, remember?”

My hand flew to my mouth. “That’s tonight?”

“Did you forget?”

“I was so excited to burn burgers again that I forgot…”

He chuckled. “We can burn burgers tomorrow.”

“Oh, good. I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to burn them to my full potential ever again.”

“Don’t worry,” he mused. “You’ll find your time to shine.”

I chuckled, soothing my hand over my laptop. “Are we…dressing professionally for dinner?”

“We’re in my apartment. There’s no need.”

“So, I can wear sweatpants like you?”

“You’re currently wearing pajamas,” he reminded me, amused. “Teddy bear pajamas.”

“They’re very nice pajamas.”

“Quite beautiful.”

“Quite.” I placed my laptop on the other side of the couch, grabbing the peach, banana, and strawberry smoothie Jungkook had made me earlier. The strawberry color dominated and made it a pinkish color. I wondered if he picked the fruits on purpose for that reason, but I hadn’t found the courage to ask. “They’ll make a good impression.”

“Taehyung prefers striped pajamas.”

“I don’t have striped pajamas.”

“Then I apologize, but you’ve already failed at making a good impression.”

I sank further into the couch, biting back a smile. “Will he be here soon?”

“Yes.” He sank into the couch with me, our thighs brushing. “Are you nervous?”

“No.” I glanced at him. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured. “He’s kind.”

I asked bravely, “Like you?”

“Do you think I’m kind?”

“I don’t think you’re not kind.”

Our shared smile was soft. Intimate.

A knock on the door broke us apart. He stood, clearing his throat and wiping down his sweatpants. “It’s most likely Taehyung. I will…” He pointed to the door. “Open it.”

“Right, okay, you—yeah.” I stood quickly. “I’ll stand here.”

“All right. Yes. Good idea.” He walked to the door and checked the peephole. Instead of opening the door, however, he frowned. I began to ask, but he put a finger to his lips, silencing me immediately.

A minute passed, I counted every second of it, before he undid the locks and opened the door. He had already checked the cameras on his phone, and now, he looked into the hallways. Stepping foot outside, he hesitated and looked back at me. Thinking against leaving, he stepped back inside and closed the door.

“They most likely knocked at the wrong door,” he told me, but his expression said otherwise.

“Did you see who it was on the cameras?” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “It’s not the men who tried to break into my apartment?”

“They were dealt with,” he reminded me as he relocked the front door. “They are in jail.”

“I know, but…sorry. I just thought—”

“It’s all right. We can forget things when we’re afraid.” He finished locking the door. “Excuse me for a moment.” His shaking hands were visible only for a moment before he hid them in his pockets, disappearing into his room seconds later.

Dumbfounded on the couch, I sat down, unsure of what else to do. I didn’t wait for long; he returned a few minutes later. He held his phone, keeping it open on the security camera’s monitoring app.

Worry sparked my anxiety. “Is everything okay?”

“It was most likely someone who knocked on the wrong door,” he said robotically.

I changed my question. “Are you okay?”

He looked like he malfunctioned. Three seconds later, he replied, “I’m fine.”

Someone knocked on the door, and his entire body went taut. Gripping his phone tightly, he looked down at it, immediately releasing a short breath. “Taehyung,” he said beneath his breath.

Gathering his bearings, he slipped his phone into his pocket and opened the door, opening it to reveal a man around the same height as him with black, luscious hair, brown eyes, and a boxy grin. It immediately dropped, however, when he saw Jungkook’s face.

Taehyung patted Jungkook’s shoulder, offering a rough squeeze. “You’re not happy to see me?” His concern was neatly tucked away when he saw me nearly hanging over the couch. “You’re going to fall. Luetta, right?”

I quickly untangled myself from the couch and stood. “Sorry, hi. I’m Luetta. Are you Taehyung?”

“In the flesh.” He closed and locked the door behind him. Lifting grocery bags, he announced, “I brought dinner.”

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

“So,” Taehyung drawled ten minutes into dinner prep. “I hear burning food is a bonding exercise between the two of you.”

I blushed. “Who said that?”

“Who else?” Taehyung moved a pan to the back burner and turned up the heat. “Cooking burgers isn’t that hard.”

“It can be,” I defended half-heartedly, casting worried glances Jungkook’s way every so often. Since the unknown door knock, he’d been quiet, nearly huddling into himself. Sitting on a kitchen island stool, he watched Taehyung cook raptly. “Jungkook and I try our best.”

“Jungkook has been burning food since I met him.” Taehyung effortlessly sliced onions without so much as shedding a tear. “I had high hopes that his new roommate would be different, but we can’t always have high hopes.”

“I…don’t know if I should be insulted or not.”

“Oh, be insulted. Very.” Taehyung chuckled when he turned and saw my offended expression. “I’m teasing. Relax.”

Nodding slowly, I attempted to divert the topic. “What are you making?”

“Chili. Something simple.”

“That’s nice. Thank you,” I added. “For cooking. We’ve been eating takeout, sandwiches, and cereal.”

“That’s concerning.” Taehyung didn’t look concerned in the least, moving to tend to the ground beef. “Have you found any promising apartments?”

I showed him a few on my computer, and I favorited the ones he made good points about, and was familiar with due to friends.

“You have good options,” he told me. “Don’t rush into it and read the fine print. You’ll be fine.”

“I will. Thanks.” I closed my laptop. “Do you live nearby?”

“I live here. One floor up.”

My lips parted. “You do? But Jungkook said you couldn’t come have dinner with us sooner, so I thought you lived further away.”

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m just busy.”

“With what?”

“I’m a personal chef. Sometimes,” he said. “Otherwise, I’m a real estate agent.”

“How do you do both?” I asked, surprised.

“Multitasking. Being an independent contractor helps.”

“Wow,” I breathed out. “That’s impressive.”

“I try.” He glanced at Jungkook. Pursing his lips, he grabbed a bag of tomatoes. “Can I trust you to cut up tomatoes and monitor the beef, Luetta?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” As I approached my task, Taehyung turned the stove on an even lower setting, yanked Jungkook away from the kitchen island, and into his room.

“Thanks,” Taehyung called to me. “We’ll be right back.”

The sound of me chopping tomatoes and the sizzling beef was my only companion for the next ten minutes. By the time they reappeared, the tomatoes were minced.

Taehyung took one look at the tomatoes. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine.” He shooed me away. “It’s my fault for leaving a novice unattended.”

“Sorry.” I sat on my previous stool, noticing that Jungkook remained standing. “Is everything okay?”

Some color had returned to his face, and the non-subtle twitch of his neck had eased. “Yes. Everything is fine.”

“That’s good.” Wanting to make him feel better, I opened my laptop. “Do you…want to play Solitaire with me?”

“We can’t see much because of the cracks in your screen.”

“Oh.”

He sat beside me. “It’s fine. I will squint.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

I smiled a little. “Okay.”

We played while Taehyung cooked. Whatever they talked about in Jungkook’s room helped ease the setting, and Jungkook was more talkative than before. He wasn’t at his usual word capacity, but he was halfway there.

He and I ate while playing Solitaire, and I shifted to the middle stool so Taehyung could play, too. We lost two rounds before winning one, but our excitement was palpable and fun.

“Again?” I asked.

“We should talk, get to know each other.” Taehyung laconically sipped from his glass of bourbon. I wrinkled my nose due to the smell. “How long have you been an accountant?”

“Three years,” I responded. “Officially. Unless internships count.”

“Do you like living with Jungkook?”

“Oh. Uh, yes.” I blushed hotly. “It’s nice.”

“Uh-huh. What’s nice about it? The sandwiches, cereal, or falling asleep on the couch more than you sleep in the guest room?”

My jaw dropped, and I turned to Jungkook for answers. He explained, “I might have mentioned your sleeping patterns.”

“Why?” I asked, more high-pitched than normal.

“I…” His throat bobbed. “I find it endearing.”

“Oh.” Get it together, Luetta. “Then…okay.”

Taehyung propped his cheek in his palm. “Interesting.”

Jungkook set him with a hard look. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“On the contrary, sharing is caring.”

“Not when it’s unprecedented and unwanted.”

“It’s hardly unprecedented considering our talks—”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Be quiet, Taehyung.”

“Heard.”

My head snapped between them quickly in order to keep up. “Do you both use the same dictionary? The way you talk is so…similar.”

“Similar,” Taehyung agreed, “but not identical. I’m more of a free spirit than he is. And”—he took another sip of his drink—“a better cook.”

“Yes,” Jungkook said drily. “Because you attended college courses for it.”

“God forbid I gain the required skills for the field I’m entering.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “The food’s good.”

Taehyung swirled his drink around, making the ice cubes clink. “Thank you.” My frazzled look made him chuckle. “We’re not arguing; you can relax. This is how we bond.”

My shoulders sagged. “I didn’t know.”

The muscles beneath Jungkook’s shirt rippled as he shifted closer to me. “It’s our dynamic. We’re fine.”

I nodded. “It’s good. To have dynamics.”

Taehyung chuckled. “Yeah, we all have them.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“I’m just teasing.” He set his glass down. “I’ll stop, yeah? You seem on edge.”

Jungkook said pointedly, “You’re not helping with that.”

“Sorry.” Taehyung picked up his fork. “She reminds me of my sister. I’m used to teasing her.”

With my attention piqued, I asked, “What’s her name?”

“Soyeon. She’s younger than you. Twenty-one,” he explained. “She moved back to Korea to live with our parents, so when I see her, I make sure to tease her to make up for all the time I don’t see her.” He chuckled. “You have the same hairstyle.”

I touched my hair. “The curtain bangs?” I winced. “Hers probably looks better. Mine are too long.”

“She’s a hairstylist, so that’s the only reason. Otherwise, she’d forget to do it like everything else. That’s part of why I tease her so much.”

I smiled a little. Faint, distant. “I have a brother.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger. His name’s Keaton.” The air suddenly felt stifling, like the room was closing in on me. “He’s…” My throat tightened. “I don’t…” I drank my glass of water. “He’s nineteen.”

“We can change the topic,” he said breezily. “Families can be complicated.”

“Okay.” I pushed out a warbled smile. “Well, I like tea. Chamomile.”

“With Lemon and Sugar,” Jungkook revealed. His hand was right beside my plate, unmoving but there; a comforting presence.

I managed a nod. “It’s good.” After a moment of silence, I tried to fix it. “How long have you both known each other?”

“College,” Taehyung replied. “I was studying abroad and ended up staying, and that’s when Jungkook and I met.”

I asked Jungkook, “Were you studying abroad, too?”

“No,” he answered.

“So, just studying? You already lived here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, okay. For how long?” I wondered.

“Some time.” He removed his palm from the table, returning it to his lap. “Have you always lived here in America?”

“Yeah, with my family. It was in a mansion with a lot of white furniture and walls.” You just changed the subject, Luetta. Why are you going back to it? “Your company and apartment don’t look like that. I like the colors.”

The expression that crossed Jungkook’s face looked almost tender. “Is the pink moon cactus a good addition?”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “And the pink smoothies.”

Taehyung asked, “Why the pink? A favorite color?”

“It’s a good color,” I said defensively.

“It’s a pretty good one, but green is my favorite.”

“Oh. Green is good, too.”

“It’s the cactus’s color scheme,” he pointed out.

“Yeah.” Three, six, nine. Nine, six, three. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Hidden in the bathroom, I counted and took deep breaths, closing my eyes to refrain from counting any objects.

“You’re making her nervous,” I heard Jungkook say in a hushed tone. I instinctively strained to listen.

“I’m not trying to,” was Taehyung’s decisive response. “She’s on her guard, and honestly, so am I. You’ve only known her for slightly over a month at this point.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“She wanted to meet you,” Jungkook reminded him. “She asked if I had friends.”

“Why?”

“She let me meet her friend, Luvandor. He’s kind, and I know you are, too, so lower your defenses and prove it.” His voice returned, quiet but firm. “I want her to be comfortable.”

“You’ve done more than enough to make her comfortable, Jungkook. She’s living here for free.”

“Living somewhere free of charge doesn’t equate to safety, Taehyung, do not upset me.”

Taehyung sighed. “I just want you to be careful. People can see money and stay only for that. She just said she lived in a mansion, but her parents could be poor now.”

“I don’t care.”

“Jungkook.”

“I said,” he repeated, “I don’t care. She’s here, they’re not, and she hasn’t asked for money. She wants safety.”

Taehyung responded seriously, “Don’t let her strategize on your empathy.”

“I abhor repeating myself.”

“Don’t be a dick, and listen to me. That’s it. Keep it in the back of your mind.”

“Be kind to her.”

“I’m not being cruel,” Taehyung said.

“Be kinder.”

“Be smart.”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll be kinder,” Taehyung confirmed. “We agree.”

“We do.”

“Great. You done being a dick?”

“Drink your bourbon before I spill it on your shirt.”

“This is a new shirt. Think twice if you want to keep your hand,” Taehyung informed him.

“I thought thrice. I’ll still do it.”

“Thrice?” Taehyung’s smile could be heard. “Why three times?”

“Drink your bourbon.”

“Mhm…”

I exited the bathroom, flushed and tired. Trying to refrain from showing I’d overheard their information, I clumsily reclaimed my seat. “We should play Solitaire,” I decided. “After we eat.”

“Sure,” Taehyung said agreeably.

Playing Solitaire helped ease the tension, and although his teasing had stopped, Taehyung remained on his guard with watchful, tight smiles and intent stares. It kept my defenses up, even though I understood where he was coming from. He was worried about Jungkook because he cared, just like Luvandor was worried because he cared about me. Taehyung’s care pointed towards his loyalty and friendship for Jungkook, reminding me of Luvandor, and I subconsciously began to relax.

Relaxation didn’t happen all at once. It was a slow, building trickle, gaining momentum until my smiles didn’t feel forced, and the flick of my fingers slowed. It didn’t stop, but the momentum wasn’t as charged, no longer feeling as detrimental. My newfound ease coaxed me to ask Taehyung questions, respond to a few light questions from him, and agree to play a physical card game that quickly turned into a drinking game.

With flushed cheeks from the alcohol and an easier flow of thoughts because of it, I sank into the setting, even laughing once or twice when Taehyung groaned his dramatic disappointment if he lost a round, chugging a shot as his punishment.

By the time midnight was approaching, the slight awkwardness of dinner had evaporated thanks to alcohol, the card game, and light conversation.

“I should head out.” Taehyung leaned into the couch with a yawn. “I work tomorrow.”

“You work during the weekends?” I wondered. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have played so late.”

“It was just as much my decision as it was yours and Jungkook’s,” he pointed out, closing his eyes as a good-natured smile frolicked on his lips. This side of Taehyung was easy-going and kind, the version of him that Jungkook relayed. “We should do this again.”

“Oh, well, I won’t be here for much longer,” I explained, feeling my stomach churn as I felt the hangout opportunity slip away from me. “I’ll leave in a week or two after touring apartments and signing a new lease.”

“You and Jungkook will part ways completely by then,” he said, but it sounded more like a question, and by the sudden peek over at me, I realized it was.

“We’ll still see each other at work,” I elaborated, flustered.

“Just at work?”

“Well, it’s just that, I mean, I don’t know if he wants…” I trailed off.

“I want to,” Jungkook rasped.

I shivered, the alcohol and his words going straight to my head. “Me too. I want to see you, too.”

Taehyung chuckled and stood. “Interesting.”

Jungkook didn’t respond, too busy with our eye contact.

“I’ll text you later, Jungkook.” Taehyung stretched, yawning again. His attention fell on me. “Be good.” His tone was light, but the intent was there: don’t hurt him.

I nodded, still in a daze from Jungkook’s proclamation.

“Goodnight,” Taehyung called to us.

Jungkook tore his eyes from mine grudgingly, standing to lock up after Taehyung. They spoke in hushed tones at the door, but the interaction was quick, and Jungkook was quick to return to me. On the living room rug, we stared at each other.

“He seems nice,” I offered.

“He was on his guard, like Luvandor was.”

“Our friends care.” I gulped when his eyes flickered along my face with intensity. “That’s good.”

“It is.”

We kept staring.

I cleared my throat. “We should probably go to bed. Even though tomorrow is Saturday, we should still sleep…right?”

“Correct.” Neither of us moved. “When will you leave to do your Saturday activities with Luvandor?”

“Oh.” I shifted into a crisscross position. “Actually, he and Asena are packing up and taking some plants to another convention for word-of-mouth. Marketing, you know. Your missed calling.”

He hummed, his eyes trailing over my face. Every angle, every spot I knew held blemishes and imperfections. He didn’t look at me as if that was the case, however, and it made a withered part of me wish to bloom.

“What will you do instead?” he questioned.

“I haven’t decided yet. Probably nothing. What…about you?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Probably nothing.”

My lips inched into a smile, and his followed suit. “That sounds good.”

“It does.”

I broke myself out of our trance, which was no easy feat, and stood. Clasping my hands, I broke them apart momentarily to wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I will see you then.”

I paused. “Well, first I’ll help clean up the cards and drinks.” I stooped to begin cleaning, but he grabbed my wrist gently, putting me to a full stop.

“I’ll take care of it,” he murmured, his voice a gentle caress. “Go rest.”

My skin was on fire, and the bottom of my stomach throbbed. “Are you sure? I can help.”

“I know you can, and you’re very good at it, but I can take care of this.”

The praise. I felt sick with need, desperately craving it enough to earn second-hand embarrassment from my thoughts. “Okay. Thank you. I…I can still help if you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind, but thank you.”

“Okay.” He released my wrist, and it ached at the loss. “I…I hope you sleep well.”

His voice dipped. “You as well.”

My fingers flicked for something to do, a desperate attempt at regulation. What was he doing to me? “Okay, thanks, bye.”

I hurried away to lock myself in the guest room and berate my body for the reactions it had to him.

Chapter Text

I woke with a start, then a muted scream.

Clawing at my face, I ended up shielding it, breathing heavily as I struggled to catch up.

Plop, plop, plop.

Peeking through my fingers, I yelped when something wet landed on my face. A break-in didn’t seem plausible with Jungkook’s security measures, so holding onto that hopeful thinking, I pivoted and sat at the end of the bed.

I always slept with the lamp on. It allowed me to see my surroundings and made my routine checks easier. Now, it allowed me to see that I was alone. Then what—?

My pillow was soaked, the only dry part being where my head was. With slight horror, I realized the area beside it was wet, too. My brain tried rebooting, wiping cobwebs away with a yawn as it grew accustomed to being awake, and when it finally clicked into place, my heart rate returned to a more neutral pace.

Looking up, I found the culprit: a ceiling leak. Unfortunate, yes, but not as unfortunate as my previous thought that someone’s drool had been hitting my face. Maybe even a monster from one of those fantasy novels I’d been reading the other night. Shuddering at the visual, I peeked under the bed for a safety check, then gingerly set my feet on the floor.

Tiptoeing to the dresser, I pulled on a pair of socks and journeyed into the darkness of the rest of the apartment. Fumbling around the wall for a light switch, I found it after stubbing my toe against the dastardly wall. Light illuminated my surroundings, and relieved, I hurried to the couch. It was only when I sat down that I remembered the unknown person who had knocked on the door yesterday. They probably knocked on the wrong door like Jungkook said, but he’d also looked like he didn’t believe his reasoning. I didn’t feel at peace with that.

Jumping off the couch, I hurried to the next safest place. Before I could think against it, I knocked on his bedroom door. There was a sudden rustling behind the door, the weight of his bed creaking, and something that sounded like a startled moan of exhaustion laced with a slow-building alertness.

I stepped back, second-guessing my choices, but it was too late. There he stood, his taller frame hovering over mine as he gripped the doorknob. His eyes swam with sleep, but his pupils were dilated, even more so when he saw me.

“Luetta,” he rumbled, doing a quick visual sweep of the apartment. The first place he looked was the front door. Noting it was locked, he returned his gaze to me. “Did something happen?”

I suddenly had no words. I nodded.

“What happened?” he prompted, his brows furrowing sleepily.

I swallowed to lubricate my throat. “The ceiling.”

“The ceiling,” he repeated, awaiting elaboration.

“The ceiling,” I confirmed. “It watered my pillow.” I gaped, shook my head, and blurted, “I mean, it’s leaking! Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m tired. I just woke up. My brain isn’t functioning well yet.” I winced. “I saw the moon cactus, and I remembered how tomorrow it needs to be watered, so I just said…you know.”

He cocked his head, his lips forming a tight frown.

Withering, I stepped back. “I’m sorry about the ceiling leak.”

The step he took put him right in front of me, leaving no room for space. Leaning down, his fingers carefully traced strands of my hair, easing them away from where they’d been stuck on my cheeks.

His features were taut. “It woke you up.”

My breath faltered, the rough pads of his fingers somehow gentle on my cheek. Even softer than when we’d held hands.

Slipping the strands of hair into place with the frizzy mess I assumed was the rest of my hair, his fingers lingered on my cheek before he pulled away, as if realizing what he was doing.

“Your hair is wet,” he explained, frazzled. “Because of the ceiling leak. I moved it away.”

“Thanks,” I managed.

He nodded a few times, then stopped. “I will check on the ceiling leak.”

“Oh, me too.” I walked after him. In the guest room, I pointed it out. “It’s there.”

His frown deepened. “This is unacceptable.”

“It happened a lot at my apartment, but not in my room,” I reassured him. “In the living room and kitchen.”

“It doesn’t make it acceptable.” He turned the overhead light on for a better look. Taking a few photos and a video with his phone, he informed me, “I will call the landlord tomorrow and have him fix it immediately.” He returned his attention to me, upset. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “It’s just a leak. I was a little startled, but I’m okay.”

My words darkened his features, seeming to fuel his newfound vendetta for the leak. “This is unacceptable,” he repeated.

“It’s okay, really. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” he said firmly. Shaking his head, he wiped his hand over his face. “I will move the bed and put a few containers down to catch the water.”

“I can help.”

“Wait here.” His voice held no room for question, so I nodded and stood still.

Once he finished what he set out to do, he stripped the bed, giving me a nice view of his back muscles through his skin-tight shirt, and took them to the laundry room for a wash. Returning, he held his hand out to me, and without question, I slipped mine into his. Taking me to his room, he turned the light on.

“You can take my bed,” he told me. “I’ll sleep on the living room couch.”

My eyes widened. “No, I will.” I faltered when I remembered my hesitancy to do so. I didn’t want him to sleep by himself out there either, especially considering how he’d reacted to the stranger’s knock. Quickly looking around his room, I spotted an armchair. “I’ll sleep there.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“No.” He led me closer to his bed, using his free hand to pull his blankets back. “Sit.”

“No.”

He slowly raised a brow. “No?”

“You can’t sleep on the couch in the living room,” I decided. “I know you have safety measures set up, but your room is further away from the front door than the living room couch is, and I don’t want you sleeping so close to the front door.”

He looked down at me, saying nothing. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why, Luetta?”

“Because I said so.”

His grip on my hand tightened, but not enough to hurt. It was reassuring, stabilizing. Intoxicating. “That isn’t an answer.”

“It is to me.” I released his hand, much to my dismay, and grabbed the extra pillows at the foot of his bed. “We can put these between us, okay? That way, we can both stay on your bed.”

He watched me arrange the pillows in a straight line, leaving enough for our heads.

“See?” I spread my arms out. “A barrier.”

“Give yourself the extra pillow you gave to me.”

“Um, no.” I fluffed it up. “It’s your bed, so you get the extra pillow. Besides, 2 + 1 is three, and the three feels better when the two is on your side because odd numbers are safe for me, so one pillow is good.”

He exhaled shortly. “We can’t share a bed.”

My expression dropped. “But I already set everything up.” I gestured to my setup lamely. “See? Set up.”

“I can see your setup.” He folded his arms across his chest. Again, a visualization of his muscles, this time in his forearms. “That doesn’t equate to my agreement.”

“It should equate to that. I worked very hard on this.”

“Two minutes of hard work,” he drawled. “Impressive.”

“You’re jealous because you didn’t think of it.” I sat on my side of his bed, reaching over the barrier to pat his appointed area. “Nothing can break past the barrier. It’s impenetrable.”

“Using big words won’t change my mind.”

My shoulders fell forward. “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.”

His chest rose and fell steadily as he took me in, perched on his bed. A minute passed, and he loosed a breath. “Impenetrable.”

Hope stirred in my gut. “Impenetrable.”

“I’m a light sleeper.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“I stir in my sleep,” he warned.

“That’s what the barrier is for.” I smiled tentatively, and his resolve crumbled.

He locked his door and slowly approached the bed. I clutched the blankets as my heart raced. “You’ll stay on your side of the barrier.”

“I will.”

His eyes narrowed before the last bit of his resolve evaporated. “Lie down.”

Bug-eyed, I stammered, “What?”

“Lie down,” he repeated. “I want to make sure the blankets on your side are enough to comfortably cover you.”

“Oh.” Blinking rapidly, I threw the blankets up to my chin and settled into his bed, enjoying how soft it was. “It’s good.”

He leaned over, and I held my breath as he tugged more of the blankets to my side. “Now it is.”

Turning the bedside lamp off, he slipped under the blankets on his side. The bed dipped, settling as he did the same. I, on the other hand, held the blankets for dear life.

“Jungkook,” I croaked.

He immediately stilled. “What is it?”

“You turned the lamp off.”

“I did.”

“Can…” My breathing accelerated. “Can you turn it back on, if you want to?”

The bed dipped again, and the lamp turned on shortly after. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

“No,” I defended, my voice more of an embarrassing squeak than anything else. “It just helps me check that everything’s safe. It’s your room, so I don’t have a routine in here, but I…I still need to check.”

He digested this information. “How often do you need to check? Three times?”

“Three times to start,” I whispered. “But if it doesn’t feel right, I have to do it until the number of times is divisible by three.”

“How long can that take?”

“It’s different.” My eyes dipped from his, humiliation burning the back of them. “It can take…”

The silence was deafening.

“You can tell me,” he murmured.

I looked at him, gutted. “I don’t want you to laugh at me.”

“I won’t laugh at you.”

My chin wobbled. “Maybe an hour. Sometimes.”

He nodded as if I was talking about the weather, and my heart slowly unclenched. “The lamp helps?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, my fingers loosening their grip on the blankets. “I can see what I need to check.”

“I see.” He lay back down. “Then, we’ll keep the lamp on.” He angled his body slightly toward me, making his chest brush the barrier. “What will you check?”

“The…closet and door and behind the couch.”

“Under the bed as well?”

“I already did, and it’s your bed, and we’re both on it, so I don’t feel like I have to.” I winced. “I know it doesn’t really make sense, but it’s just…how it is.”

“It’s all right. We’ll check together.”

I was rendered silent. “What?”

“We’re on my bed, like you said. If that makes you feel like you don’t have to check beneath the bed, then it might help you if we both check the closet, door, and couch.”

I struggled with this concept. “That’s…okay with you? To check?”

“It is.” He turned onto his back to view the room fully. “How should I check?”

“Just…look at one of the things, blink three times to check, and go onto the next one.”

I watched on in shock as he proceeded to do just that.

He returned his eyes to me. “How was that?”

I couldn’t close my mouth. “Good.”

“Your turn.”

I followed the familiar motions, and once completed, I blurted, “We have to do it at the same time to make it three times because we did it once by ourselves. If we do it one more time just by ourselves, that will make it four times, and that’s an even number, and those aren’t safe, unless the even number can be divisible by three.”

“Shall we count to three and begin?”

I was out of breath when we finished our check, the quick blinking furthering my exhaustion. “Done, done, done. Keep until I say to stop, stop.”

“Should I say that, too?” he wondered lightly. “What does it mean?”

My face scrounged. “It…just means that the formula will stop.”

“The counting,” he guessed.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “The counting.”

“It doesn’t always work.” His brows were pinched when I braved his expression. “Does it?”

I didn’t have to respond; we both knew the answer. “‘Keep until I say to stop, ’” I said carefully. “It’s supposed to keep the current formula somewhere…stuck, if that makes sense. The compulsion is supposed to be stuck until I say to stop, which means it won’t start again unless I tell it to.”

“Why would you start it all over again?”

“In case I need to do it again to feel safe,” I said quietly.

“Doing this makes you feel safe?” he questioned. “Or does it stress and overwhelm you?”

“Both,” I choked out. “And the safety and relief don’t last very long. Sometimes, it doesn’t work.”

He didn’t say anything. But he listened. And having such an attentive audience made the words tumble out of me.

“There can be flare-ups,” I rambled. “Where it gets worse, but it can also feel better for a while. It’s always there, but it disappears a little.”

“How do we make it get to that point?”

“I think that once I get a new apartment and make sure it’s clean and everything, then…I’ll start to feel safe. It’s just that everything is up in the air right now, and starting a new job was a little nerve-wracking right after being fired.” I quickly added, “Not that the new job is bad. Everyone’s really nice, and it’s good. The pink drinks, too. Different, I mean. It’s different, not good. I mean—” I buried my face in my hands. “Sorry.” Don’t say it’s good, don’t say it’s bad. Say it’s different, and it won’t be taken from you.

“Is this another compulsion?”

“Yes,” I snapped.

“It was a question. That is all.” His soft tone earned my attention, a peek through my fingers.

All the bite in my tone evaporated. “I’m sorry. I’m used to people—”

“—laughing at you.” His eyes swam with understanding, so much of it that it floored me. “I know how that feels.”

“You do?” I asked, almost inaudibly.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I wondered carefully.

His lips turned downward before setting into a grim line. “People laugh at those beneath them, especially when those beneath them want to rise above them. It’s all right now, isn’t it?” he said stiffly. “I proved them wrong without saying a single word. Actions speak louder.”

“Your company,” I murmured.

“I built it from the ground up. Once you have money, things fall at your feet. It’s different.” He shifted uncomfortably, but he remained just as close. “It can make a difference, and that’s what I will continue to do with my company: help others and make a difference in that way.”

“That’s all money should be used for. People get greedy.”

“They do,” he said somberly.

“My…parents,” I decided to tell him, the confession staining the air. “They’re rich and own a law firm. They’re so…entitled, and they think their financial status means they can do no wrong.” I muttered, “They do a lot of wrong, so don’t be fooled.”

“They’re fools,” he told me gravely, his tone full of sincerity. “For how they choose to be, and for treating you wrongfully.”

My heart shuddered when he looked at me like that, when he spoke so firmly in my defense. “Whoever laughed at you are fools, too. You’re doing more good than they probably ever will, and you have a nice apartment and car to go with it.”

“I live here because this neighborhood has a high level of safety,” he admitted. “Safety is another thing money can buy. The car, however, is for pleasure.” He half-smiled, his drowsy appearance making my insides flutter. “One thing for pleasure is all right.”

“Pleasure is good,” is all I could say.

“It is.”

The barrier between us suddenly felt very movable. They were only pillows; they were in the way. Barriers shouldn’t be put in the middle of the bed, not when two people were having such a good conversation.

I blinked slowly, at a loss. My foreign thoughts, although not dislikeable, swarmed me. I didn’t know what to do with them, and I fell silent.

Jungkook readjusted his pillow, keeping his eyes on me during the process. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. “Just tired.”

He rested his cheek on his pillow, and I did the same. “We should sleep. Even though tomorrow is Saturday.”

My smile snuck up on me again. “Wise words. I think I heard that somewhere once.”

“They came to in a dream.”

“Must’ve been a nice dream.”

“A very good one.” He breathed in time with the ceiling fan, just as the AC kicked on. “I hope to have it again.”

I blushed, fast and intensely. “I hope you do, too.”

He hummed quietly. “Goodnight, Luetta.”

I buried my face in the pillow to hide my pink cheeks. “Goodnight.”

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

My sleep was interrupted two hours later.

The lamp exuded enough light for me to enter Jungkook’s adjoining bathroom, and after I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, I returned to his bed. Before I could fully climb on, a sick feeling crawled up my neck, cold and eerie. I immediately pulled my other foot onto the bed, too frightened to check beneath the bed. In my frightened flurry, I bumped into the pillow barrier.

Jungkook woke up immediately. He’d already been stirring when I left for the bathroom, but he was alert now. The first words out of his mouth were my name.

“Jungkook,” I said breathily, pushing onto the pillow barrier. It was an awkward fit, especially considering I was taking my side of the blankets with me. “Something’s wrong.”

Alarmed, he reached for me, claiming my upper arm. Pulling me closer with urgency, he brought me over the pillow barrier, completely disregarding it. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” I felt like I needed to whisper. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Something just feels wrong. I got up to use the bathroom, and when I came back to the bed…” I shivered and leaned into him. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t apologize. You did the right thing.” Bringing me beneath his blankets with ease, he wrapped them around me protectively. “Did you hear anything?” With one arm wrapped around my side, he retrieved his phone from the bedside table.

I shook my head.

He opened the security camera app on his phone and searched them intently, even going back a few hours. However, the last five minutes of footage had been cut off, aligning with the time I’d woken up to use the bathroom.

The bedside table on the other side of the bed held a digital clock, and the digits were blinking, indicating a power outage.

Jungkook slowly sat up, but he kept his arm around me, seemingly loath to let me go. “It’s supposed to run on service if the Wi-Fi ever cuts out.” The patter of rain alerted us that the weather could’ve been the cause of the power outage. “It’s supposed to happen automatically, like it has in the past.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, still whispering. “Why would it take so long?”

He didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his voice had dipped significantly. “Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?”

It felt wrong to speak, like it could entice something horrible. I shook my head.

His body went rigid. “I need you to go into my bathroom and lock the door.”

My eyes widened. “What’s going on?”

“Do as I say, Luetta.”

I was off the bed in seconds, but I stopped at the entrance of his bathroom just in time to see him open his bedside dresser’s drawer, pulling out a gun.

My voice barely carried across the room. “Jungkook?”

He cast a pleading look my way, but the severe strictness his voice held was a stark contrast. “Lock the door. Do not come out until I tell you to, and don’t open the door, even if I tell you to.” He crossed the room to me, gun and phone in hand. He relinquished the latter. “Watch the security footage. I have a camera in the living room, remember? If anyone other than me enters my bedroom, don’t open the door. Call the police and Taehyung. He’ll protect you if anything happens.”

I grabbed his arm, shaking my head rapidly. “We’ll call Taehyung and the police now. You shouldn’t go out there by yourself.”

Pain crossed his features, but it was gone in an instant. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He waited, expressionless, and I finally listened. Immediately turning my attention to his phone, I held my breath and awaited his appearance on the cameras. He appeared moments later, aiming his gun as he slowly scouted the area. The door was locked from what we could both see, but it didn’t put either of us at ease.

When he moved on from the living room, I couldn’t see him anymore. The living room camera was the only indoor camera, aimed at the front door to monitor activity in case of a break-in.

Timed ached and groaned as it passed, and my breath came and went in short, panicked pants with every second that I didn’t know if Jungkook was okay. I assumed the gun not going off was a good sign, but I didn’t feel safe enough to hold onto that hope.

I covered my hand with my mouth when he reappeared, uninjured. He looked up at the cameras, straight at me. A beat passed before he mouthed, “It’s okay.”

I felt the air whoosh out of me, and I gripped the doorknob for support, waiting for his return. He disappeared from the cameras, and seconds later, his familiar footsteps sounded. He knocked on the bathroom door quietly.

I didn’t open it. Before he left, he told me not to. I knew it was him; I could hear his familiar breathing, but still, I couldn’t open the door.

He didn’t bother telling me it was him. Instead, his voice appeared, worn out but decisive. “You like the color pink. Our moon cactus is named Cordelia. We burn food and eat cereal. The ceiling watered your pillow.”

I turned the doorknob and flew into his arms, hugging him as tightly as I could. Startled, he didn’t return it at first, but once he caught his bearings, he leaned down to grant me better access.

Squeezing me to him, he buried his face in my hair. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice sending vibrations coursing through me. “No one broke in.” He held me tighter, bringing his hand to hold the back of my head. “You’re safe.”

I trembled intensely, but so did he. For whatever reason I woke up ten minutes ago, it didn’t feel as simple as a power outage. However, the eerie feeling had left, and I felt warm and protected in its place.

“You’re okay,” I told him, trying again when my voice broke. “We’re both safe. We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he repeated hoarsely.

A minute passed of our embrace when he lifted me, causing the gun in his pocket to brush against my thigh. I shivered and clung to him, but I had no reason to. With the strength he honed, he wouldn’t drop me.

Setting me on his bed, he fixed the blankets—but not the pillow barrier. Neither of us said a word about it, but our quick, exchanged glance spoke volumes.

I helped him prop the extra pillows against the end of the bed, then I scooted backward to the bed frame, accepting the blankets he pulled up to my chin. Waiting for him to join me, I watched him return his gun to its drawer. Wiping his hands on his pants, he looked at me, and the torn expression he wore sent a pang through my heart.

“It’s okay,” I whispered.

He shook his head slightly but didn’t speak on it, returning to the bed and beneath the blankets. Our shoulders were almost touching, and although that marginal space remained between us, it somehow felt more intimate, more daring, as if a calling for one of us to close it. With a sharp inhale, I closed the space.

The first brush of our shoulders sent electricity down my spine. He was warmer than before, thanks to the blankets, and while a hug was intimate, being in bed with him was on an entirely different level.

“Jungkook,” I spoke in a hushed tone, as if sharing a secret. “You shouldn’t have to go check the apartment by yourself if this ever happens again. Okay? We’ll call the police and Taehyung.”

“It’s my apartment.” His voice was as quiet as mine, just as strained. “It’s my duty to protect it.”

“Duty won’t keep you alive if you get ambushed, or if the intruder has a gun.”

“My objective was to keep you alive.”

“Objective?” My forehead creased. “What about you?”

“People come first.”

“No,” I refused sharply, surprising us. “If you don’t protect yourself, there won’t be enough of you to protect anyone else. So, if something like this ever happens again, we’re calling for help. You would want me to call for help if the roles were reversed, wouldn’t you?”

“You don’t know how to use a gun. I do.”

“You could’ve stayed in the bathroom with me and your gun,” I argued. “We could’ve called for help in there, and you still would’ve been protecting me.” He didn’t respond. “It happened so fast, but you have to be careful. Okay? Just…call for help next time.”

He remained silent.

“If you don’t,” I warned, “I’ll go with you, no matter what you say.”

He deadpanned.

“I know you can hear me,” I said. “Ignoring people is rude.”

“So is telling them what to do.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Don’t Make Me Repeat Myself.”

“It was needed in the moment.”

“And so is this,” I made my point. “So, you need to agree with me.”

“Do I?” he asked drily.

“Yes.”

He rested his arm over his forehead and closed his eyes. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Not until you agree with me.”

“On the contrary,” he replied. “I will sleep perfectly fine without succumbing to your demands.”

Annoyed, I pushed myself to sit. “Why won’t you agree?”

He opened his eyes to look at me. “Because I don’t want to.”

I scoffed. “That’s not a good enough reason.”

“It is for me.” He closed his eyes again. “Goodnight.”

My hands thought before I did. I slapped his arm.

He looked at me, startled. “Hello?”

Horrified, I clamped my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

He slowly sat up. “You hit me.”

“It was a slap,” I half-heartedly defended myself. “I’m really sorry.”

“Do you usually resort to violence?”

“Only after being told to lock myself in a bathroom and fear for that person’s life,” I said, my voice’s pitch rising an octave.

“Were you that afraid for me?”

“Why are you confused? Of course I was!” Again, I was horrified when I slapped him again, this time on his chest. He instinctively grabbed my wrist, keeping me from repeating the action.

I squeaked out another apology, but he didn’t care for it. Instead, he leaned in so close that I felt his breath on my face. “We don’t hit, Luetta. Do you know what we do?”

“Not hit?” I tried.

“We use our words.”

I struggled to get away, but I wasn’t going anywhere with his hold on me. “I was using my words!”

“Ah. So, since I don’t agree with your words, violence is the only answer?” He grabbed my other wrist when I used it to try to free myself. “Violence isn’t the answer.”

“Says the man who has a gun in his drawer.”

“Self-defense is very different. Must I explain this to you?”

“Oh, you must,” I said sarcastically.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “While I’m at it, must I remind you whose bed you’re in? Whose apartment you’re in? Whose house rules need to be followed?”

“I was just in your apartment’s bathroom, hiding for my life while you gallivanted with a gun, so no thanks! No reminder is needed.”

“Such a big word for you.”

“Oh, you’re just so—” I tried to wrestle free to no avail. “Let me go!”

“Don’t hit me.”

“Agree with me!”

He applied pressure to his grip. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Why is it so important to me that you don’t die? Do you even hear yourself?” I released a singular shout of exasperation. “You’re not listening to me.”

“I am listening to you. Agreeing and listening aren’t the same thing.”

“Don’t mansplain words to me.”

“Don’t force agreement, and tame your hands.”

“I’m going to tame you,” I seethed.

“Is that so?”

I kept struggling against him. “Oh, it’s very so. You have no idea how so it is.”

“I can take an estimated guess.”

“Don’t,” I spat out. “It’ll just be wrong.”

He moved back just as I leaned forward, and our foreheads lightly bumped against each other. I reacted like I’d been hit, and I fell back dramatically. Surprised, he released my hands and leaned over me. “Are you all right?”

I popped up and attacked, throwing my arms around him and digging my hands into his back. “No!”

He steadied us both from falling off the bed, holding my waist tightly from where I straddled his lap. Everything was so hot and intense: his face, his eyes, his body, his annoyed mental dictionary, and how it felt like he was pulsing beneath me.

He didn’t stop me from attacking him, and I realized it was because stopping me would cause us to fall off the bed.

“I win,” I declared. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“Jungkook.”

“Luetta.”

I continued my attacks, which did not affect him at all. “Surrender now.”

“No.”

Increasingly frustrated, I leaned back and squared him with the sternest look I could fathom. “I don’t want you to die. Just agree with me.” An unfamiliar emotion washed over me. “Please don’t die.”

His hold loosened before increasing, his fingers digging into my hips. His tone softened. “You were in the bathroom for your own safety.”

“But what about yours?” I demanded. “We could’ve been safe together, just like I said before. If you were listening to me, you would agree with me. So, whatever’s going on in your head that makes you think you’re the only person who needs to be out there in danger, stop letting it disagree with me.” I put my hands on his shoulders and tried to shake some sense into him, but he didn’t budge. “Don’t die.”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re in the security business protecting people, or did you forget that you don’t want people to die either?”

“That’s different,” he said distantly. “I have a reason. What is yours?”

“Maybe I just don’t want people to die.” I scowled. “You’re impossible.”

“Am I?”

“You’re being reckless, and as someone in security, you should know that having a team is better than going solo. I’m in accounting, and even I know that. A good team can make the difference.”

He breathed for a moment. “If I stayed with you in the bathroom, how would we have been a team?”

“I would’ve called Taehyung and the police, and you would aim your gun at the door just in case the intruder came in. For all you know, it could’ve been multiple armed intruders. Then what? Death? I don’t think so.” I tried to shake him again, and failed. Again. “I don’t want you to die, and I definitely don’t want to see it happen. I—I don’t know how to shoot a gun, but if the intruders killed you, I would figure it out. I would try my hardest.”

He looked like I’d slapped him.

“What?” I asked, confused.

His throat constricted. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what? I was just saying—”

“Enough, Luetta,” he snapped.

I flinched. Quickly untangling myself from him, I moved to the other side of the bed. Lifting the blankets, I tried to keep a hold of them, but my fingers kept shaking. The adrenaline from earlier still hadn’t worn off, and our argument had only worsened it. My chest heaved with an assortment of feelings, and everything that had been building since the sudden scare streamed down my cheeks.

“I don’t want you to die,” I choked out angrily. Fearfully. “We have a cactus together.”

He wouldn’t look at me.

“Fine,” I snapped, taking a page from his book. “Be okay with dying. I don’t care.” I tried to grab the blankets again, failed, and left the bed, over it. Overwhelmed, I tried to get into the bathroom, but he’d closed the door, and the doorknob kept slipping through my grasp. “Fuck!”

I needed privacy, somewhere to feel everything by myself, a small area where checking things repeatedly wasn’t as needed, but I couldn’t open the door, Jungkook had probably seen my tears, and we could’ve died tonight, and he didn’t care—

“Breathe.” His hand enclosed where mine rested on the doorknob.

“Stay away.” This would end like it always did: misunderstanding, pain, and disgust. He’d been so understanding, but maybe this was the final blow. Maybe my concern had made him pull away, maybe it was my fault, maybe—

“Luetta, breathe.” His chest pressed against my back, his hand still over mine. “You’re still scared, and our disagreement made things worse.”

“Go away,” I insisted.

“You’re hyperventilating.” Guilt permeated his tone. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.” His hand rubbed the top of mine, squeezing gently. “Let me take you to bed. We’ll calm down, take deep breaths, and talk before going to sleep. Does that sound okay?”

“No,” I refused, even though it did. Even though it’s what I wanted.

“No?” he murmured.

“No,” I said.

“How about now?” he asked softly. “Does a third time make it okay?”

I sniffled. “A little.”

“Yeah? A little?” He gently eased me away from the door, giving me time to deny his help. I didn’t. “How does that feel?”

“Okay,” I decided shakily.

“Good. How about we walk to the bed where it’s warm. Won’t that feel nice?”

I found myself nodding and being led by him. Back under the blankets, I sniffled again as I looked up at him. My tear-stained cheeks heightened his guilt, and regret painted his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, gently swiping his thumb over my cheek to catch a tear. “I have my own reasons for how I reacted tonight, and you have your own reasons to feel the way you do. They’re both valid. But I…I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He exhaled tightly. “All I could see was you in trouble and afraid, and I had to protect you. If the intruder found me, at least it would’ve been away from you. They could’ve left; it wouldn’t have been probable for them to loot the bathroom. But you’re right; I should’ve stayed with you.”

My tears fell quicker. “I’m sorry for attacking you.”

“I didn’t mind.” His other hand rose to wipe my other cheek, and when my breath caught, he cupped my face. “Breathe.”

“I’m trying,” I insisted weakly.

“I know you are. You’re doing very good.”

I melted into the pillows. “We’re both sorry.”

“We are.”

“You won’t die?”

“I’m not planning to.” He caressed my cheeks. “And you?”

“Me neither. I’m not planning to.” I leaned into his palm, blinking up at him as tears stuck to my eyelashes. “I wish I hadn’t woken up to use the bathroom.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“You are?”

“We ensured my apartment was safe, and we’re talking. We’re safe.” He whispered, “Aren’t we?”

I nuzzled into his touch. “We are.” I grabbed his shirt, my fingers no longer shaking as intensely. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“You can be warm under the blankets.”

He accepted the invitation, releasing my face with another gentle caress. Beside me, he eased my hair away from my forehead. “Sleep,” he murmured. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Technically, today is Saturday.”

“If it’s dark outside, it’s still Friday.”

I smiled tiredly. “The way you talk…”

“Is disconcerting. I know.”

“No. Sometimes, it’s nice. I like that it’s still Friday. That way, tomorrow will be Saturday, and this scare will be Friday’s problem. Saturday will be brand new.”

He tucked the blankets more securely around me. “That’s exactly why it’s still Friday.”

I ruffled his hair because he’d touched mine. His hair was inherently softer, and I sighed quietly. “I hate crying.”

“It isn’t the greatest leisure activity.”

“What’s the greatest leisure activity?”

“Taking care of our cactus.”

I leaned into his arm, pressing my cheek against it. “Cordelia has great parents.”

“When did we marry?”

“In a dream I had.”

I heard his smile as my eyes closed. “It must have been a good dream.”

“It was. I hope I have it again.”

“I hope you do, too.”

I wrapped my arm around his. “We’ll stay in the bathroom next time. You and me, Jungkook.”

“We will.” He gently squeezed my shoulder. “Now, we’ll sleep.”

I nodded. “And have our good dreams we want to have again.”

“That’s right.”

I curled up to him. “Goodnight for real this time.”

“Goodnight for real this time, Luetta.”

Chapter Text

Aside from the near heart attack this morning when I woke up on Jungkook's chest, I'd gathered my bearings after a warm shower and a pair of clean clothes.

I found him in the kitchen, dressed in a crisp, white shirt, leisurely sipping a cup of coffee. I walked past him with my chin held high, determined not to let him see how much he affected me. I wasn't even sure what to make of it myself.

I opened the fridge, pretending to study its contents.

He spoke up, his deep morning voice doing things to me. "Have you decided what your Saturday plans will be?"

I closed the fridge. "No."

His eyes motioned to the fridge. "A smoothie is in there for you."

I opened the fridge, claimed it, and eyed him on my journey to the kitchen island. Sitting down, I mumbled my thanks around my straw.

"The landlord is sending someone to check on the leak today," he informed me. "They should be here soon. After that, however, I don't have any plans either."

Did he expect me to come up with an idea for both of us to do? Because I wouldn't do that, not after spending a night under his cool sheets while his body warmed mine. He was getting under my skin, and I didn't know how to get him out—or if I even wanted him to. "We could get ice cream," I suggested. Damn it.

He caught my eye over the rim of his cup. "I would love to."

I aggressively sipped my smoothie. "Great."

Maintenance came as scheduled, but their news was perturbing. The ceiling in the guest room had to be removed, and the room beside it, where the HVAC system was, had to be removed.

"The HVAC system has a clogged condensate drain line, and this system is old. We're working on switching every system in this apartment," the maintenance man said.

Jungkook's arms rippled when he crossed them. "In conclusion, the faulty HVAC system will leave us without AC."

Maintenance nodded apologetically. "I'll order a new system right away, but it can take a few days. In the meantime, I'll call the landlord and get a portable AC unit for you." He gestured to Jungkook and me. "It'll be fine, right? Girlfriend and boyfriend. You can stay in the same room. Good thing this was just a guest room, right?" He laughed lightly and walked to the exit. "I'll be back later today with the portable AC unit. In the meantime, go somewhere with AC and turn yours off. If not, the leak will continue."

Jungkook forcefully locked the doors behind him. Turning to me, he leaned against the door with pinched brows and a stern expression. "This is unacceptable. You felt safe in the guest room, and it has your stuffed animals. Now—" He ran a hand through his hair, upset. "Now, it's a mess."

"It's fine," I was quick to reassure him. "Really. The stuffed animals didn't get wet." This didn't appease him, so I added, "I'm okay. Your room is safe, too."

He dragged his palm over his face. "I'll sleep on the living room couch."

"No," I blurted.

His hand slowly left his face. "No?"

"It's—well, it's safe in your room because..." My cheeks burned crimson. "You're there. And we're a team, remember?"

"I remember," he said, his tone gravelly.

I swallowed. "So, we'll share your bed again. The uh...pillow barrier probably isn't needed."

"You woke up on top of me."

I squeaked. "You were awake?"

"When you first rolled over onto me, yes. I'm a light sleeper, as I warned you."

"Then—but then, why didn't you push me off?"

"You were comfortable."

My heart tugged and tugged furiously. "Were you comfortable?"

"Yes."

I hugged my elbows to my chest. Stay calm, be cool. "I'll try not to do it again. I usually sleep with my stuffed bear."

"Ah." The way he looked at me. I shivered. "The one in the clown outfit."

"It's a jester outfit."

"So," he summarized, "you lay on me because I reminded you of a jester."

"No," I sputtered. "I'm just used to hugging something in my sleep."

"Will the jester be joining us in bed tonight?"

"Yes," I mumbled, turning on my heel to retrieve him. "He's a better hugger."

When I reappeared, he held his hand out. "May I?"

I clung to my bear. "For what?"

"I enjoyed your hugs, so I would like to see if he truly is a better hugger."

I sputtered incoherently before snapping my mouth shut. "Use your imagination."

His brow slowly raised. "For?"

"The hug."

"I don't have to use my imagination. We were very close last night."

"No!" I said, squeezing the life out of my bear for support. "I mean, yes, but I meant use your imagination to hug the bear."

"Hm. No, thank you. I'm not interested in imagining that."

"What are you interested in imagining?" I shot back.

He drew his bottom lip into his mouth, momentarily releasing it. "It depends on my mood."

I vibrated right where I stood. "What's your mood? Upset because of the ceiling leak?"

"Yes."

"What do you imagine when you're upset?"

"It depends on who I'm with."

My pulse jumped beneath my skin. "You're with me right now."

"I know who I'm currently with, Luetta, thank you."

"Then what are you imagining?" I said, frustrated—and flustered.

He contemplated. Then, "I'm afraid that's not up for discussion."

"What?" I demanded. "Why?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"You know what? I don't. And you can stay here." I put my bear on his bed and returned in a ball of frustrated flurry. "I'm getting ice cream alone."

"Luetta." His brows tugged together. "That was our plan."

"Key word: our. It's a shared thing, but you won't share your imagination, so I'm not sharing my time."

He exhaled shortly. "Luetta."

"Don't Luetta me, Mr. Jeon."

"I told you that you needn't call me that."

"Don't make me talk to Fernando again," I warned. "Unless he escaped from the kitchen cabinet."

"Haven't you heard?" he said drily, watching me hop around as I pulled my shoes on. "He's the one who caused the ceiling leak."

"No, no." I finally pulled one shoe on. "I distinctly remember it was the HVAC that caused the leak."

"He broke the system."

"Fernando wouldn't do that. He's a nice thesaurus."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you thought you did."

"Whatever." I toppled over, but my other shoe was successfully on. Standing with a huff, I pushed his helping hand away. "I'm going to get ice cream."

"Your car doesn't have AC," he reminded me, as if I needed reminding. "We're currently in a heatwave."

"Well, I'll be sure to wave at it, then." I started unlocking the door, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him.

His shoes were already on; his stupidly shiny dress shoes. He had put them on right after we made the plan to get ice cream, and my mind was sent into a flurry, just like it was now. "We'll go together."

"I refuse."

"Luetta," he said calmly. "You can't force someone to share if they don't want to."

"I know I can't, but you started talking about it and then just stopped," I fumed. "Now I'll never know, and it's annoying."

"I apologize that it's annoying. Do you realize it's also annoying to give up on plans with someone?"

"Fine, we're both annoying. Happy?"

"Not unless we can get ice cream together."

I prepared to rip my hand away from him, but he opened his palm and slipped his fingers into mine. It was over. "Fine," I snapped, using my other hand to unlock the door. "We'll get ice cream."

"We'll take my car."

"Fine."

In his car, he ensured the AC vents were pointed at me. Breathing deeply, his handsome smile intensified the heat in my stomach. "Together," he stated. That was all. No follow-up, no nothing. Just those words and his handsome, rugged smile that made me hot enough to wonder if the AC was even on.

He was a fan of mint chocolate chip ice cream, just another thing for us to bicker about. He stood firm, and I gave up, although I side-eyed his ice cream often.

"You're eating toothpaste," I told him.

"If mint weren't so well associated with toothpaste, you wouldn't be saying that."

"Well, it is, so."

"Then, if you insist, I'm eating toothpaste." He hummed contentedly. "And it's delicious."

I fake gagged, secretly pleased when he laughed. "Luvandor likes pistachio ice cream. It's green and not as gross as mint, so you should switch."

"I'm fine with my choices, thank you." He was smiling easily, more easily than I'd seen him do before. Relief seeped through me that I decided to let him join me for ice cream, allowing me to see his smile. "How did you meet Luvandor? I figure it must be for a few years since you're very close."

"Yeah, a few years ago at a college lecture." I smiled to myself at the memory. "He was supporting the professor."

"I see," he mused. "There is an age gap there."

"There's nothing wrong with that," I said, heat behind my words.

"You often read between the lines of my words when there is nothing there to read."

Feeling rebuked, I stared down at my nearly finished ice cream cone.

"I do the same thing," he followed up with gently. "Pattern recognition." Softer, "Remember?"

I gave a small nod. "Are you upset?"

"I'm eating mint chocolate ice cream, sitting beside you, and enjoying our conversation." He tilted his head, and I turned to catch the movement, put at ease by his smile. "I'm having a nice day, and all you did was misunderstand my words. I'm not upset, and my day is still as nice as before."

Relief sagged my shoulders, and I smiled weakly. "Sorry. I need to work on the pattern recognition thing."

"So do I." His fingers gently rapped against our table. "I assume people have scrutinized your friendship with Luvandor."

I sighed. "So much."

"All because of the age gap?"

"Well, yeah, but because of other things, too. Things that he shouldn't be hated for."

He lightly prompted, "Such as?"

I prepared my ice cream, ready to weaponize it if any part of his expression soured. "He transitioned," I explained curtly. "In his early twenties, from a woman to a man."

He remained quiet as the information sank in, silently processing it. Then it clicked, and annoyance flickered in his features. "Because of the age gap and his transition, people have assumed he has ulterior motives with you?"

Surprised, my grip on the cone faltered. "Yeah."

There it was, the disgust. But it wasn't aimed at Luvandor. "I'm sorry that he deals with their cruelty." Grave understanding lined his forehead. "Gender identity is never a reason for hatred."

"It isn't," I agreed, invigorated. "They'll pick him apart to find other reasons to hate him, but even when they don't find anything other than his identity, it makes their anger worse, and they hate him anyway."

My cone cracked slightly, but I didn't heed it. "Before my parents knew, they loved him. They thought he was doing great things for his community, but when I brought him over for dinner one day, they saw the trans flag on his bag. They asked what it was, thinking maybe it was a gender reveal thing for him or someone else." Ice cream spilled onto the table, slipping through the cracks of my cone. "If I knew how cruel they would be to him, I would've never brought him to dinner."

Bitterness stung the back of my eyes. "He had to leave while I tried to calm them down, and even after I went to find him in the front yard, he just smiled and said he was more worried about me because they were my parents and I had been dealing with them for longer. I threatened to cut my parents off, so they promised they wouldn't be cruel to him again, but on the phone a while back, they called him a predator, and I just—" I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I realized they wouldn't change, and they just gave me false hope so they could still feel in control of me and my life."

I sat up straighter. "I haven't talked to them since then, and I don't know if I ever will again. Or...my brother. He wasn't as cruel, but he still was."

Jungkook retrieved a napkin from its holder and carefully eased it around my now sopping cone. "I'm sorry for how they treated Luvandor. And," he added, his tone cutting and yet somehow still containing an ounce of softness just for me, "for how they treated you. Neither of you deserves that treatment."

I looked away, feeling incredibly vulnerable and out of place in this ice cream parlor. "You don't have to be sorry. It isn't your fault."

"I know it isn't, but I can feel sorry for what you and Luvandor have been through." He used another napkin to wipe my hands. "Okay?"

I sniffled. "Okay. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize." His hands worked efficiently and kindly, cleaning away the melted ice cream between my fingers and dripping onto my palm. "Is that pattern recognition, too?"

I nodded before I could think against it. "My parents." I winced. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm talking about myself a lot."

"I don't mind."

I chewed my lip wearily. "You don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. I enjoy hearing you talk."

It felt like my stomach was turned inside out, flipping and reeling and jumping. "You like hearing me talk?"

"I do, so whatever you have to say, say it, Luetta." His eyes conveyed his firm sincerity. "I'm listening."

I choked up. "I'm listening to you, too. I am. I want to listen to you."

His features tensed, but then they relaxed marginally, just enough for me to see the pain dimming his eyes. "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything," I whispered.

He showed a small, strained smile. "That's a broad statement."

"But we're a team," I said quietly. "And teams talk about anything."

"Not every team does."

"Good teams do."

"We're a brand new team."

"But we'll be a good one," I decided. The chatter in the parlor seemed to die out, and only our voices were heard in our shared space, leaning across the table, so, so close. "I know it."

"Oh?" he murmured, swiping his thumb over the space in my fingers he just cleaned. "You know it?"

"I know it." I caught his hand, pulling his fingers through mine before he could pull away.

The corners of his lips tightened, but he squeezed my hand softly, careful with me. Kind to me. Listening to me. "Ask me something."

"Ask you what?" I whispered.

"Something easy. Something...true."

It was my turn to squeeze his hand, and although I had so many questions that had been accumulating about his life, his past, and who he was, I kept it easy. And true. "What do you usually do on Saturdays?"

His hand relaxed in mine. "I read."

"The whole day?"

"It's safe in my apartment, and it's safe at my company."

"You only go to those two places?"

"The grocery store, as well. And now..." He lubricated his throat with a hard swallow. "Luvandor's flower boutique, the farmer's market, the coffee shop, and this ice cream parlor."

My heart clenched, and although it sank from the gravity and meaning behind his isolation and what could've caused it, I kept my tone light for his sake. "Have you ever heard of the library downtown?"

"I can't say I have."

"Then don't." I smiled brightly, watching it positively affect him. He smiled in return, even though he wasn't quite sure why yet. "Do you want to go there with me? My ice cream melted anyway."

"I would like to go there, yes. With you." He hesitated. "I don't have a library card."

"How do you have so many books?"

"Online shopping."

"Well, the good thing is, you have your driver's license, and that's enough to get a library card." I released his hand with a quick pat. Standing, I proposed, "Do you want to get the same book at the library? We can read it tonight as part of your routine."

He stood with me. "I would like that."

"Great." I grabbed my napkins, and he grabbed his. "Ready?"

He wiggled his fingers, and I accepted the offer quickly, returning my hand to his. Once I did, he breathed deeply. "I'm ready."

He came alive in the library, just like he had at the farmer's market. His arms were full of books by the time we approached the front desk, and I watched his lips try to fight his smile, immediately endeared when his smile kept winning.

The librarians were charmed, striking up conversation that he divulged, catering towards books and any plans for the rest of the day. "I am not sure," he answered the last question, looking down at me. "It's for her to decide." He turned his smile back to the librarians, who almost swooned at the sight, not that I could blame them. "We will see where she takes me."

We carried our library books to the car, a few of them identical for our routine night-reading, and set off toward the shops. I led him to ones I thought he would enjoy, creative ones that would keep the new-found spark in his eyes from disappearing: a pottery shop, where we painted pottery and would be able to come collect it in a few days; an art gallery, a candle making center, a tea brewing center, and a coffee shop with a few coffee blends he could take home to try.

My OCD was still prevalent; it never wouldn't be, but being in control of our outing eased it. Knowing where we would go, how long each setting would be, and what was next, alleviated certain symptoms.

"Do you do this when Luvandor is out of town?" he asked on our way to his car. I sipped my iced coffee, shaking my head. "What are your Saturdays without him made up of?"

"Mostly nothing," I admitted. "I'll stay at my apartment and watch a comfort show."

"I see. Then, this Saturday was new for us both."

I peeked up at him with a curious smile. "Did you have fun?"

"I did." He met my gaze. "Did you?"

"A lot of fun." I gathered enough courage to suggest, "Maybe we could make this a Sunday routine, since Luvandor and I already have a Saturday one. I mean, we wouldn't have to do everything we did today every Sunday, but some of the things could be fun, I think, if you think so, too."

"Would you like that? To make this a weekly occurrence?"

"Would you? Because I...I would."

"Yes, very much, I would." His eyes flickered across the street, and all at once, he quickened his step. Surprised, I looked after him, but when he held his hand out to me, I hurried to grab it. We ran across the street after looking both ways, breathless, surprised laughter leaving me in short spurts. Wonder and enjoyment, warm sunshine, and his warm, kind touch.

He stopped at an outdoor booth selling flowers, looking around quickly as the person manning it spoke with another customer. His face lit up when he spotted what he wanted, and leaning forward, he released my hand to gingerly lift a pot of pink zinnias, a plant I knew well because of Luvandor's affinity for them.

He held them as if someone would take them from him, stepping up when the customer concluded their purchase. "Hello, I'm Jungkook. You have beautiful flowers." He lifted the pot of zinnias slightly. "May I purchase this?"

The shop owner belly-laughed. "Sure you can! What else do you think I've got these flowers up for?"

Jungkook chuckled, paid in cash, and returned to where I watched the interaction. Startled, I accepted the pot of zinnias from him. "Thank you," he said meaningfully. "For such a wonderful Saturday."

"These are for me?" I loosed a surprised breath. "Why?"

"You like the color pink, and Cordelia needs friends. Luvandor will give us tips since I'm afraid I don't know the slightest thing about growing these flowers."

I started laughing, purely on cloud nine. "They're zinnias."

"Are they? Do you know how to take care of them?"

"Thanks to Luvandor, I do." I smelled them happily, gutted at the gift. No one had ever given me flowers before. "Thank you. They're the most beautiful zinnias."

"It is perfect then, to match the most beautiful Saturday."

I scoffed quietly, barely believing him. Wanting to believe him. "The most beautiful Saturday?"

"The most beautiful Saturday."

"You've probably had better Saturdays."

"Perhaps I have, but right now, here in this moment, I can't remember them."

I took a second to remember how to do anything other than getting lost in him. "Thank you for coming with me today, even though I didn't want you to after you didn't share your imagination with me."

He hummed contemplatively. "Thank you for letting me. And...Luetta."

"Yeah?"

"Perhaps some things can be shared as time passes."

"Really?" I wondered.

"I would like to think so."

"Then think so, if you'd like to." I bit back a smile. "What takeout are we getting for dinner?"

"Whatever you'd like."

"Pizza?"

"Pizza."

"Pizza," I concluded. I held my prized zinnias close. "We're parents of two. Do you think Cordelia will be jealous?"

"Hardly. Company can be nice, if it's of the right kind."

"Yeah." I couldn't look away from him. "Company can be nice."

His phone rang. He didn't heed it, only heeding me.

With great difficulty, I told him, "You should answer it. It could be maintenance for the portable AC unit."

I turned out to be right, and while he spoke on the phone, I tried to remember how to breathe properly. He was making it difficult, especially when his eyes kept drifting toward me as he talked to maintenance.

This man.

I held my zinnias for strength. 

Chapter Text

At the pizza place, I told Jungkook I would wait in the car, wanting to keep an eye on the zinnias. He parted with a smile that I returned.

I busied myself with gently tracing the zinnias' petals and looking at the rest of our recently purchased items, excited to read a book with him tonight. We'd chosen something lighter, most likely needing it after the scare last night, and I hoped it would help settle our nerves, although today had done a great job as it stood.

Leaning back in my seat, I breathed deeply, sinking into the ease of the day. A sharp knock on the passenger door took me out of my pleasantness, and I jolted to view the perpetrator. Surprise and shock overtook me, thinning my voice. "Keaton?"

He knocked until I lowered the window. "Whose car is this? Luvandor can't afford this." He looked inside to ensure his words were true.

My words fell flat, even as turmoil stirred in my gut. "What are you doing here? You live two hours away."

"It's summer break. Or did you forget that, too?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know." He rested his folded arms against the window. "You forgot to attend my high school graduation because of, what was it, your OCD quota wasn't met before you could leave the house?"

Heat spiked across the back of my neck, equal parts remorse and humiliation. My voice dipped. "I said I was sorry."

"Doesn't help the memory of looking into the crowd during my valedictorian speech and not seeing you there, does it?"

"No, I—I know that."

"Then there's the time you embarrassed me in front of my friends when we were taking pictures for prom, repeating things under your breath like you were off your rocker. Mom had to make you leave the room. Remember that?"

"Of course I remember that," I snapped. "What's your point? Why are you here? To make me apologize for things I've already apologized for and tried to fix?"

"You can't fix crazy, Lu."

"I'm not crazy," I insisted. "OCD is a medical—"

"—diagnosis that requires treatment. Do you see the treatment anywhere? I don't. You know why?" He leaned in closer, his frustration alive and well. "You like being miserable, so why would you stop doing what you like?"

"I can't afford help," I defended myself, feeling my throat tighten, feeling the tears force their way through. You're the older sibling; don't cry, don't cry. "All of it went to my apartment for repairs."

"You've had years to get help, years to save up, but all you have to show for it are excuses."

Something twisted, broke, and then it snapped within me. "I don't have help! Mom and Dad are always on your side, helping you, praising you, and I never got that. I could never do anything right. I was too childish, too loud, too obsessive, too compulsive. They could've put me in therapy as a kid; it was their job to help me, but they didn't. Instead, they helped you in any way they could with school, social events, tutoring—anything you needed to succeed, while I was left in the dust.

"Why?" My voice broke. "Why is that my fault? They could help me now; they can afford it five thousand times over, but they would rather berate every choice I make. Accounting is a good field, and I enjoy it, but since it's beneath them, they see me and my career choice as something to step all over. But you?" I laughed, harsh and grating. I hated it, everything about it. "You get everything you want without having to ask. Everyone's at the beck and call of Keaton, the baby boy of the Dove family. Who would want the eldest daughter, right? Who would want the fucked up one? The one who can never do anything right?"

My voice teetered into a yell. "Who would want me? You don't even want me as your sister, Keaton, so what," I demanded, "do you want? If you're so upset with me and hold grudges over things I did in the past, why do you still find me whenever you're in town? What the hell do you want from me?!"

He flinched and subtly moved back. "Jesus, Luetta."

"What now? I'm crazy again? What a surprise! Do better." Pissed, I started closing the window, but he put a hand out to stop me.

He shook his head tightly. "I was getting pizza with some old friends and saw you in this car. I was going to text you, but you blocked me."

"Yeah, because you continue being an asshole to Luvandor."

He glared at me. "Can you shut up for five seconds?"

"Sorry, sorry. Let me just let you walk all over me and make me feel small. You're right! What was I thinking?"

"Stop," he hissed. "I came here to tell you something."

"What?" I yelled.

He backed up again, but he kept his hand out to prevent me from closing the window. "It's about Mom and Dad."

"They're blocked, too, so I don't care."

"Luetta," he snapped. "24 cucumber."

I stopped. 24 cucumber: the code word we made up as kids, soon after learning what 24 carat meant, but we hated carrots, so we changed it to cucumbers because we were as cool as cucumbers. It was a phrase we used when something was important, and no matter what, we promised to always listen, and at nine and five years old, it felt very sacred.

I felt sick. "What is it?"

"Mom and Dad," he repeated. "They're pissed that you blocked them. They don't like having control. You know that."

I caressed the pot holding my zinnias, trying to ignore the fear pooling in my stomach. "What did they do?"

"They said they were planning to do it today." His shoulders lifted in a resigned manner. "I went to your apartment, but you weren't there, and I don't know where you're staying, so I couldn't tell you sooner."

"Keaton," I said, rapidly growing anxious. "What did they do?"

He frowned. "They're going to drain your bank account. Transfer the funds to a different account that you don't have access to, if they haven't already."

My face was drained of any color.

"They're co-signers," he said. "They have been since you set up the bank account with them, so it's not illegal, but..." He stepped back, knowing I was too frozen to close the window anymore. "This is them taking power back. If they haven't done it yet, you can still take your money out and open a new checking or savings account. Change your password, do what you have to."

I scrambled for my phone to log into my banking app.

He took another step back. "You could just talk to them. They won't do it if you do."

"You want me to talk to them?" My fingers shook so intensely that I couldn't navigate to the app. "After they're doing this? I—I was so stupid to think that by cutting them off, they couldn't do anything else to me, but look at what they're doing. And you want me to talk to them?"

"If you want your money, yeah. Talk to them. Swallow your pride." He looked around. "Is Luvandor here?"

"Why do you care?" I shouted. "He doesn't need your snide remarks."

He bristled. "You know what? Get your bank account drained. I don't care." He pivoted abruptly with a scoff. "Fuck you."

"Fuck you, too!" I screamed. I looked like the crazy one while he was calm and collected. I knew how it looked; I knew, I knew, I knew.

"What is this?" My head snapped around when Jungkook spoke. He held the pizza box and wore a dark expression, aimed right at Keaton. His voice was eerily calm, chilled to the bone. "What did you say to her?" He stepped closer, looming over Keaton. "Who permitted you to say anything to her at all?"

"Who the hell are you?" Keaton scoffed, but I heard the waver in his voice. It was the same fearful waver I heard when he was seven years old, telling me, I'm scared of the dark, Lulu! We'll need to have a sleepover every day for the rest of my life.

"I don't care for your tone." Jungkook cocked his head, his eyes slicing right through Keaton. "I don't care for you using it with me, and I especially don't care for you using it with her. Do you know what else I don't care for?" He leaned down, making Keaton stumble back. "Strangers soliciting around my car. You're wearing designer clothes; how will they look in jail?"

Keaton stiffened. "I'm her brother." He looked at me, like I would save him. I didn't say anything, just like he never said anything in my defense when our parents yelled at me.

Jungkook quickly assessed my wordless exchange with Keaton. His eyes narrowed as he assessed. "Whoever you are, I want you gone. Am I understood?"

"You can't tell me—"

"I can tell you whatever I wish to tell you, and if I have to repeat myself, neither of us will enjoy it, but you even more so." His eyes held promise for retribution. "Leave."

Keaton most likely thought he had the last word when he brushed Jungkook's shoulder hard on his way past him, but whether Jungkook cared or not, his attention was on me. He made it to his car in seconds, his long strides making it easy.

"Was he your brother or a stranger?" he asked. "Yes or no. That's all, Luetta, please."

I couldn't see my phone. Every part of me was shaking, my vision blurred, and my mind just the same. "Both," I managed.

He exhaled his upset, but he pushed it aside, channeling his focus entirely on me. "What did he say to you?" He noted my shaking hands and glazed eyes. "Luetta, if he threatened you—"

"He wouldn't do that," I blurted. "He's an ass, but he—no, he wouldn't do that." I kept trying to locate the app through my blurred vision. "He came to warn me."

He stiffened. "About?"

"My parents," I gasped out. He immediately stepped closer, his hand on the window rest as he leaned in closer.

"Breathe," he instructed. "Whatever it is, we'll take care of it."

"We can't," I stammered. "They're not doing anything illegal, even though it feels like it should be. I—I should've known better than to let them be co-signers, but I was seventeen, and they were the ones so used to handling money, so I thought they were right, and the banker agreed with them, so who was I to disagree? I was just dumb, seventeen-year-old Luetta."

"You were not dumb for believing your parents, the people who should only love and protect you." He held his hand out. "Give me your phone."

"Jungkook, I can't, I have to—"

"You're having a hard time holding your phone and finding your banking app, correct?" Again, with more firmness, he instructed, "Give me your phone."

I listened to him, unsure what else to do. "I can't find it."

"I'll find it. Yes?"

"Yes," I whimpered.

His other hand found mine. "You're safe. If they took your money, we'll figure it out. You're not alone."

"Jungkook," is all I could manage as my mind spun.

"I know. I'm here." He found the banking app. "What's your password?" I hesitated. "You can tell me. You'll need to set up a new bank account after this, and you'll change the password."

Relieved at his reasoning, I rattled off the password. The silence was deafening after he typed it in. "Jungkook?"

He squeezed my hand. "It will be fine."

My stomach swooped and fell, dipping into despair. "They transferred the money?"

He dipped his chin gravely, and the anger backing his words was striking. "They did."

Panic enveloped me. "That was my rent and deposit money."

"It's all right." He clicked my phone off and placed it on the center console, taking into account how intensely my hands were shaking. "You saved up enough for rent and deposit money in one month. One more month won't harm you; it will be as safe as this month has been."

He gently folded my hands into his. "Has it not been safe?" he murmured.

"Yes." It had been safer than I could ever have fathomed. "But I—Jungkook, I can't stay at your apartment for another month."

"You can. I have no problem with it."

"I have a problem with it," I insisted, breathing heavily. "You're my boss, and I don't want to put a strain on the job you gave me. And we've been—we have a Sunday routine now, and I don't want to mess it up by being a burden."

"You are not a burden," he said sharply, making my words dissipate into silence. "You have lit up every inch of my apartment." He brought our hands to the zinnias' petals. "You love the color pink. It makes you happy, does it not?"

I pushed out a nod, barely noticeable. But he noticed it.

"Pink makes you feel comfortable, as if you are at home," he continued. "It makes your days brighter. Yes?" Another nod from me, and a deep, strained breath from him, founded by determination. "You are to me what pink is to you. Pink doesn't burden you, and you don't burden me. On the contrary, Luetta." He was slightly breathless, unmoving, while his words moved me. "You have made my apartment feel like home."

I shook my head. I couldn't stop. "You always ruin things!" my father always said. My mother always said, "Your insanity will drive everyone away. You should be glad we still try to help you." During his later teenage years, Keaton started saying, "Why are you like this? You're ruining everything."

They were supposed to be my family—my home, and yet, here Jungkook was, someone I'd met barely three months ago, telling me I'd made his apartment feel like home. You are to me what pink is to you.

My head kept shaking repeatedly, my mind conjuring ways this couldn't be true, but it was blocked by overthinking. He doesn't mean it. He has to have an ulterior motive; no one can just like you for who you are. He'll change his mind when he gets to know you more; he'll hate you, just like your family does. Just like Luvandor will hate you someday. You're not good enough—you make everything worse, Luetta!

He released my hands, and when I was positive my silence had driven him away, he cupped my face and brought me closer to him. He was tall, and it was an awkward fit with him halfway through the window, but it still felt right. His hands on my face, his cologne invading my senses, his words, the understanding in his eyes—oh, the understanding—and the soft strokes of his thumb against my cheek.

"You're not alone." He was quiet, but his words had the opposite effect, loud and bouncing off the walls of my mind. "I'm right here, and although Luvandor is currently not, he would be here in a heartbeat if you asked him to." His brows creased. "The right people will want you around, Luetta. Do not let the ones who don't keep you from the ones who will—who do."

My stuffy nose was red, matching my cheeks and the tips of my ears. I was a mess, nothing less and nothing more, but the way he looked at me said otherwise.

"Do you hear me, Luetta?" Our gaze was heated, intensified by the tension, but not just of today. No, it had been building. "Do you understand?" It started when I first met him at the bar, growing with time, and now, with his hands on my face moments after he stood up for me without knowing the full story, it reached an all-time high.

My hands reached up to cover his, and a choked breath escaped me. "I understand."

"Good," he praised. It happened before I could blink, his lips brushing my forehead for a kiss. I couldn't breathe. "Whatever you decide to do, you have two people who are with you. You're not alone. Three," he added momentarily. "Taehyung as well."

"Taehyung?" I pushed out the question, reeling from the softness of his lips.

"Yes." He exhaled deeply as he looked at me. "He doesn't know you well, but he knows me well. If I ask him to, he'll be by your side, just as I am. So then," he concluded, "you have three people by your side, not including your team at work."

"My team," I rasped.

"Your team. Don't you see, Luetta?" He looked at me as if I was someone he cared about, or maybe, if I wasn't falling deep into delusion, I already was. "You're not alone."

Exhausted, I wanted nothing more than to fully believe him, but my family's words circulated in my mind. Forlorn, I lifted my tear-filled eyes to his. "I hope not."

"You can hope. You're safe to hope." He pulled me into a hug, holding the back of my head. "You're safe."

OCD always told me I wasn't safe. The only way to be safe was to follow through with the compulsions, and even then, safety was fleeting, as was relief, but here with Jungkook holding me, OCD almost felt...muted. It wasn't clogging my ears, filling my head, and making me shake with anxiety.

My body calmed, melting into Jungkook, and the usual nagging of OCD seemed to slip away, even if just for a second. It was still there, never truly gone, but not as loud. Its calls were coming from somewhere shallow, somewhere I couldn't reach, and maybe it was because I didn't feel alone, as if I didn't have to face the compulsions by myself, but whatever it was, I sank into it. Sank into Jungkook's arms. And instead of crying, I hugged him as tightly as I could and hoped for everything he said to be true.

It was the first time in a long time that I had hoped. Maybe it was similar to having hoped long before but not truly remembering until this moment, just like he'd had good Saturdays before, but this Saturday made him forget them all. That's how I felt, like this moment of hoping was the only one that mattered.

Here's to hoping.

Chapter Text

The portable AC unit was delivered soon after we returned to Jungkook’s apartment, right before I agreed to stay with him for another month.

He’d driven us home, a hand on mine while the other guided the steering wheel. It helped coax warmth in the place of fear, and so exhausted from the sudden scare, I fell asleep.

After a shower, I slowly felt better, but not enough to have an appetite for more than half a slice of pizza. Sitting side by side on the couch, Jungkook coaxed the name of my comfort show from me, and we watched it while our plates of pizza warmed our laps.

Sleep came quickly. I barely remembered anything other than the voices of my comfort characters and Jungkook’s steady breathing. My head fell on his shoulder, too tired to remain upright any longer, and a sudden sway came soon after. I realized in my sleepy haze that it was due to him carrying me to bed, and I slipped right into sleep as soon as my cheek touched the pillow.

The next few days were a flurry of work, as I changed my banking information, deleted the old one, and updated all my passwords in case my parents decided to take anything else from me, even if it was to delete the books I had on my reading app. I didn’t put anything past them, especially after what they did.

If steam could’ve blown from Luvandor’s ears when I caught him up to speed, it would’ve. His approval of Jungkook’s words and actions was clear, and his hug was tight and secure. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, as if he had something to do with it. His empathy was bigger than him; it always had been. That much had been clear from the moment we met during that college lecture.

He was the first one in the lecture hall and the last one to leave. The professor whom he came to support was noticeably more relaxed than the previous, first day, and it was thanks to Luvandor.

“Havin’ a friend is sometimes all you need,” he told me with a playful grin. He’d come to sit beside me when he’d seen me sitting all alone, and I remember thinking he looked like an overgrown Labrador who would never leave your side. So far, it had proved to be true. “As cheesy as it sounds, friendship is magic. Hey, wait. Ain’t that from My Little Pony?” Then, he laughed, and I had relaxed just as much as the professor had during the lecture.

He asked how college was treating me, and when I admitted it was hard to navigate, he said it had been the same for him. He told me about the boutique he’d opened the weekend before and said I should visit. It took all my courage to visit that first time, but when he smiled so widely as I walked in, my worries dimmed. It was hard not to smile when Luvandor was so quick to evoke happiness.

Since then, we had become friends. He was my first real friend, the only one who stayed after seeing me at my worst because of OCD, and he never judged me for it. That’s why I was so afraid to lose him. He was the kindest soul, and I was afraid my OCD would taint his kindness, that if I was too much, I would drive him away.

After a while of knowing each other, he had told me, “You remind me of myself, especially when I was in college. You’re just a kid,” he said softly. “No one should be goin’ through life alone, especially this young. You have so much life left to live, ain’t that right? College isn’t all there is, and it won’t be your entire life forever. There’s more waitin’ for ya out in the big wide world.”

Now, I hugged him tighter. “Thank you for being my friend.”

He groaned playfully. “You’re squeezin’ the livin’ daylights out of me.” But he hugged me just as tightly. “You don’t gotta thank me for being your friend, darlin’. You know that.”

“I want to.” I buried my face in his shoulder, emotional after the past few days. “You mean so much to me.”

“Hey.” He rubbed my back, sensing the sudden change. “You mean so much to me, too.” He ruffled my hair before caressing it. “You’re gonna be okay, kid. I’ve been through hell and back, and look at me now. You’re gonna get there, too, and shit, you’re already well on your way! A nice office job that pays well, not to mention the plus of pink drinks, a safe place to stay while you save up for a brand-spankin’ new apartment in a safe neighborhood, and an accounting team that you spend late nights with at bars or restaurants. Doesn’t that sound like you’re well on your way to a promisin’ future?”

I couldn’t disagree or agree because of OCD insisting it wasn’t safe to, but even so, his words comforted me. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You’re my best friend.”

“You are too darn sweet.” He squeezed me closer and swayed us side to side. “You’re my best friend, too. And what’s this I hear ‘bout you tryin’ your hand at growing zinnias?”

I huffed tearfully, almost a laugh. “Jungkook bought me flowers.”

“Did he now?” He sounded carefully interested. I knew he wanted to trust Jungkook; I did, too. Just like Luvandor had said that my future was promising, Jungkook was turning out to be the same.

“He did.” I paused. “Did he tell you about the zinnias?”

“A few minutes ago, but not that he bought ‘em. When did he buy ‘em for you?”

“Saturday. We had a whole day out, and now we’re going to…” I blushed. “Well, we’re going to do it every Sunday.”

“Regular Sunday outings?” He whistled lowly. “Interestin’.”

“It’s not that interesting.”

“He’s been lookin’ over at you every minute. It seems pretty interesting to me.”

My blush worsened, and I pulled away from the hug to wipe my eyes. I pointed at Luvandor. “Be nice to me.”

He laughed and ruffled my hair. “I never could be anythin’ but kind to you, darlin’. I’m just teasin’. But c’mon now. Tell me all about these zinnias.”

“They’re pink.” I trailed after him as he grabbed a watering can. I caught Jungkook’s eye and shared a small smile as he continued his small talk with Asena.

“Okay?” he mouthed.

I nodded. Okay.

We look at each other until I rounded a corner with Luvandor, losing sight of each other.

At the end of the week, Taehyung and Luvandor came over for dinner at Jungkook’s apartment. They hit it off immediately, laughing and teasing as if they’d known each other forever. It made me indescribably happy, and by the smile on Jungkook’s face, he held similar feelings.

We all got drunk, played card games, and danced around the living room. It was hot, the AC still hadn’t been fixed, but we danced with flushed cheeks from alcohol and enjoyment. Taehyung’s boisterous laughter filled the room, joined by Luvandor’s as they twirled each other around.

Jungkook held his hand out to me. I wasn’t a good dancer, but the alcohol made me brave enough to try. Skipping around, I gripped his hand as I pulled him along with me, twirling until my head spun with me. Grinning, breathless, and happy, I closed my eyes as I twirled, savoring every moment of it. Jungkook caught me with an arm around my waist, and even as dizzy as spinning had made me, he made me dizzier. The way he held me in his gaze and arms evoked foreign, good feelings that almost scared me, but he didn’t scare me, so I let the feelings remain, unsure I could make them leave, even if I tried.

The end of the week was much better than the beginning of it, and I wondered if that’s how my life would pan out. An inkling of hope tried to nestle in the corners of my heart every time I was with Jungkook, Luvandor, my accounting team, who were quickly becoming my friends, and even Taehyung, whose protectiveness of Jungkook had given way just enough to a level of camaraderie with me.

Maybe it was okay to hope. Just a little.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

Two weeks after my parents had drained my bank account, I’d made half of it back. I hadn’t heard from them or Keaton. It was the end of June, summer break was still ongoing for him, but wherever he was, he hadn’t sought me out. I wasn’t sure how I should’ve felt about it, so I tried not to feel anything at all.

“The new HVAC system should be here tomorrow,” Jungkook told me, exiting his bathroom after a shower. Slipping his phone in his pocket, he exhaled deeply and leaned against the doorframe, resting his head against it. “What are you reading?”

“Our book.” I held it up as I balanced tea on my lap. “I tried waiting for you, but you took too long.”

“Apparently, the maintenance man has a lot to say.” His smile was slow and gradual. “How is it?”

“It’s getting better and better.” I slipped a bookmark into it. “I’m too tired to be as focused on it as I want to be, though.”

“It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah.”

He stood, easing his hands into his pockets. “Are we ready for bed?”

I carefully stood with my tea. “Ready.”

In his room, where I’d been sleeping for the past two weeks with him, I climbed beneath the blankets and buried my face in the plush pillows. I sighed happily.

He chuckled. “If you were this tired, you should’ve come in here sooner.”

I yawned. “I was waiting.”

The bed dipped as he sat, and I released another sigh when his hand warmed my back for a light rub, almost a massage. “What were you waiting for?”

“For you.” I rounded my back, giving him further access.

“Would you like more?”

I nodded. “Yeah, please.”

He shifted closer to me, easing his hands to my lower back. Gently pressing them down, he angled his palms to apply firm pressure, soothing away knots formed from tension.

I moaned quietly with relief.

“How does that feel?” he prompted, his tone gravelly.

“Good,” I spoke into the pillow.

He massaged another knot away as a reward, and I slumped, nearly mouthing against the pillow as another quiet moan left me.

“Did you need this?” His voice was low, making me shiver as I agreed. “You should’ve come to me.” He splayed his hand against my back, a reassuring gesture, before returning to his massage. “You can tell me what you need.”

I wasn’t sure what I needed exactly, but I knew it was something—and so did my body, reacting so well to his hands. Thankfully, the pillow muffled my whimper of need.

I had been continually thinking of the forehead kiss, ruminating over whether it had been a pity kiss or something else—something more. I didn’t want it to be out of pity, so that left one option. What did that mean for me, for us? Was there an us?

“How are you feeling?” he broke through my thoughts. “Tired?”

Not anymore. “I actually feel a little more awake. I think the uh…tension must have been making me tired. The tension in my back. You know.” Stop talking, Luetta.

“I know.” He moved up to my neck, pushing my face deeper into the pillows. The darkness surrounded me, one of his hands on my neck and the other on my back. “Move your face to the side. Cheek on the pillow.”

I shook my head, enjoying the position. It displayed his strength, but it also showed his restraint. His gentleness. Knowing he could hurt me but wouldn’t did something to me. From what he’d shown me, from the man I was learning he was, he would rather hurt himself than me.

He eased my face even deeper into the pillow. “Do you like this?” I tried to nod, but he stopped the movement immediately with a tightened grip on the back of my neck. “You can tell me.”

I spoke my agreement into the pillow. It was horribly muffled, but he heard me.

He squeezed my waist lightly before pressing his palm down, locating a knot as his thumb massaged the back of my neck. My body lit up beneath his hands, short pants blowing past my lips.

“Thank you,” I said, also muffled.

Lifting my face away from the pillow by the back of my neck, he angled my face to his. Flushed and flustered, I stared back at him, blinking slowly. “Thank you,” I repeated without needing to be prompted.

He cocked his head, analyzing my expression. “Do you want to return your face to the pillow, or do you need me to do it for you?”

My chest heaved against the mattress. I moved forward the slightest bit, making our foreheads brush.

His jaw tightened. “What did I tell you moments ago?”

I nibbled my bottom lip while looking at his. “That I can tell you when I need.”

He dipped his chin, conveying his agreement and attentiveness.

Whether or not I found bravery or it found me first, it pushed the words out of me. “Do you remember in the car…” I brought my bottom lip between my teeth, attacking it with nervous gnawing. “When you—”

“When I kissed your forehead?”

I jolted, surprised. Then, I nodded, remembering right after to add a verbal response. “Yeah, that.”

“Did you enjoy that?”

My breath hitched. “Yeah.”

He looked at me closely, intent whirring in those dark eyes. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I should’ve cared that he was my boss, that a kiss of any kind could put my living situation at risk, but when he looked at me like that and held me by my neck, I couldn’t think properly. I wanted one thing. I wanted him.

A forehead was easier. Safer. But nothing in my life had ever been easy and safe.

“Jungkook,” I said beneath my breath.

“I’m listening.”

Lifting my chest off the mattress, I cupped his face, closed the space between us, and hovered my lips over his forehead. I dragged it out, causing the tension to rise, then pressed my lips to his forehead repeatedly. Soft, deep, careful. I switched to his temples, dragging my lips to his hair, the top of his head, then his cheek.

I pulled away, breathless. “I had to return the favor.”

His pupils were fully dilated, swimming with intensity. “Is that what that was?” He cocked his head, bringing his lips right over mine, so close but not close enough to touch. “Returning the favor?”

My breath hitched. “I…”

“You what, Luetta?”

I wanted to be closer, I wanted comfort, I wanted pleasure; what was he doing to me? “Closer,” I managed.

“You want to be closer?” His hand pressed deeply into my back, and as he shifted, he brought me right against his chest, making us both lie on our sides. “Is this close enough?”

My chest stammered against his, and I squirmed, causing his hand to dip further down my back. His eyes shot to my actions, then slowly back to me, his eyes growing darker than before. “Luetta,” he nearly growled.

“What?”

“You know very well what,” he responded shortly, his body taut as weeks of tension flooded the air.

I lifted one palm to his chest, holding onto him. “I just want to be close.”

“You have been close,” he ground out. “In my bed, tangled in my sheets, night after night, and yet, you’re still not close enough?” Our breath invaded the small space between our lips, aching for something. “What more do you want from me? Is waking up on top of me not enough for you? Or no.” His eyes flashed. “Do you need to curl even closer to me before you fall asleep and squirm for longer as you get comfortable, only to sigh your content right next to my ear? Is that it? Or is that still not enough?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

I swallowed, and he tracked the movement. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Is this up for debate?”

I loosed a strained breath. “Up for debate? I…” My mind blanked, everything pushing me toward saying yes. “Maybe.”

His brow twitched. “Yes or no.”

I couldn’t help the whine I released. “Jungkook.”

“Yes or no.”

My eyelids fluttered. “I…I need you.”

He grasped my chin, guiding my face closer. “What do you need from me?”

“What do you need?”

His hand traveled from my lower back to my waist to cup the other side of my face. “Anything you’ll give me.”

I inhaled sharply. “Jungkook, I—”

“Tell me.” His hold was possessive. Secure. Intoxicating. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” I gasped out, the sound drowned out by the pounding in my ears.

A quiet groan rumbled deep in his chest. “I need you to be very clear, Luetta.” His forehead brushed mine, and his nose was next to follow, right against mine. “What do you need from me?”

My heart thumped wildly. I should’ve thought it through, but maybe I had. All this time, every moment with him, the tension had been building, simmering beneath the surface until it burst, and here I was, asking him to—“Kiss me.”

His lips were back to hovering over mine, a simple brush that left me wanting, just against my upper lip. His features were taut with self-restraint. “Where would you like a kiss?”

“Anywhere,” I whispered.

A low sound came straight from his chest, a rumble of approval and desire, and his lips found mine for a heated, desperate kiss. It was hot, fast, and rushed, our tongues dancing in each other’s mouths as our pants filled the air. We kissed like we were starving, holding each other’s faces like we would never let go.

Moving in time, even with as rushed as we were, we alternated between our upper and bottom lips. I tugged his bottom lip lightly with my teeth, but he put a stop to that quickly, letting his tongue meet the roof of his mouth and revoking its access. A disappointed sound left me, and he squeezed my waist in response, rumbling against my mouth, “Behave.”

A shiver tore through me, and I nodded, breathing out my agreement if it meant returning to our kiss. He deepened the kiss, conveying his approval, but this time, it was slower. He was taking his time, taking every part of our kiss to memory. Tasting me, savoring me.

I was barely holding on.

“Jungkook,” I gasped into his mouth.

His tongue swiped across my bottom lip. “Luetta.”

Overwhelmed, I kissed him harder, searching for the bravery to ask for more.

He tipped my chin higher, momentarily breaking the kiss. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” I breathed out.

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know how to ask,” I admitted.

“Do you want more?” He pressed his thumb into my chin, stabilizing its light quiver of anticipation. “Do you want to stop? Do you want to stay like this?”

“I don’t know,” I blurted, but my lips were parted, aching for his return. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I—I’m living here for a while, and you’re my boss, and—”

“We met before any of this occurred. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” I whispered, taken back to the night in the bar. His masculine form, how he declined bourbon in favor of my drink, how he chose to understand me instead of judging me—I remembered it all.

Sensing I needed the comfort, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Whatever happens tonight is your choice. The same goes for everything else that will or won’t happen in the future. Do you understand me? If you want what happens tonight to stay a one-time thing, then it will. If you don’t want anything more than a kiss, we’ll continue kissing.”

“Just a one-time thing?” I couldn’t stop the hurt from showing.

His eyes flickered as he assessed. “Do you want it to be more than that?”

“Isn’t it complicated because of…our situation?”

“No matter what happens,” he said firmly, “you will have a place to stay and a place to work. I know there’s a power dynamic, and if that makes you uncomfortable, we’ll stop here. I want you to know, however, that I will never use the dynamic to my advantage.”

“No,” I said hurriedly. “No, I—no, I know that. I know, I know, but it’s—you—” I groaned. “I don’t know.”

“Take your time.”

“What about you?” I pressed shakily. “What do you want? It’s not fair for only one of us to be in charge of where things go.”

“I already know what I want, Luetta.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to sway your decision.”

“Jungkook,” I snapped, at a loss. “I want to know that we’re on the same page.”

“And we will be,” he said calmly, running his thumb over my bottom lip on his way to caress my cheek. “Your decision is mine, whichever one you make. I will never do anything I don’t want to do, but I will abstain if the other person doesn’t want what I do.”

My heart caught in my throat. “You…want more?”

“Have I made you think otherwise?” He gathered my hair in my hands, massaging the back of my head. I keened. “Did I not kiss you well enough? Have I made you think that I want anything other than to have you here in my bed?”

I chewed my lip, only stopping when he soothed my lips away from my teeth. “What if it’s not a good idea?”

“Isn’t that for us to decide?”

I found myself nodding.

“Isn’t it?” he murmured.

“Yeah.” I sucked air in through my cheeks, then released it slowly. “Can we…try?”

“What would you like to try?”

My hand dipped, lingering near his abdomen questioningly. “A little more than kissing?”

He was rigid beneath my touch, his eyes boring into mine. “Be specific.”

“Touching,” I requested, unable to keep eye contact, instead trailing my gaze across his half-blanketed figure.

“Touching,” he repeated, dragging his eyes along my figure. His throat constricted. “Where, exactly, will we be touching?”

“Lower,” I said quietly, although I arched my back slightly when his attention flickered across my chest. “But…anywhere, too, is okay.”

He looked at my lips as if he couldn’t believe the words leaving them. “Are you positive that this is what you want?”

“I am, I want to. Do…” I faltered, slowly removing my hand from his waist. “Do you not want to?”

Taking my hand, he put it right back where it had been, making sparks fly around us. “I have never wanted someone more,” he rasped.

His words hit me low in the gut, burning and transforming into deep-seated desperation. “Okay.” I held his shirt tightly, lifting it just above his V-line. “Okay, okay. I—I want this. Please. You; I want you.”

His hand covered mine, assisting my movements as every part of his face bled with desire. “What do you want to touch, Luetta?”

“Lower,” I managed, feeling my stomach coil. “Can I touch first?”

“Would that make you feel nice?” His lips brushed mine as his shirt, now successfully over his stomach, gave room to the waistband of his sweatpants. “To be in control?”

“At first,” I confessed, burning a blazing red.

“Only at first,” he repeated, awaiting my confirmation.

“I just want to try. I want to go…slow. Okay? Is that—can I do that? Is that okay? Then you can…” I blushed wildly. “Be in control.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” His hand remained over mine, but he let me guide it lower and lower. “Tell me if you need to stop. Yes?”

“Yes,” I managed, right before my fingers inched back his waistband. “Can I—”

“You can.”

Shivering with anticipation, I dipped my hand into his sweatpants, reveling in the warmth until I found its source. Hard, thick, and throbbing, his cock stood at attention, the very outline of it intimidating. I’d only been with two men before, straight into college when I thought it would be a helpful distraction—it wasn’t—so I didn’t have much to compare Jungkook to, but I didn’t think I needed a comparison to tell me that his size was intimidating.

But for now, I was just touching, so I focused on that. Focused on the control I held, how he remained still beneath my exploring touch, aside from the occasional twitch and compressed grip on my hip.

When I looked back at him, my stomach turned molten. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were sorely trained on me with a fire burning within them, and the muscles in his shoulders expanded as he reacted to my hand.

“Is this okay?” I asked in an undertone, letting my hand pause around the middle point, not yet fully wrapped around it but itching to be allowed to.

He struggled for a moment, and I realized he was restraining himself, pushing every muscle in his body to remain still as I discovered his body. “Yes.” The word was ripped out of him, strangled and intertwined with undertones of gravel. “You can touch.”

That was the permission I needed. Fully wrapping my hand around the sheer girth of him, I swiped my thumb over the head, earning a tight inhale from him. He was so incredibly rugged and daunting that I almost couldn’t stomach it, needing more from him than I ever needed from anyone—ever even fathomed needing or wanting.

I kept on, carefully stroking his length, feeling his pre-cum wet the head of his cock. I had the sudden instinct to lean down and wipe it away with my tongue, but I thought against it. The mental image remained, however, and I breathed heavily as it took over the forefront of my mind.

Removing my hand, ready to spit on it to make the drag smoother, I caught his eye, and every inch of me trembled. He sat against the headrest, his arms slightly spread as his chest rose unsteadily. He was perfectly in place, a king on his throne, looking at me beneath his dark brows as his lips remained parted, his rigid breaths passing them sporadically.

I decided in a shaky voice, “Your turn.”

His gaze flickered with meaning, his words backed by heat and a stifling desire. “You’ve had your fill?”

“No, but I…” I exhaled shakily, dizzy with desire. “I want it to be your turn now.”

I inched back, clasping my hands as I sat up. Straightening my spine, I took deep breaths to calm myself, but it was futile. I couldn’t remain calm, not when he was shifting forward, straight to me.

“Where,” he rumbled, “do you want me to touch? Or.” He traced my features, lavishing them with the attention I wanted. “Is it my choice?”

“Your choice,” I concurred, blinked, and slightly spread my thighs. It was awkward in this position with minimum space between us, but it was more so a subtle indication, and he took it.

His voice dropped just as his eyes did, right to where I need him the most. “I want you against the headboard.” When I didn’t move right away, his eyes met mine. His brows slowly raised. “Now.”

Set into action, I scrambled to do as he said, nearly panting as I situated myself in the position he wanted me in. He hadn’t even touched me yet, and I was falling apart.

He approached steadily, soaking in everything about me, even the parts he couldn’t see. “Look at you.” I trembled. “Where do you need my hands the most, Luetta?” His hands, firm and strong, pressed against my thighs, pulling them apart. Even at a time like this, his gentleness was utterly devastating. The way he handled me, the way he looked at me with desire, but not without care. It was devastating. “Between your thighs?”

His palm shifted closer to my core, traveling to rest right above my pelvis. “Right where it’s aching?” His other hand caressed my inner thigh, his thumb tracing circles against the bare skin, my shorts suddenly feeling not short enough, the fabric suddenly a threat, the final thing between his fingers and the ache.

He pressed down lightly against my stomach, keeping me in place. “How do you think it will feel?” He leaned down to me, pressing his lips to my cheek, inches away from my mouth. “How good, how right.” He trailed off as his fingers trailed down my stomach, slipping through the loop to offer it a tug. “Unless, of course, you would like me to touch somewhere else. Here, perhaps.”

He kissed along my face, proving his point. “Or maybe…” His hands roamed upward, right beneath the swell of my breasts. “Here.” He traced beneath them, torturing me with the beginnings of his touch, giving me a preview of what could happen.

I arched my back, or I tried to. His hold kept me from going anywhere, but he felt the effort all the same. He hummed. “Excited?”

I furrowed my brows, a trickle of anticipation joining the thrill. Licking my lips to self-soothe, I nodded.

His thumb tracked where my tongue previously was, drawing it out. “Yeah?”

I squirmed. “Yeah. Please, just—” I huffed, quiet and impatient. “Please.”

He chuckled, a sensual sound that would’ve made me fall to my knees if I’d been standing, and he pulled back. I missed his touch immediately, but I didn’t get much of a chance to mourn his fingers when they dipped past my stomach and between my thighs.

His fingers grazed me through my shorts, gently rubbing my clit. Sensitive from being teased, my body felt like it was on fire. His touch as a whole wasn’t foreign. We’d hugged, curled close in bed, not to mention the forehead kiss, but this was different. Having him touch the area where I was dripping for him was new and different, but it was wholly welcomed by my body and me.

My eyes fluttered when he angled his palm toward my entrance, pressing faintly against it before using his three middle fingers to swiftly rub against my clit, a side-to-side motion that pulled a moan from my throat.

Squeezing my inner thigh, he caressed it and continued the intoxicating attention to my clit, alternating between it and my pulsing heat.

Kissing my chin, he slowed his pace marginally. “How are you feeling?” He issued a light pat to my core, making me recklessly buck my hips for more. He chuckled, the sound full of arousal. “Is that how we’re feeling?” The vibrations of his voice against my chin drove me insane. “Would you like to continue like this? Keep your shorts on, keep my hands on you?”

“Take them off,” I begged throatily, too woven in the pleasure to care for embarrassment. “Please, just take them off.”

I didn’t need to ask again; I only lifted my hips to make pulling them off easier for him. He traced the ruffles lining my panties, heavily affected. “You’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “Everything about you, Luetta—” He groaned, the vibrations going straight to my core. “You’re insatiable.”

And he hadn’t even tasted me.

My self-esteem, for a moment, skyrocketed, placing a giddy smile on my lips. “Show me,” I said quietly, but not too quietly, wanting the challenge to set in. Wanting him to take me up on it.

And he did, ravenously. There was nothing slow and controlled about his pace. His tongue, smooth and quick, took what it wanted, leaving me writhing in pleasure, tangled in his sheets and moaning his name.

His thumb was torturing my clit, circling it as he feasted upon me, his tongue exploring every inch of me that it could reach. His hand on my hip bone kept me in place, no matter how much I squirmed, and the reminder of his strength only made me hotter.

No one had ever savored me like this, delving into my taste, wanting to know my body—and me. We were never a pair, my body and I. It was one or the other, but Jungkook—he hadn’t left when others had, some even leaving after a single conversation with me. They had ulterior motives, nothing more than sex or access to my parents’ money, but Jungkook had money. He didn’t need my parents. And in this moment, with his face between my thighs, I chose to believe that what we had, whatever it was or could be, wasn’t just for sex. Our slow build up, the rising tension, the conversations and routine Sundays, but that left only one other option: he wanted me.

It was a new way to be wanted, one I hadn’t dreamed or hoped for, and yet, here I was: wanted.

It heightened my emotions, in turn, furthering my pleasure, and a high-pitched whimper entered the air, straight from me. “Jungkook,” I gasped. “More.”

He switched tactics, moving his tongue up and coaxing the pads of his fingers along my entrance. His eyes lifted to meet mine, glazed and deep with arousal. “Do you want my fingers?”

“Please,” I rasped.

His chest rumbled in response. A quick kiss on my stomach, trailing his lips down to my waist, then to where his thumb was circling, amplifying the good feelings stirring within me. He carefully prompted his fingers into me, but it wasn’t a difficult fit; my quick-building arousal gave him easy access, and I earned two fingers as my reward.

Curling his fingers, he hit the top of my walls while his thumb kept playing with my clit, pressing, rubbing, and teasing. “Beautiful,” he said under his breath, focused on his actions, on me. Transfixed.

A deep groan rippled through him, and still pumping his fingers in and out of me, he lifted his face to mine. I blinked up at him, my lips parted in a moan. He took it to the back of his throat, swallowing it whole as he kissed me.

“There we go,” he said, his voice rough as he brought me closer to my peak. “We’re focused on you, aren’t we? Focused on your pleasure, focused on how beautiful you are, how incredible you feel and sound.”

“Thank you,” I panted, our lips brushing as my head fell back against the pillows, his words making me dizzy with appreciation. “It feels—Jungkook, it feels—”

“You can do it.” He clasped the back of my neck and brought me forward. “You can tell me.”

“I want to—I need to—” I whimpered, overwhelmed by how good I felt. “I have to come.”

“Yeah?” He continued the pace, pushing me toward the edge. “Riding my fingers so nicely.” His breath ghosted the shell of my ear. “So well. Will you let me see you squeeze around them when you come?”

His words made me crumble. My features twisted, and a quiet cry of pleasure left me as my orgasm erupted.

“There you go,” he rasped, continuing his pace, edging me through it, and kissing me to calm the tides washing over me. “Breathe through it.” Gently patting my core, he carefully removed his fingers when my orgasm left me with soft shudders.

On his way to my face, his hand brushed over my breast, and I whimpered, arching into his touch, even after reaching my pleasure’s peak. I tried to reach for him, wanting to return the favor, but he put a stop to that quickly. Capturing my wrist, he shook his head, kissing me gently to answer the questioning, slightly hurt expression I wore.

“Let me take care of you.” Caressing my side, he searched my face, checking my expression. “Let me help you come back down.”

“But what about you?” I asked breathlessly, uncertainty flooding my mind, shoving the lingering pleasure away.

“Seeing you like that—” He shook his head rigidly, the pleasure he received from bringing me to an orgasm written on his face. “It was intoxicating, Luetta. Everything about you is. We,” he added lowly when I began to protest, “will do anything you’d like after you’re settled. I am staying right here with you, and you are staying right here with me. Okay?” His gentle caress soothed the side of my face. “Everything’s okay, and you”—he kissed my cheek—“did so well. So perfectly.”

Uncertainty gave way to muted giddiness. “I did?”

“You did.” His thumb stroked my inner thigh, lifting to give my hip the same attention. “You reacted so well to my touch, allowing me to taste you.” He hummed quietly, gazing upon me with a trace of fondness that struck my heart, gutting me. “I enjoyed every second of it.”

He offered my hip a reassuring squeeze. “Even now, you’re taking such nice, deep breaths. Calming down. Does that feel better?” He gingerly swept hair away from my forehead. “Did it help the ache?”

I shivered, nodding as I pushed my lips out for a kiss, craving the comfort. He complied immediately, letting our lips meet for a deep, meaningful kiss. It further relaxed me, allowing his previous words to sink in: no matter what happens, you will have a place to stay.

He wasn’t rushing me out of his bed. He was kissing me tenderly, caressing my body and face, proving that he meant every word he said. Proving, if I wasn’t delusional, that we were more than the sexual attraction we had. Maybe, just maybe, we had something more.

When my breathing calmed and my lungs stopped aching, our kisses grew languid and gradual, easing as a steady hum filled my bones. Calm and sated: that’s what I was, smiling dazedly up at Jungkook, who watched me like a hawk. There, in his hawk-like gaze, gentleness seeped through when my smile appeared, and he kissed the corners of my mouth, wordlessly conveying his praise toward my blissful state. I was only in it because of him, so I kissed him to thank him, pulling away with a quiet, content sigh.

He smiled softly. “How do you feel?”

“So good,” I said, my voice hoarse from my moans. I blushed at the sound. “You’re…” I swallowed thickly. “Incredible.”

His lips inched upwards, right at the corners. “As are you.”

My forehead creased, the thoughts returning. “You didn’t get a turn, not a real one.” I started to sit up, but he gently pushed me down. “But I can—”

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

Confused, I blinked at him. It was quick, how my confusion turned into self-blame. “I’m good at it. I—I can be. Did it…not feel good when I touched? I’m so sorry, I’ll do better—”

“There is nothing you need to apologize for,” he cut me off sternly, shaking his head in the same manner. “Luetta, I have no doubts that you’re fully capable of providing pleasure, especially after what we did minutes ago. The smallest touch from you was enough to drive me insane, so respectfully, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He set me with a look of finality. “Don’t ever apologize unless you’ve done something wrong. It gives people leeway to manipulate you, especially right after sex. You don’t deserve that.” He said grimly, “Although, I’m afraid that’s what you’ve become accustomed to.”

My eyes burned. “Why are you being so kind to me?” I whispered. “Why are you saying this?”

“Kindness is free.” He exhaled deeply. “As for why I’m saying this to you, Luetta: I don’t appreciate those who have made you feel inclined to apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong, and I certainly will not fall into line with them. You,” he reinstated firmly, “needn’t apologize to me in the way you’ve apologized to them. If you’ve done something wrong, you can apologize. Otherwise, do not apologize to me. Your apologies won’t be accepted.”

Momentarily rendered speechless, I blinked a few times as I processed. Then, “But I don’t know when something is actually wrong.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t second-guess yourself because others have made you do so.” His hand rested against my stomach, rubbing comforting circles into it. “You’ll feel it here when something is wrong. In your gut. If you’ve done something wrong, you’ll feel like there’s a weight, and that weight will carry logic if you don’t dispose of it. Let yourself think logically, then use your emotions to hone in on empathy, and apologize.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “We just…we did something sexual, and it was all about me. I don’t want it to feel like this is only going one way.”

“I understand, but hear me when I say, Luetta, that it isn’t going one way. You touched me, and you kissed me, and you gave me the pleasure of tasting you.” My stomach flared with heat, even under the circumstances. “How is that one way? Simply because you didn’t use your hands to pleasure me more? No,” he said resolutely. “Pleasure, for me, is the action of what we’re doing. The entirety of it. If I’m pleasuring you, then I’m being pleasured. That is what it comes down to.”

Surprised, my lips parted. “You’re…telling the truth?”

“I am, in every sense of the word.” His eyes softened, as did his tone. “You are incredible, Luetta. The people who have made you think otherwise are insipid.”

I started to smile. “The way you speak…”

My smile drew one from him, then a low chuckle. “I’m aware. Thank you for the constant reminders.”

I tentatively reached forward and looped my arms around his neck, looking at him questioningly. Holding my forearm, he squeezed and rumbled, “I thought I made it clear that touching is not off limits.”

I brought him closer to me, hugging him tightly. His chest pressed against mine, and I savored the moment, closing my eyes as I curled my hands in his hair. The pressure was grounding, and I sank into the mattress, breathing normally once more.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “For talking to me and not getting upset.”

His voice was muffled by my hair, reverberating into my ears. “Don’t thank me for that.”

“I can’t thank you or apologize. Or…return the favor.” Carefully, I wondered, “Why can’t I?”

“I never said you couldn’t return the favor.”

I paused. “You didn’t.”

“Correct.” His fingers coursed through my hair. “What did I tell you?”

“That we could do anything I’d like once I came down.” Excitement thrummed in my chest. “Can I return the favor?”

“What I did wasn’t a favor; it was a pleasure.” He leaned back to look at me. “Rephrase your wording.”

My cheeks heated. “Can I…return the pleasure? Do you want that?”

“Yes, I do want that, Luetta.” He checked my expression closely, noting my steady breaths and lack of twitches in my fingers. “Would you like to?”

I shuddered. “Yeah, please.”

He kissed me, lingering. “Are you all right to do so? Our talk—it didn’t hinder your desire to continue?”

I shook my head quickly. “No, it—no.” I blushed. “It made me want you more.”

Surprised, he looked at me for a moment. Then, he kissed me again, deeper than before. “Then,” he rasped, “I won’t stop you.”

Chapter Text

It was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced: his salty taste on my tongue, mixed with the divine smell of his lingering cologne, the muscles flexing in his thighs as I took him down my throat; his hand in my hair as his sultry, rasped praise made my hips swivel against his bed.

I could’ve orgasmed a second time just from pleasuring him, and his words hit their mark: pleasuring you pleasured me. In that moment, I had never agreed with something more.

I didn’t hate the taste, most likely due to the fruits he consumed, and I hummed quietly as I swallowed it down, not before he asked if it was all right with me. His hoarse voice, due to the pleasure I was giving him, was tantalizing, even more so when it was used to groan my name.

After swallowing, I licked my lips and crawled up the bed to where he sat against the headboard, his chest heaving and his eyes glazed over. “Luetta,” was all he could say, coarse and broken by pleasure. “You—you are…your tongue…” His chest stammered on his next breath, and I patted it soothingly, kissing it. We locked eyes, and a low groan tore through him. “You are devastating.”

The air was momentarily knocked out of me. The sincerity in his words, the struggle of his next breath because of how I had affected him, and the way his eyes refused to leave mine—

I kissed him hard, cupping his face as our lips moved in time.

It didn’t feel as it usually did, coming down from sexual intercourse. With him, it felt safe. Calming. Especially with his reassuring words and kisses. Others had left right away, so aftercare was a foreign concept for me, but he made it seem so easy. I tried for him, too, soothing my fingers through his hair, telling him how good he made me feel—how good he felt in my mouth—and offering gentle kisses to his lips and face.

We fell asleep after getting cleaned up, curled closer in each other’s arms as our secretive, shared murmurs, occupied by small, content smiles, dissolved into sleep.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

It was different in the morning, when he wasn’t there.

I shot up quickly, wiping my eyes hurriedly as I looked around his bedroom. The bed, the door, the couch—

He opened his bathroom door. Looking slightly more awake than I felt, he stepped toward the bed, pausing when he realized I was awake. More attentive than before, he remained still, assessing my expression. “Is everything all right?” he asked, his voice venturing into the quiet, morning air.

“I’m—yeah, it’s fine. I just—I didn’t see you when I woke up, so I thought…” I trailed off, chewing my bottom lip nervously. The morning after: the worst part. It was full of questions, full of clarity that pleasure hadn’t dared to mar the night before. “I thought you left.”

“Left my own home?” He walked forward slowly. “For what purpose?”

“To…think about things.”

He was closer than before, a few feet away from the bed. “What is there to think about?”

I stared at him, tight-lipped and wide-eyed.

He tracked my expression carefully, and his lips set into a pinched, acquiescent line. “Has something changed?”

“Changed?” Panic set in, creeping over me like a cold, aching motion that began in my toes and spread to the top of my head, freezing me over. “What do you mean by…changed?”

“You seem agitated.”

“Agitated?” I clutched the blankets as my eyes narrowed, alarms ringing in my heart. “How am I being angry? I haven’t even said anything other than I thought you left.”

He didn’t move closer to the bed, but he’d arrived beside it, watching me intently. “Agitated, as in troubled and nervous.”

My stomach swooped, rotated, fell. “That’s not what you said.”

“It is,” he replied evenly. “It’s the definition of the word.”

“It can mean upset,” I shot back.

“Upset doesn’t always equate to anger, Luetta.”

I ripped the blankets off me, stopping when I realized I wasn’t wearing shorts. Sporting underwear only, different from last night’s pair, I brought the blankets up to my chin, breathing heavily. “Look away.”

Confusion mingled with the hurt playing on his expression, but it was gone within the moment. He did as I instructed, turning his back to me.

“Luetta,” he said momentarily while I struggled to catch my breath, fear making it difficult. “I will be vulnerable. That is what last night was, if we had to name it: vulnerability. Among other things.”

My cheeks heated with the memory of last night. It was perfect; everything about it was.

He exhaled slowly, taking his time gathering his thoughts. “Nothing has changed for me, if you think it has. I said as much last night, but if you need a reminder, here it is again.” He stared straight ahead while I stared at his back, holding my breath as I awaited his words. “I thoroughly enjoyed the night we shared, and I wouldn’t change it. If you would like to explore this further, so would I. Everything about it. Everything about you.”

He walked to the door, startling me. “I will let you think about things.” Quieter, he said, “Do not feel pressured. Whatever your choice may be, you still have a place with me.”

Without another word, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

I wanted to call after him, “I said to look away, not to go away,” but I didn’t.

There was an ache in my chest, begging me to listen to it. He said he wouldn’t leave and that nothing would change. This morning was a misunderstanding; go talk to him.

I contemplated, very still in his bed, while I recalled our midnight rendezvous. Past instances with my family and men I’d attempted to get to know flashed in my mind: the pain of communication, how I would shut down when an attempt to clear things up turned into them yelling and berating me, the burn in my eyes until everything faded away, leaving me to dissociate.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

By the time I finished getting ready alone in his room, not one second went by when I wasn’t thinking about our conversation last night and this morning, sifting through parallels and what could be a lie or the truth, if anything was the truth at all.

It was with practiced bravery and deep breaths that I walked into the kitchen. I regretted how long I took to get ready as soon as I saw he had set the table with pancakes, coffee, and two matching smoothies. There was coffee there, too, if we preferred that—if I preferred that. He hadn’t touched any of it.

From the looks of it, he’d gotten ready in the guest bathroom, dressed in a usual, pristine suit that complemented him so well. My eyes drifted down to where they hugged his thighs, immediately taken back to last night when my face was so close to them.

I looked away, finding it hard to swallow.

He moved first, stiffly walking from the kitchen counter to the table. Pulling out a chair, he held his hand out to me. “Please.” His fingers beckoned me forward. “Sit.”

I hesitated, but his attentive gaze and outstretched hand called to me like a beacon of hope, so I walked forward and accepted it. Once I was seated, he easily shifted my chair closer to the table. Taking the seat beside me, he brought a plate from the stack of two and filled it with pancakes and fruit. He did the same for his plate, slipped straws in our smoothies, and placed a cup of coffee—and a smoothie—before me.

His eyes flickered to my fork, and his brow raised. His gentle tone entered the crisp morning air. “Would you like to take a bite?”

My throat tightened as I looked at him, motionless as the bitter taste of fearful hope sat on my tongue. I tried to swallow it down, push it away, but it remained, traveling up to my eyes to evoke a burn.

He was who I wanted. He was kind; he hadn’t shown me otherwise, but fear was persistent, past instances edging it on.

I couldn’t find the words to respond, so I picked up the fork—and took a bite of pancakes. I savored a strawberry next, letting the juice linger on my tongue for its comfort.

Carefully, I set my fork down, feeling like the task was complete. I was cautious, every part of me was, but it was equal parts cautious and broken hopefulness, broken by so many people before him. Could he be different? Was it safe enough to hope for someone different—to hope for him?

He didn’t touch his food or drinks. But his words touched a part of me, the part that was scared and small and hiding away, craving copious amounts of comfort when it was so accustomed to receiving cruelty. “I won’t make assumptions,” he said, measuring his words. “But I will make an estimated guess: I believe you’re afraid.” He considered me, my finger flicking, and my expression. “Would you like to tell me if that’s true?”

I wanted to talk to him, wanted to communicate, but all I could think about was past communication with other people and how opening my mouth to gain clarity or converse earned harsh retribution. I was trained out of confrontation, trained into knowing it would only cost pain and days of overthinking and self-blame.

But this morning, he looked as confused and hurt as I did before he quickly tucked the emotions away. And he made me breakfast, sat with me, and initiated a calm discussion. So far, it was calm, but what if…what if?

My tongue was punishing me, and so was my brain. The latter short-circuited, giving nothing for my tongue to relay to Jungkook.

He dipped his chin during his acute focus of me. “We can have breakfast. Would you like that?”

I managed a nod, finding the option to be easier. Less intimidating.

“Then we will,” he agreed smoothly. Lifting his coffee, he sipped it casually. “I decided I would have the smoothie for dessert.”

I wanted to smile, every part of me did, but fear drowned out the want, granting me another, faint nod.

“Do you know,” he said after a moment of us eating in silence, “my parents enjoyed smoothies so much, they made one every morning? They enjoyed green smoothies, but those, as you can imagine, are not very appealing, and obviously not on par with dessert—not the kind I enjoy.”

Distant fondness flickered in his eyes, pulled back quickly. It seemed to be a subconscious choice, something he’d been doing for a while, with how smooth the transition was—much different from him masking the hurt I thought I’d seen this morning. It took a moment longer, and his expression afterward was taut, but now, it was smooth, no creases or lines informing me of the change.

I listened intently, watching in the same manner, still eating my food with slow chews, ensuring each bite was divisible by three before swallowing.

“Smoothies,” he repeated, quieter than before. “Their green smoothies, and one with fruit for me because I couldn’t stomach the greens.” His eyes wandered slightly, taking in our pink moon cactus and zinnias. “They found a solution; they always did. Communication was important to them.” His eyes slid back to mine, meaning painting his every word, although quiet, although subdued. “When I communicate, it is to find a resolution. It can vary, depending on the situation, but a resolution should be calmly sought after.”

I stiffened, feeling as if his words were a personal dig, telling me that I wasn’t calm this morning.

He added lightly, “If there’s any miscommunication with someone I speak to, I would prefer to talk it through to hear their side of things. Misunderstandings can be mended. They don’t need to be feared, not always.” He smiled ruefully. “Pattern recognition reminds us of when misunderstandings have felt dangerous. Perhaps…unsafe.”

My stomach hurt. I lowered my chin to nod, but I couldn’t raise it. I let my head hang as humiliation tickled the back of my throat, evoking nausea.

“If you would like,” he continued mindfully, “we can try to communicate later today. How does that sound? Does it give you time to process? If not, take all the time you need. There is no rush.” He showed a tight smile. “I wanted you to know that communication is open to you and that it’s not something to be afraid of with me. So, if you would like to communicate with me, take your time.”

Confusion slammed into me, reaching an all-time high. It pushed the words out of me. “That’s okay?”

There was a hint of light in his eyes when my voice appeared, but it was guarded, as if fully appearing would scare me away. “It is more than okay. Communication shouldn’t be rushed when it can be helped.”

“What are you not understanding?” my parents yelled at me, my mother’s voice more shrill than my father’s but never quite as booming as his. “We have explained why we’re upset with you so many times, but you stand there and repeatedly ask us what you did wrong. How stupid can you be, Luetta? How much more do we need to dumb it down for you?”

Their silent treatment lasted for a week, and when I found the courage to ask if I did something wrong, they yelled and called me stupid without saying the word, but the intent was there, lined with venom. To reach a resolution they were forcing and rushing me into, I apologized. At that moment, when my apology left my tongue, I felt like the apology was needed, that I was the problem. Looking back at it now, I knew it wasn’t the truth, but recalling how they twisted the narrative made my stomach twist. All I’d done was leave a dish in the sink, one that wasn’t even mine to begin with, but they were so intent on berating me for it. Lazy, they claimed. I was so lazy and took what they’d given me for granted.

I didn’t want to be an easy target; I didn’t want to be so easy to manipulate. They rushed me and wouldn’t let me speak, insisting that my questions were making the conversation longer than necessary. They threw untrue accusations around, and when I proved them wrong, they skipped over them as if they’d never said them at all. They yelled at me, something they knew would shut me down in a freeze response. The combination was enough to confuse an apology out of me.

When I processed it days after it happened, ruminating over it, I wanted to talk to them and prove that I’d done nothing wrong. I wanted to communicate, I wanted to be seen, but how could I communicate with people who manipulated me and every word that left my mouth? I knew I would leave that conversation apologizing for something they claimed I did, so the conversation never happened, just as it always went.

But Jungkook wasn’t rushing me. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t calling me stupid or acting like I was. Instead, he suggested time to process. It was surreal, something I dreamed of but never thought I would receive.

My stomach plummeted while my thoughts raced, but a part of me felt like flying, even still. It was the part that protested against fear, holding onto a sliver of hope that was destined to land somewhere safe. “Okay,” I choked out. It was all I could manage, all I could say. He was what I wanted, but now that I was faced with something potentially healthy after years of the opposite, I wasn’t sure how to react to it, how to reach out and grab it.

“Okay,” he murmured. And that was it. “I’m glad we both enjoy colorful smoothies. Will you someday enjoy the terror of a green smoothie?”

Startled, I stared at him, not expecting the topic diversion. I assumed we would be quiet, seeing as I wasn’t ready to divulge the topic at hand. “I…I don’t think so.”

“It’s good to try new things. Occasionally,” he mused. “But if a green smoothie makes you feel nauseous if you decide to try one, kindly remember that I warned you.”

Still confused, a tickle of mirth frolicked in my chest. “Is that the polite way of ‘I told you so’?”

“Verily.”

“The way you speak…” I shook my head, relief and wonder filling me toward this dynamic. We were still talking, even if he hadn’t received an answer about this morning’s communication, or lack thereof.

“Makes you smile. Occasionally. When done right.”

As if on cue, my smile appeared, tentative and wavering, but there. Trying to be. “Occasionally.”

He smiled softly. “How is your breakfast?”

I looked at it, still not breathing 100% normally. “It’s…” I tried to settle into the dynamic, baffled by how it was possible to talk like this when we still needed to discuss something else—something important. “Not burned enough.”

He chuckled, and my eyes lifted to his, reassured by the sound. “Ah, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. You burn them better than I ever could, so, in my defense, I shouldn’t be blamed for you setting the bar so high.”

A small huffing sound left me, my body’s attempt at a laugh while my mind struggled to come to terms with the situation. “I’ll…” I hummed quietly, a sound of distress. “I’ll try to be there in the morning next time, so I can…help you burn pancakes.”

Unsure if it was the right thing to say, especially if he didn’t want me around anymore after our later discussion, I stared at my pancakes resolutely.

He answered smoothly, “Good.” Surprised, my gaze shifted to him. “It is my favorite part of the morning, making breakfast with you.”

That didn’t sound like a dismissal. My confusion peaked. “This is okay?” I blurted. “Talking like this when we still have…that to talk about?”

“You’ll take time to process. In the meantime”—he lifted his smoothie for a sip—“we can speak of other things if that’s all right with you.”

“But what about you?”

He took a moment. “Luetta, my parents instilled a healthy communication style in me. I only know what you’ve told me about your parents, but I assume it was the opposite for you. And,” he ensured I knew, “that isn’t your fault. It never will be. So, with that being said.” He set his cup down on its coaster. “All the time you need, Luetta. It’s yours.”

I could hardly fathom words, let alone breathe. “I don’t understand.”

“New ideas can be difficult, but new things, as I said before, are good to try. Not all of them will leave a bitter taste as green smoothies do.”

Even now, he kept the conversation light.

“This is…” I trailed off uncertainly, striving to understand.

“New,” he concluded when I couldn’t. “Different. But it doesn’t equate to danger. A pink smoothie is not like a green smoothie in that way: you are in no danger of its awful taste because it tastes wonderful.”

I started to smile without recognizing it. “You really hate green smoothies.”

“Don’t let its green sway you. It’s a nice color, but the taste? No.”

“Not nice?” I guessed.

“Precisely.”

I peeked into his face. “Can we…keep talking about other things? Maybe not green smoothies since you hate them so much.”

“I like them because they remind me of my parents, but perhaps that means I don’t like them at all,” he said rather drily, but his eyes had since brightened because of my smile.

“Probably. Nostalgia is weird like that. A… rose-colored glasses kind of thing, making you miss something that was never really good to begin with.”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Well.” He noted the time on his wristwatch. “We should—”

“Make haste?” A tendril of amusement rose to the surface when he deadpanned. “What? I’m taking a page out of your enormous thesaurus. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

“On the contrary,” he drawled. “We should finish our food, is what I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted.” The twinkle in his eye told me he was teasing, and my smile remained, not as fearful as before.

“Maybe,” I decided, then more mischievously, “Maybe not.”

“We’ll never know because I was so rudely interrupted.”

“I prefer ‘thankfully’ interrupted, but. You know. To each their own thesaurus, or whatever the saying is.”

His laugh made fireworks light up my mind, giving way to something better. Something worth thinking about. “No one says that. What saying are you referring to?”

“Oh, you know. The saying.”

“The saying?” His smile settled, framing his face as nicely as it always did. “Do tell.”

“I won’t because, like you said, we should eat.”

He hummed. “A wonderful idea.”

I pulled another chair away from the table. When he looked at me questioningly, I said, “It’s for your ego.”

And when he laughed, the future communication we would have didn’t seem as daunting.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

By 2 PM, I had overthought every possible outcome for our future conversation, including ways it could go wrong and ways it could go right. I was still struggling to process, especially with how kind he had been this morning after it happened, how kind he always was. It had been achingly different, sending my pattern recognition into a flurry because there was no recognition of how he reacted.

Shifting away from my station, I turned toward everyone. “Um, is everyone busy?”

Closest to my station, Kiera looked over at me. “Are you not?”

Wilden chimed in, “You want to share? I’ve got work for you.”

“No, that’s not…no.” I shook my head slowly, looking over at Makaio when I felt his attention. He drummed the blunt of a pencil against his lips, raising a brow at my gaze. “I just had a question. Maybe, if everyone’s not too busy, we could talk about it. A little. If that’s okay.”

Makaio rested his cheek in his palm, unamused. “Can we or can we not, Dove? Make up your mind.”

Pat scolded quietly, “She’s being considerate.”

“She’s being considerate,” Makaio echoed, “by people pleasing. Is that right?”

Rebuked, I shrank back. “I’m not…people pleasing.”

“You’re right,” he responded. “Because no one’s pleased.”

“Jesus,” Wilden said under his breath, then he slammed his palm on the desk. “You in a bad mood or something, Mak? That was an insane thing to say.”

Makaio wasn’t the least bit interested in the reprimand. “Did I lie?”

Kiera watched the interaction, her eyes as sharp as her mouth usually was, but this time, she was quiet.

Pat, distressed, kept switching his attention from me to Makaio. Trying to ease the environment, he asked me kindly, “What did you want to ask us? You can just ask me if you want to do that instead.”

“And you.” Makaio gestured to him with his pencil. “You’re not any better.”

Pat squeaked. “What are you talking about?”

“You. Both of you. You and her. You’re consistently battling to be the kindest, the nicest. Day after day, every time either of you speaks, especially to each other. It’s grating. What the hell does it matter who is the kindest? If you hurt someone’s feelings, if you’re not the kindest, if you fuck things up, who cares? Apologize, make things right, don’t apologize, don’t make things right—the world keeps spinning.”

“Well, aren’t you just a bottle of sunshine!” Wilden exclaimed.

Kiera crossed her arms. “He isn’t lying.”

“Do you hear yourselves?” Wilden countered, using different fingers to point at both of them. “Seriously. If you do something wrong, you should always apologize.”

Kiera glared at him. “Do you listen to anything other than the nonsense coming out of your mouth? That’s not what Makaio is talking about.”

“You’re looking at my mouth?”

“What the fuck—”

“Enough.” Makaio’s dead stare cut to all of us. “You’re giving me a headache.” He looked at me and Pat. “Enough with the people pleasing. It’s the biggest headache.”

My throat constricted to the point of pain. “Sorry,” I said, just as Pat did.

He shook his head, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as if finding the strength. “You’re doing it. Still.”

I looked at Pat for support, bewildered and growing rapidly anxious. He shrugged, looking just how I felt.

Kiera stood to stretch. Leaning to her side, she told me, “Own your shit. You want to apologize? Own that shit, too. Say it, let the person accept or deny it, and move on. Don’t ruminate. Move the fuck on. Right now, you look like you’re going to implode.”

Feeling like the room was closing in on me, I choked out, “All I did was ask for advice, and he—”

“He what?” she cut me off. “Told you to stop people pleasing, so now you’re upset he’s not pleased?”

My chest heaved, my mind repeating what my parents drilled into my head. You’re so slow, Luetta. How are you not understanding why we’re upset with you? What is the matter with you? Why is what we’re doing upsetting you? Why are you so stupid? We didn’t raise you to be like this; why can’t you be like Keaton?

“I don’t understand,” I said, winded. “But I’m not stupid. I just—I need more time to process it. I’m not stupid. I’m not.”

“Who called you stupid?” Makaio asked, sounding bored, but his attention was fixed on me.

“You just—I—”

“No,” he refused to hear me through. “Who called you stupid? None of us did, so I hope you’re not going to put words in our mouths.”

I shook my head quickly, trying to catch up, feeling like I was falling behind. “No, I’m—no, I wouldn’t. I just said I wasn’t stupid because I didn’t want you to think I was. I’m not people pleasing, I’m just—I’m trying to…I’m…I don’t want anyone to be upset,” I blurted, trying to make sense of it. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

The room was quiet.

“Why would that happen?” Makaio asked levelly.

I shook my head. Pressed my lips tightly together. “It could.”

“Why?”

“We’re at work,” I said carefully. “This isn’t a therapy session. I just wanted advice.” I wiped my eyes, urging the tears not to fall, coaxing my nose to stop stinging. Confrontation and the idea of it always brought tears, and rumination was a symptom of my OCD. “I should’ve been focused on work, so I’m going to do that now.”

“Are you being hurt?” he asked casually, when his expression was the complete opposite, the epitome of intent focus, awaiting an answer. “Are you people pleasing as a survival method?”

“No, I’m not being hurt.” I wiped my eyes again. “I’m safe at work, and I’m going to be safe in my new apartment. I’m not being hurt.” I held everyone’s attention, and I was going to choke. “Stop looking at me. I’m sorry for bringing this up.”

“Jesus, Luetta,” Wilden said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

The tears approached quickly as if his words were an invitation to fall. “Please don’t ask me that,” I managed. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Confrontation just makes me like”—I gestured to myself, humiliated—“this.”

He stood. “Look, I might’ve been lying when I said I had extra work. I finished a while ago, and I’m playing Tetris until I get assigned something else.” He walked to me, surprising me when he leaned down to wipe a stray tear away. “Sometimes, things build up until everything that happens feels wrong, like it’s targeting you, huh?”

I nodded, surprised but relieved to be understood. “Yeah.”

“Mak could’ve been kinder,” he said pointedly, his voice carrying across the small room, “but he has a point. Listen, okay? I used to be like you and Pat. Crazy, right? Imagine a version of me allowing Kiera to pummel into the ground. Thank fuck she didn’t know me when I was a pushover, right? She’d have killed me.”

She flipped him off.

“Point is,” he continued after winking at her, “I had my reasons for being a pushover. A people pleaser, you know. I had to please my parents, and if they weren’t pleased enough, I was in trouble, and being in trouble could be, uhhh, how do you say, dangerous? So, even when they got locked away, I still felt like I had to please everyone, or everyone would react like my parents did. And you know something?”

He crouched in front of me, wiping another one of my tears away. “The more of a people pleaser you are, the more people you attract who will take advantage of you, just like whoever made you feel like you had to be a pushover in the first place. It’s an awful cycle, and it’s harder to stop it when you keep doing it, like a merry-go-round you can never get off. Horrible, right? Well! Good news! You can just get off at any time.”

“I don’t want to get hurt,” I admitted.

“If you keep being a pushover, you will get hurt. Crazy how that works, isn’t it? I learned that the hard way.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Someone’s feelings are always going to be hurt. We apologize and move on. Otherwise, your life’s going to be miserable. How is it your life when you’re so busy thinking about how to make everyone else happy? When are you going to be happy?”

“I…” His words felt like a slap. “I wasn’t thinking about that.” I kept trying to pull the tears back, and he kept wiping them away. “I was just thinking about being safe.”

“If you’re safe but unhappy, how’s that any fun? And like I said, people pleasing is a great way to attract horrible people. They’ll push and push you until you break.”

“How do I know who those people are?” I asked breathily. Desperately. “How do I stay safe and happy at the same time? How do I—please, how do I know? How do I know when it’s safe to communicate?”

“Calm down, calm down. It’s okayyy.” He patted my hand. “If their words don’t match up with their actions, that’s how you know. It may take a little time to see who a person really is, so it varies, but yeah! That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I asked, not grasping the simplicity of it. “That’s…”

“Not much to go on,” Kiera drawled. “But the idiot’s got a point.”

“Watch who you call an idiot,” Wilden said cheerily. “I will kill you.”

“And I’ll put you behind bars.”

“Low blow, considering why my parents are in jail.”

“Don’t follow in their footsteps,” she said, unaffected, and looked at me. “Was the advice about this? It seems like it was.”

I wiped my eyes hastily. “I’m afraid I ruined something with someone because I got defensive. I was trying to stand up for myself, I think, but I did it wrong. I didn’t have to, I don’t…think. They were so kind after it happened, and they said I could take time to process, and no one’s ever given me time to process, so I don’t know what to do. It’s making it more confusing.”

“It can be confusing,” Makaio said, grabbing my attention, “if you’re used to allowing people to step all over you. You’ll be unsure when to stand up for yourself, and you’ll do it at the wrong times.” He jutted his chin out, sitting back in his seat. “What happened? From what you’ve said, they’re being understanding, but explain.”

I did, leaving out the intimate parts while keeping the general situation intact. “What do you think?” I asked afterward, anxiously awaiting their consensus.

Makaio answered first. “You were scared and got defensive. He was confused, tried to make it up to you, and he’s giving you time to think it over.” He dug his palm further into his cheek. “Sex is complicated, so are feelings. That’s why I abstain. That, and one other thing.”

“What other thing?” Pat so courageously asked.

“I’m Asexual.”

“Oh.” Pat nodded quickly. “That’s cool.”

Makaio leisurely sipped his water, then snapped his head toward me, startling me. “If you don’t want to be afraid of confrontation for the rest of your life, talk to this person and figure it out. With what you’ve said about them, he’ll keep the conversation safe.”

I hadn’t explained that it was Jungkook, just that there was a power dynamic he acknowledged and wouldn’t exercise. “What if it’s not safe?”

“Has he ever made you feel unsafe before?”

“No, but what if—”

“What ifs stem from fear. If you want to be something more with him, communicate or you’ll lose the chance to.”

I swallowed roughly. “Okay. Thank you for talking to me. I’m sorry for upsetting you. I didn’t know that the way I talked upset you, so I’ll do my best to stop people pleasing.” I hesitated. “Not for you, for me. But also…because of you, because you said it upset you, and I don’t want to make the workplace uncomfortable for anyone.”

I shook my head before anyone could say anything. “That’s my apology, and if you don’t like it, then—” I cut myself off. “Well, then you can tell me. But I’m not sure how else you want me to apologize.”

He snorted. “You’ve got a long way to go.” He returned to computer work. “But you’re trying. Good.”

Kiera clapped her hands sharply. “Back to work!” She sat and swiveled in her chair, putting her face right in front of her computer. “If we weren’t so quick at our jobs, we would have a build-up of work. Ridiculous!”

“But we are fast at what we do,” Wilden chirped. “Which is why we were hired.” He patted my head lightly. “We’re all friends here, so don’t overthink this. I know how tough that can be. And,” he added loudly, making Makaio grunt, “Mak could’ve been much kinder, isn’t that right, Mak?”

“Get back to work,” was his curt response.

“Speaking of communication.” Wilden shot up to his feet. “If she and Pat were annoying you so much, you should’ve communicated sooner, huh?” He put a hand to his ear with a mile-wide grin. “Seems like the call is coming from inside the house.”

Makaio grunted. “I ignored it, hoping they would stop, but they didn’t. This was me communicating.”

“Work on your communication style, asshat.” He winked at me and flounced back to his desk, but not before ruffling Pat’s hair. “Mak apologizes to both of you for lashing out because he let everything build up instead of communicating, doesn’t he?”

Makaio, for what it was worth, sighed and said, “Yes, I apologize for not bringing up how annoying the people-pleasing was.”

Wilden spread his arms out. “Pat, Luetta; what say thee?”

“What say thee?” Pat echoed, scratching his head. “Um, yeah! It’s a fine apology. No worries.”

I tugged my fingers, counting each tug. My mind had been in a flurry of OCD patterns since this morning, and it was worse now, but there was also a sense of clarity that joined it. I had a plan, and that sat right with me—and my OCD. It made me feel a sense of control, like my life wasn’t slipping through my fingers like it was before.

“Yeah,” I said with renewed resolution. “It’s fine. I needed to hear it.”

Makaio chuckled, and we all returned to work, finishing an hour later and embarking on more chatter until the next assignments came through. This time around, it was lighter than before, easing the tension of the conversation, and I managed a few smiles.

The communication, although frightening, had ended well. Maybe it would end well with Jungkook, too, well enough that what we had wouldn’t end.

Chapter Text

After work, I stopped by the front desk to talk to Morwenna, something that was now part of my routine. That—and I wanted to walk Jungkook to his car.

Five minutes into talking, Morwenna asked, “Who are you waiting for, girl? You keep looking at the elevators.”

“Oh. No one. I mean, I…” I straightened and soothed my hands over my pants. “Is Ju—I mean, is Mr. Jeon working late? I had a question for him.”

“Oh, girl.” She laughed lightly. “He left an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?” Apprehension tickled my gut. “Do you know why?”

“He said he had some outside business to take care of.”

I squared my shoulders back, trying to appear nonchalant. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m sure it is! Mr. Jeon seems to always be prepared for anything. Whatever it is, he’s got it handled.”

I nodded, dipping back into our conversation for a few more minutes before saying my goodbyes and bee-lining for the door.

My mind immediately went to the worst place: was he safe? Did the alarm in his apartment get tripped?

Scrambling for my phone to text him, I thought against wasting time when he could be in trouble. Racing to my car, I boarded it, fumbled with the keys, and dropped the ten-minute drive to five minutes.

Gasping for breath as I ran up the staircase, I clutched the banister as worst-case scenarios tormented me. He’d been afraid when someone knocked on our door and during the strange power outage. I hadn’t pressed the topic; I didn’t want to push him into rehashing something he wasn’t ready to, but his fear pointed towards an origin point, like every other piece of fear had.

What was his reason—and did I need to be afraid for him?

I had a spare key, but if I entered the apartment while someone held him at gunpoint, what help would I be? Racing up another flight of stairs, I stopped when I reached the third door. Knocking as quickly as I could, I didn’t stop, not even when footsteps approached, not even when the door opened.

Taehyung looked at me, annoyed before he realized who had been assaulting his door. “Luetta?”

“I need your help,” I said in one breath.

He stepped halfway out of his apartment. “With?”

“Jungkook left work an hour early, and I don’t know if he told you, but there was a power outage a while ago, and the Wi-Fi didn’t automatically switch to service, so he had to scour the apartment with his gun, and no one was there, but we promised we would be a team, and he said at that time to call you if anything ever happened, and I need to know that he’s okay, and I can’t go into the apartment because I don’t have anything to help, so I would just make it worse if someone broke in.”

“Okay.” He put his hand up, stepped back, and repeated. “Okay. Stay here.”

“But—”

“Stay here. One second.” He was back with a gun neatly tucked in his holster. “Come on.”

We hurried down the stairs, arriving at Jungkook’s apartment quickly.

“Keys,” Taehyung instructed. Fumbling for them in my pocket, I relinquished them to him. Easing the gun from its holster, he pointed it toward the door whilst unlocking it. “Back,” he told me under his breath, his voice quiet but stern.

I didn’t dare question him, knowing anything other than following orders could compromise him and Jungkook.

Opening the door, Taehyung entered silently, his back immediately against a wall. Inching in further, I couldn’t see him anymore—or hear him. He stole across the floor as if he wasn’t there at all, his steps feathering along the hardwood. Then, “What are you doing?”

Jungkook?

My heart jumped in my throat, quickly followed by a wave of dizzy relief, most likely caused by an overwhelming amount of adrenaline.

“You alone?” Taehyung asked, still quiet.

“Yes,” Jungkook responded calmly, as if Taehyung wasn’t holding a gun. “Is this an ambush or an insulting way of you telling me to stop cooking because I murder everything I make?”

Taehyung snorted, and moments later, he opened the front door wider. He waved me in. “Come on.”

“Come on?” Jungkook echoed, confused. “Who are you speaking to?”

On shaky legs, I walked inside, my heart beating quicker when I saw Jungkook, safe and unharmed. The table was set for dinner, which consisted of something that smelled only half-burnt, and two glasses of wine. One white, one red. For us?

“Jungkook,” I said coarsely. “Why did—I thought that—why did you leave an hour early? Morwenna said you had business to take care of, so I thought something bad had happened.”

His brows tugged together, and realization hit him where he stood. “No, Luetta, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m safe.” His attention snapped to Taehyung’s gun. “Did you bring him here?”

“Yeah, because that was our plan that night—the power outage night,” I explained quickly, still reeling. “To get Taehyung and the police. Taehyung was closer, you know, because he’s upstairs, so I got him, and he has a gun, so he came to make sure you were safe.”

Jungkook took quick note of my trembling form and exchanged a glance with Taehyung. It was a silent form of communication, one I didn’t catch up on, but they heard each other well. They switched places; Taehyung to the stove and Jungkook to me.

In front of me, Jungkook offered his hand. “I left early to make dinner. This”—he gestured to the table—“was the business I had to take care of.” His smile was strained, upset that I was upset. Feeling for me. “I should have texted you. I know we usually walk to our cars together, although it is not something we have set in stone, but I had to be quick to prepare dinner for you, and I didn’t think you would be worried if I left early.”

His lips pressed into a straight line. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed my hand. “Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?”

“Anything you can do?” I found it in myself to ask. I choked up. “Anything you can do?”

He faltered, unsure at the sudden change. “Yes, anything I can do.”

Taehyung coughed as if reminding us he was there, but we didn’t heed him, too caught up in each other, in this moment, charged and upsetting and full of feeling.

“You did everything right this morning,” I continued forcefully, my brows furrowing indignantly. “You didn’t get defensive when I misinterpreted your words, you made me breakfast, you tried to make me feel better by talking about those gross, green smoothies, and you said I could take all the time I needed to process everything. And you still want to do more?” I exhaled incredulously. “Who are you?”

Taken aback, he simply looked at me during his next breath. Then, leaning down, he cupped my face in my hands and breathed against my features, “I want to be someone to you. I was raised by two people who held each other tightly through every situation, and communication was at the very core of it all. That’s why what they had together lasted, and you, Luetta; you—” He shook his head, releasing a low chuckle that sounded like it pained him, laced with longing and primitive need. “You are growing increasingly important to me with every day that passes. Yes, I would give everyone the space to communicate—it is right and good—but for you, I would wait. Luetta, I would—I would wait.”

Taehyung idly tended the stove while my heart idled in my chest, faltering before it pounded hard enough to pulse in my ears. “What?” I whispered, blown away. “Why would…Jungkook, why would you—”

“Why would I wait for you?” His brows raised. “You’re asking the wrong question.” His forehead brushed mine. “Why wouldn’t I?”

The air left me in one fell swoop. “There’s—Jungkook, there’s something wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he refuted sharply. “Whoever has told you otherwise is sinfully wrong.”

I started to laugh. It was high-pitched. It was wrong. It’s the kind of laugh I feared he would do when I told him about my OCD, just like my parents. “No, you don’t—no, no. No.”

“Tell me. Talk to me. About anything. About whatever you would like to say. Anything, everything. Nothing. Just—talk to me.”

My eyes burned. “You make it sound so easy. To talk. To…communicate.”

“It was easy for me when I was a child, but I had to relearn. The one tending the stove over there”—Taehyung lifted his free hand in a quick wave—“helped me remember how to in college. I might not know how difficult it’s been for you, how difficult it might always have been, but I’m here to listen, and it doesn’t need to feel easy or quick or right. It needs to be felt, and then you’ll be free of it.”

His voice quieted as meaning infiltrated the room. “Don’t you want to be free?”

I shook fiercely. A whispered secret, a broken hopefulness that clogged my throat with desperation. “More than anything.”

“Then let go. I,” he stated firmly, “am right here.”

It was too good of a promise, but even so, it was luring me in—no, dragging me by my ankles and tugging me into that sweet relief I hadn’t dared to taste.

And once I gave in to the drag, the talons on my ankles that dug inches deep into my skin to evoke painful secrets and buried wants from me, eased away just enough for me to take a deep breath—and begin.

“It was my fault.” My heavy breathing fills the room, mixing with the sound of sizzling food on the stove. “This morning—all of it. I was scared because you weren’t there when I woke up, and I thought you changed your mind, and I—I was afraid that maybe you only wanted one thing, like people in the past have, and you were just being nice because of ulterior motives.”

I winced, hurrying to add, “I know it isn’t fair, but it’s what I was thinking, and then I got defensive, and I thought that if I convinced myself that you were in the wrong, I would be prepared if you left or if things changed between us. But then you made breakfast, and you were so kind, and I couldn’t think properly—”

I cut myself off, took a breath, and resumed at full speed. “It was perfect.” I tried to keep it cryptic because of Taehyung’s presence, although I’m sure he could’ve pieced it together. “Last night was, and I don’t regret anything.” I shook my head quickly, reeling. “I never did. It was perfect. Everything. It was so—you were so—” My fingers turned white around my pants as I held on tight. “It was perfect, and I’m sorry that I got defensive.”

I took a second to catch my breath, but not fully as I supplemented, “Thank you for not rushing me into a conversation. It—Jungkook, it means so much to me. No one’s ever—you’re the—” I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm down. “Thank you.”

His expression fell, as if realizing exactly why his patience meant so much to me. “It shouldn’t be rare for someone to be patient. For someone to listen.” His features tightened, and his brows were drawn downward. “I know how it feels to be disregarded, both you and the words you speak. That won’t happen with me. I’m not like that with anyone, but Luetta, please hear me.” His eyes looked into mine, bearing every bit of pain I felt. “It will never be the case with you.”

“How can you say that?” I asked, warbled. “Like you mean it?”

“Because I do mean it. Every word. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said it. Do you know what word I would use to describe how I feel about lying?”

A choked laugh left me, scraping my throat on its way up. “Abhor.”

He chuckled, quiet and fond, tightening his hold when I laughed. “Yes. Abhor.”

My tears shone brightly, not yet falling. “Abhor.”

“It’s not something I will do,” he said firmly, letting his words sink in. “It leaves a bitter aftertaste, and I don’t care for those. Surely,” he added with a small spark of laughter in his eyes, muted by the gravity our conversation held, but arriving all the same, “you’re aware of that due to my hate toward green smoothies. The aftertaste of those smoothies…well. Let’s leave it at that before the word abhor is used again.”

I smiled tiredly, and a few tears slipped free. “I’m so sorry.”

“No more.” He shook his head, gently wiping my tears away. “You’ve said it already. It’s done.”

“But you…don’t have anything you want to communicate with me? Are you upset?” I blinked slowly. “This is about you, not me. I was wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not upset. I was confused,” he explained, “when it first occurred this morning, but while I made breakfast, I made an educated guess. Your fear,” he said solemnly. “I saw it when I left the bedroom. It wasn’t difficult to come to a conclusion. I…was afraid as well.”

My lips parted, chapped and aching. “You were?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You are important to me. You are not someone I wish to lose.” He left it at that, but his eyes told me more. I couldn’t look away.

Taehyung turned the stove off. “Your food’s safe from burning, and so are both of you, so I’m taking myself, a serving, and my gun back up to my apartment.”

“All right,” Jungkook replied distantly, his attention on me. “Thank you for coming here.”

“You would do the same for me.” Taehyung came over once he filled a container with food and patted Jungkook on the shoulder. He looked at me while he did. “You’re both fine. Deep breaths, don’t forget.”

He stepped to the door. “Goodnight, neighbors. And remember.” He closed the door. “The walls and doors are thin.”

I burned brightly.

Jungkook glared at the door, even though Taehyung couldn’t see. He could hear, however, because the doors, as he said, were thin. “Thank you for that, Taehyung.”

“My pleasure,” Taehyung drawled, his steps retreating from the door.

Jungkook sighed shortly, but his features relaxed when he looked back at me. “Peace and quiet at last. His loud sizzling was aimed to remind me of his chef status—and my lack of one.”

An exhausted huff squeezed out of me, forming a smile. “It’s okay. We can stick to burning things.”

His eyes softened, crinkling at the corners just an inch when he returned my smile. “Yes,” he murmured.

I sighed, shaking my arms out a bit, keeping his hand in mine. Tension slowly bled out of me, almost confused to be leaving. We’re done? It seemed to ask. Where is the yelling?

“No yelling,” I said under my breath.

“None,” Jungkook responded in the same tone, but colored with finality.

I leaned forward, too exhausted to be as afraid as I had been. Resting my forehead against his chest, I remembered how to breathe as adrenaline poured off me, slinking beneath the front door and away until the next time I required it.

“Thank you,” I found my voice after a few minutes of him giving me time to breathe. To think. To be, with his hand in mine and my forehead on his chest. “For listening to me. If you were upset, I would understand, so if you are, you can tell me. I won’t get defensive.”

“I believe you.” He rested his chin above my head. “I’m not upset.”

“What…about a resolution?”

“Which one calls to you?”

I pivoted so my cheek fell against his chest instead. “We changed last night. What we did.”

“In that way, yes, but we are still us.”

“What are we?” I whispered, braver than I felt.

“Whatever you’d like us to be.” His chest rumbled beneath my cheek, and I hummed quietly, enjoying the feeling. “I know you’ll ask what I want or need, but like I said last night, anything you’ll give me is what I need. Is that answer enough?”

I lifted my head to look up at him. “You’re my boss, even if we met before you were, and I live with you. It’s…tricky. But we had the perfect night, and we communicated—and now, we’ll have dinner like we had breakfast this morning. Maybe it’s complicated if I think about it too much, you know, about how tricky it could possibly be, but if…we communicate like this, keep communicating like this, I…I don’t think it needs to be tricky.”

“I don’t think it needs to be tricky either.”

“So, it’ll be…like it’s been, but with…more?”

His thumb brushed my cheek, his hand moving to clasp the back of my neck for a reassuring squeeze that had me melting. “Do you want us to be more to each other? Because, Luetta, I do. I want you to be more to me. To hold you, to feel you, to have you close.” A crease formed in his forehead, wrinkling the bridge of his nose. “We can take our time. Learn at our own pace. It is up to us, isn’t it? Our time is ours, and so is its pace.”

He looked at me, and his usual sure expression gave way to an inch of fear for rejection, a yearning simmering just beneath it. “We don’t need labels if it makes you uncomfortable. We can be us, you and I. What—” His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, nibbling lightly and quickly before hiding once more. “What do you think?”

Although I felt like my head was spinning, his arms made me feel secure, and so did the way he gazed upon me. I felt his nerves, and they mirrored mine. There we stood, wanting the same thing, unsure how to voice it. Trying to—and he was better at it—communicate.

Our usual bantering was nowhere to be found, something I delved into, especially when he particularly pushed deep beneath my skin with his dark, sultry eyes and full, dizzying attention. But now, I plucked up the courage to fall into it to reassure us both, to remind us of us.

“What do you say all the time?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly, not understanding. “What do I say often? Tell me.”

Mischief felt good after a day spent ruminating and fearing the worst outcome, and I let it spread. “You always say you don’t stutter, but…last night and just now, you did.”

He simply looked at me, conveying his playful disapproval toward the tease, and I grinned. It broke his exterior, and he chuckled lowly. “Yes,” he mused. “I did say that, and I meant it.” He threaded his fingers through my hair, up to the top of my head, before returning to my neck, and I moved closer to him appreciatively. “I don’t stutter. Until you gave me reason to.”

“A reason?”

“You are important to me.”

“What does…that mean exactly?”

His throat bobbed, and it surprised me when sincerity caused his next breath to become strained. “I do not wish to lose you. The light you’ve brought me, Luetta, is a hard light to find. For so long, it has been so dark, and I have tried, believe me, to find colors in other ways. Furniture, the paint on my walls, the books lining my shelves—and at one point, even the suits I wore. A dark time for me, if you can imagine me wearing colorful suits.”

I gripped his hand, held his shirt. Listened to him.

“But you,” he rasped with a tight shake of his head. “You’re bursting with color, Luetta, even if you can’t see it yourself. Even if you feel like there is something wrong with you, what I see when I look at you, what I feel, is an assortment of wild, joyful colors. Everywhere. In my room, in the kitchen”—he pointed to the windowsill housing our plants—“when I see Cordelia and the zinnias, and the guestroom, only used by Taehyung before, is now yours. I will only see it as that. Also, your bear in the jester outfit. And Fernando. He might be actively trying to escape the cabinets, but when you speak to him, all I see is color. In your face, in your smile, in your laugh—and it seeps into every corner of the room, in every corner of my mind.”

His hand twitched in mine, and I squeezed, spinning from his words. “Whatever may happen between us, thank you.” He smiled, taut lines creasing the corners of his mouth. “For the color you’ve brought into my life. I never could have fathomed how colorful the walls of my apartment would become when you set foot into it. This apartment is…it feels like a home that I…” His voice faded. “That I have wanted but haven’t dared hope for.”

My heart splintered with pain—and understanding.

“We haven’t known each other long,” he said with a hard swallow. “But I would…Luetta, I would be honored if you would like to spend more of your time with me. You have all of my time, if you will accept it.”

“If I’ll accept it? Jungkook, the way you speak—” I shook my head, loosing a breath. “How can you say things like that? It’s like pure poetry, and you’re saying them to me.”

He smiled weakly, the action looking like it pained him. “There’s no one else I would like to say them to.”

I released his hand to cup his face, standing on my tiptoes to reach him, and he assisted by lowering himself to my height. “What we have, whatever we want to call it, I—I want to explore it. With you. Is that—can we? Is that something we can do?” My irises swirled with tentative hope, anticipating the crush. “Slowly? Take our time?”

He exhaled incredulously. “Can we? Luetta, I will take my time with you in whatever way you would like me to. If this is what you want, you will have it. This—” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Yes. This.”

“This?” I whispered.

“This.” He squeezed his arms around me, earning a surprised yelp from me when he lifted me into his arms. “You. Us. We’ll find out what it means together.”

I looped my arms around his neck, my smile feeling safe enough to grow. “Together.”

“Together,” he made it thrice and nudged his nose against mine. “What does slowly consist of? Is a kiss allowed?”

I kissed the tip of his nose with a small nod, shivering when his arms tightened around me. “Kisses are allowed.”

My permission brought his lips to mine, initiating a deep kiss. His mouth searched mine for meaning, for comfort, and mine did the same. We sank into each other, squeezing and squeezing until it felt like we were molding into one.

Passionate and patient, our kiss continued as if we had all the time in the world. The food grew cold, a re-run of my comfort show passed, and our routine of reading slipped away, but we didn’t pass. We didn’t slip away. We held on, exploring and taking our time.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jungkook liked the blueberry smoothie I made, but he preferred the strawberry smoothie. When I asked why, he said, “It’s pink,” and kissed me.

It not only made me swoon but helped me ease into the morning, into what we now were. We had no title, but we were an us. We talked about it last night, sharing his bed, even though the guestroom’s ceiling was fixed now. We didn’t want anyone else.

At work, my friends, specifically Wilden and Pat, cheered and made excessive noise when I relayed the successful communication. Makaio and Kiera were mostly silent, except for Kiera’s singular shout of support and Makaio’s grunt of approval.

We all went bowling, and we had fun, even Makaio, who sat most of the time. He even bowled sitting down at one point, which made Wilden choke on cheesy fries as he howled with laughter.

When I left with a big smile on my face, waving at my friends, yesterday felt like a bad dream I had been able to wake up from. Communication wasn’t so bad when it was done with the right people.

Approaching my car, I paused to look both ways at the crosswalk. My smile, although as big as it was, began to dim. The wind rustled through the trees planted on the sidewalk, chatter sounded from a few people walking by, and car engines sounded from near and far. But it was quieter, the cicadas near me falling silent. The rustling leaves were somehow softer, the wind’s whistle muted.

I turned abruptly, making eye contact with a man standing a small distance away. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as his hand leisurely tilted the tip of his black cap in greeting, lowering it over his eyes. His lips curled above his teeth, a smile that soured into a snarl.

The crosswalk loudly alerted me to walk across the street. The man watched me, waiting. The crosswalk blinked, threatening to turn back into the red hand. Walk, Luetta. Walk away.

I took the first step, and his eyes gleamed.

Ice trickled down my spine. With each step I took, his eyes followed me, an uncanny smile toying at his mouth. It was only when I arrived at my car that I noticed the gun in his jacket’s pocket.

The crosswalk was still open, and he had begun to walk. Ten seconds were left on the crosswalk’s timer, and I was rushing to get into my car—but I had parallel parked. Locking my doors and windows, I braced myself and turned the key. Five seconds.

He walked as if he had all the time in the world, as if when I drove away, he would see me again. I gripped the steering wheel with three seconds left, focusing as the light turned green, signaling me that the crosswalk time had ended.

I wasn’t sure how long it took for me to reverse out of the parking spot, but he was on the sidewalk closest to me now. Standing. Watching. He didn’t advance; he just smiled, showing all his teeth.

Ten minutes later, even when he was long gone, the chill that caused my hair to rise hadn’t evaporated. It lingered, and it made me wonder if he did, too, making me remember a similar chill I’d felt. It had been the first night I’d slept in Jungkook’s bed and woke up to use the bathroom, when there was a power outage for five minutes.

Taehyung and Jungkook were in the latter’s living room when I arrived, a deck of solitaire spread out before them, untouched. A part of me realized they’d set up to play with me, waiting for my arrival, but the other part—the shocked part—couldn’t comprehend anything other than slowly turning to lock the front door. The alarms in place were never there at this time; Jungkook removed them when I sent a text that I was on my way back. Now, I put everything back in place. Every lock. All of it. Everything. Lock, lock, lock.

He usually did the process of locking up, but this time, I needed to do it, needed to be in control of it. Needed to make sure that nothing and no one could enter.

“Jungkook,” I said, sounding eerily calm.

“I’m here.” He was on high alert. Whatever my body language and actions had conveyed, he’d picked up on it.

“Can you turn the alarms back on?”

“Yes.” He retrieved his phone to do so. I heard the rustling of his sweatpants, the tap of his fingers. Then, “They’re on.”

“There’s a way to check if the Wi-Fi will switch to service if there’s an outage, right?” I asked calmly. “You put a new system in after the last outage, so the problem shouldn’t happen again. Right? You tested it. You turned the Wi-Fi off manually, and it switched to service.”

“I tested it multiple times across different days. It works,” he confirmed, taking on the same calmness my voice did.

I nodded curtly. “Good.” Ever so slowly, I turned around, my shoes digging into the floor hard enough for it to creak. “Taehyung,” I said distantly.

He sat crisscrossed on the floor, his legs slightly elevated so that his forearms were hanging off them. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your gun?” I asked casually.

“In my apartment.”

“Okay.” I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Taking out the leftovers of my smoothie this morning, I closed the fridge and put my back against it. I sipped my drink while Jungkook and Taehyung watched me. Satisfied after a few sips, I put it back in the fridge. Then, I washed my hands for three minutes.

When I turned back to look at Jungkook and Taehyung, they were sitting at the kitchen island. It should’ve surprised me how silent they were, but in this current state, it didn’t.

“How did the bowling go?” Taehyung asked. “Jungkook said you went with your accounting team.”

“My friends. They’re my friends now.” I retrieved my smoothie again. Sipped it. Went back to the sink to wash my hands. “Bowling was good. Why are you here?”

“Hanging out.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m wondering the same thing.” He propped his chin on his folded hands and rested his elbows against the island.

Jungkook watched me like a hawk, but he gave me time, seeming to realize what Taehyung didn’t. I repeated my actions once more: the smoothie, a sip, back to the fridge, and washing my hands. Three times in total.

I pulled a stool out from the island and sat down. “Well,” I stated. “There was one thing that happened tonight, but it was after bowling.”

Taehyung arched a brow, otherwise silent.

I nodded. “It’s true. Something happened. On the crosswalk.”

Jungkook spoke up then. “Were you hurt?” But he’d been scanning me since I arrived, after he knew something was amiss. Scanning for injuries, pain, a tremor—anything. But his search was fruitless.

“No,” I replied distantly. “I almost was.”

They both stiffened.

“What happened?” Jungkook asked coolly, preparing to do whatever needed to be done.

“There was a man,” I revealed. “Wearing a black cap with a symbol I’m not sure of and regular clothes. Brown jacket, dark jeans, black shoes…” My eyes drifted around the kitchen, skimming the plants. “He smiled at me.”

“He smiled at you,” Taehyung repeated, his tone conveying he knew where my words were leading to.

“He smiled at me,” I confirmed. “And followed me across the crosswalk to my car. I parallel parked,” I explained, watching them react differently: Jungkook with a tightened grip on the island and Taehyung with a dark, deepening frown. “It took me a while to reverse, and I lost count of how many seconds. I don’t really ever lose count.”

My eyes returned to them, but they were having trouble focusing, slightly glazed over. I said absently, “He had a gun.”

Jungkook stood abruptly. The fury burning in his eyes surprised me enough to draw me back down from where I was, but slowly. Inch by inch. He spoke with a discomforting amount of calmness. “Where is the bowling center?”

“He kept smiling at me,” I told him. “I saw him through my rearview when I drove away.” I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think he’ll stay where I saw him. He…was patient, like he would have another chance. Don’t go,” I remembered to say. I knew that was important, even in this strange dissociative state I was in. “It’s not safe.”

“We’ll make a case,” he responded flatly. His anger was burning brightly, a fire blazing bright in his otherwise dark expression. “We will check the cameras.”

“There were no street cameras,” I heard myself say. “It’s part of my counting. I’ll check if there are cameras, and then I count them.” I repeated, “There were no cameras to count. I think he knew that, and I think he’s going to come find me again.” I exhaled shakily and stood. “I’m going to check if the doors are locked. Okay?” I said in a pacifying tone. “I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook stood in front of me before I could leave the kitchen. “Tell me about his appearance.”

“I have to check if the door is locked.”

“It’s locked. We checked, all three of us. Three. Yes? It’s three. It’s safe.” He leaned down, initiating eye contact. “Luetta, I need you to relay his appearance. Do you remember the symbol?”

I blinked slowly. “We…all need to check if the door is locked two more times to make it nine times in total because 3 x 3 is nine, and nine is divisible by 3, and 3 is reduced to zero.” I tried to bypass him again, but he didn’t move. “Jungkook.” I took his hand. “We have to count.”

I led him forward, and although anger vibrated through him, he let me. Taehyung followed when I waved him forward, and we checked the door two more times, all three of us.

“Good,” I decided. “Keep until I say to stop, stop.” I sat on the floor. “Okay. We’re done counting that. Done checking the door…”

Jungkook lowered himself to my level, his dark eyes intense and swimming with wrath. “The symbol, Luetta.”

“It was a spiral,” I relayed robotically. “Green and blue, dipping into each other in the middle to make a wave. A…small one,” I recalled. I rubbed my temples and tried to better explain. “A big, spiraling circle, and each spiral met in the middle to create a small wave.” I explained once more to make it three.

Jungkook had paled considerably, anger being the only thing bringing any kind of color to his face. Taehyung immediately understood, his features grim and expression cold.

“What is it?” I asked.

They looked at each other, and I realized they didn’t want to tell me.

I demanded, “What is it?”

Taehyung hesitated. Jungkook didn’t.

Shifting closer, Jungkook leveled with me, the flames in his eyes flickering. “Now is not the time. I will tell you later. Now, you will sit here, and you will breathe. Safely. Taehyung.” He stood. “Stay with her.”

I looked after Jungkook, watching him walk to the door. “Where are you going?” Panic began to rise. “Jungkook, don’t go; it’s not safe.”

“I’m not leaving you, Luetta. I’m here.” He looked through his phone, pulling up the camera app. “I need you to focus on Taehyung. Taehyung,” he said through his teeth, a warning.

Taehyung crouched down and offered his hand. His eyes darted towards it, more of a command than a question. “Take it.”

I hesitated, but when I caught Jungkook’s steely gaze, I listened. Taehyung led me to Jungkook’s room, closed the door, but kept it unlocked. When he saw my face, he explained in a low tone, “This is for both of you. For you to feel safe, and for him to know that you are. The further away from the front door that you are, the safer you are.”

“But he’s next to the front door,” I said, infuriated. “He’s not safe. We said as a team, we would stay in his bathroom, he would aim his gun at the door, and I would call you and the police.”

“But I’m already here. You see me?” He patted his chest, raising his brows. “There’s no need to go to the bathroom when I’m here, and no one’s outside the front door. If they were, we have precautions set up. Jungkook just needs a second, but he’s not going anywhere.”

“He had a gun,” I told him heatedly.

“The man had a gun.” He led me further into the room. “I know.” He sat me on the couch. “Jungkook’s taking care of it.”

“I want to know what you both won’t tell me.”

“We will. Later.” He gave me a pointed look, but it faded when my chin wobbled. “Okay? We’re sitting here for a bit.”

“You both know who that man is.” I examined his face. “You do.”

“You know what I know?” He sat beside me, placing a cushion on my lap. I immediately tugged it to my chest, allowing the pressure to steady me. “You need to tell me about the blueberry smoothie you made this morning.”

I side-eyed him. “Jungkook told you about that?”

“He prefers the strawberry smoothies, but I prefer the blueberries.” He rested his arms over the back of the couch. “We were going to make some for our game night.”

“We were having a game night?”

“Solitaire and spiked smoothies. I was going for vodka.”

I studied the stitches in the pillow. “I don’t think that would taste good.”

“Vodka isn’t supposed to taste good. It’s supposed to feel good.”

“If it doesn’t taste good, it doesn’t feel good.” I tried to look at the bedroom door, but I couldn’t see it from where I sat. “He’s out there alone. We talked about this before; we said we would be a team.”

“Teams don’t always have to be together to work together. Right now, this is what the team needs. Trust me,” he said, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “He’s the CEO of a security company. He’s working.”

“Working,” I echoed, his words sinking in.

“And you’re not on his security team, are you? There’s nothing wrong with that, but if you’re not on his security team, the best place for you is here. For right now,” he added, when he saw the withering look on my face, aimed to attack. “But later, you and he can talk. Now, he’s working. Let him.”

“Fine.” I pushed into the couch, straining to hear any sound that would alert me to trouble. “But you’ll both tell me who that man is later.”

“We said we would.”

“I’m reinstating it. I won’t let you forget,” I warned.

“Thanks so much.”

I glared at him, but it wavered. “How do you know how to use a gun?”

“I used to work with Jungkook. For,” he amended drily. “Since I’m not the CEO, I was his employee, so I worked for him, but I knew him in college, so employee is a loose term. He abided by it, but me? No. I was second in command.”

“So…assistant manager?”

He rolled his eyes when I stared at him dubiously. “Whatever you want to call it, I was it, and I was trained in combat long before I knew Jungkook. He was an American citizen, so he wasn’t drafted into mandatory military service in Korea. I was young. 18. So I was out at 20, slightly traumatized by the insidious waste of my time and bad treatment from people older than me. By the end of it, though, I was strong and tall enough to handle my own, so it taught me that much.”

His lips stretched into a smug smile. “My last day there, the men who made me cower cowered when I turned the slightest step toward them. Humiliating for them, but cathartic for me.”

I looked at him for a long moment, long enough that he quirked his brows in silent question. “Taehyung,” I decided. “I’m glad they were humiliated for how they treated you, and I’m even more glad that it was you who humiliated them.” I squared my shoulders back, took a deep breath, and announced, “I want to learn how to use a gun.” I pivoted to face him on the couch, tucking my right foot beneath my left thigh. “Teach me.”

“Ha.”

“I’m not joking.”

“When do you want me to teach you? Now, while we’re sitting safely on this couch?” His hand flew out toward the bed. “Should we use the frame for target practice? Or no, the couch?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, but teaching you how to use a gun is not on my radar right now.”

“Then later,” I said firmly, even as my confidence wavered. “I couldn’t come in here and help Jungkook. If I had a gun and knew how to use it, I could’ve helped. What if something had happened, and in the time it took for me to get you, it was too late?”

“Jungkook can handle himself.”

“If he could handle everything himself, he wouldn’t have a security team or be the CEO of a security company. He has security measures in place, but whatever happened that night scared him, and if the CEO of a security company is scared, he needs a team backing him up—not just a team to back up his clients. He needs protection, too.”

“He has a security team he can call.”

“And when they take too long to get here?”

“So then, it falls onto you.” He gave me a look. “Am I hearing you right?”

“If you’re listening well, then yes, you are.”

He stroked his jaw, analyzing my proposition. “Ask Jungkook.”

“For permission?” I balked.

“For a gun. He can help you get a permit. Then you’ll have to be okay with him tagging along during target practice.”

“He’s too busy,” I countered.

“For you?” he asked lightly, the intent clear. “No.”

I squirmed in place before settling, my cheeks turning red. “He can come.” I sized him up. “He’s more intimidating than you are.”

“Ha.”

“I was making fun of you that time. A tease.”

“Thanks so much.”

Jungkook, in Taehyung’s words, worked for a while in the living room. When he entered his bedroom, Taehyung and I both turned to look at him. Holding his phone tightly, he nodded curtly, as if the movement said everything. It did, in a way. Taehyung and I both understood.

“I’m going,” I told him, told them both.

“You are.” Jungkook stepped forward, not stopping until he was in front of me. “The police will take your statement.” He grasped my chin, surprising my lips into a part. Turning my face from side to side, his grip firm but gentle, he released me with a gentle caress. “You’re feeling better.” It wasn’t a question. He knew.

“I am.” I placed my fists on my knees, leaning toward him. “Are you okay?”

“I am.”

“Tell me who the man is.”

He checked my eyes once more, then dipped his chin in acquiescence. “From the description of the cap, he could either be the same man who was on the security cameras the night of the power outage or be affiliated with him.”

My stomach churned. “We’ll tell the police. They…might know what the symbol is, and you have him on the security footage on your phone. Right?”

“I do, and we will. I have already alerted the police, and they’ll be here soon to view the footage. If we are being watched, the man will see, and it will serve as a fear tactic, letting him know we’re aware of him. Afterward, we’ll go to the bowling area. However.” His voice took on a stern turn. “You will remain in the car. If he’s targeting you, it’s safest for you there. Afterward, we’ll purchase more security precautions, including ones you can use to defend yourself.”

“Like?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “A step up from a taser and pepper spray.”

“Like?” I pressed.

His features were set in stone, cold and determined. “A gun.”

Chapter Text

“It seems excessive.” Makaio watched me closely as I ate beside him in the restaurant’s booth. “Target practice.”

I lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. Jittery; I’d been jittery since the close call a few days ago. “It’s not excessive. It’s smart to be prepared.”

“Learning how to handle a gun the moment a threat shows itself instead of allowing the police to handle it?” He inspected my expression and dwindling interest in my food. There had been no security cameras near the bowling center. The stalker had known that, wordlessly conveying his tact. “This doesn’t seem like a one-time occurrence if you’re taking such drastic measures.”

I stiffened. “What does it matter? I want to be able to protect myself and others.”

“Others. Like the man you slept with?”

I stared at him, perturbed. “Why does it matter?”

“Do you know what happened the first time we came to this restaurant?”

I slowly shook my head. “No…?”

“Someone tried to scare us. Some patron that hasn’t been back since.” A shine of his teeth, right behind his lips, then it was gone. “Do you think he could’ve protected himself from us, a group of people? Do you think you can?”

“Are you…trying to scare me?”

“If this isn’t an isolated incident, and you and the man you slept with are taking it on yourselves when the police could be handling it, do you think you can take on a group? The two of you, alone? The patron was one man against Kiera, Wilden, Pat, and me. Even though Pat’s more timid, his presence was enough to solidify a group.”

“It isn’t just the two of us, and the police are investigating. All I want to do is protect myself and him. We’re our own team,” I snapped. “So stop trying to scare me, Makaio. It’s not working.” I glared at my food. “It’s just frustrating.”

Wilden, Kiera, and Pat were somewhere playing a Casino game, one that was half-broken, and their boisterous shouts could be heard from our shared tables. Pat’s pacifying attempts were faint but there.

I glanced at Makaio, who remained unbothered as he ate. “What did you do to that patron?”

“Depends,” he drawled. “Scared him? Maybe. Made him see within himself while humiliating him in front of everyone here? Perhaps.”

“Your answers are…conflicting.”

There it was again, the gleam in his eye, subtle but staking its claim. “Maybe.” He lifted his glass of wine. “When do you start target practice?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m guessing you’ll practice the entire weekend.”

“Yes…”

He sipped his wine. “I’ll join you.”

“Uh—what?”

“I don’t have any plans.” He showed a wicked grin. “What time?”

I hoped it would be known that I did my best to persuade him otherwise, but by the time my other friends had returned, my attempts were futile.

“Stop,” Pat nearly whined, jolting when Wilden pinched his arm. The latter cackled and pushed him into the seat.

Wilden sat beside him with a thump. “Well, hello! What are you both talking about?”

I had given up, instead pushing my drink around with a straw.

Wilden released an ‘oomph’ when Kiera shoved her way into the booth, never mind the additional seating in Makaio’s and my booth. It seemed she did it for the satisfying sound of Wilden’s grunt. “That is what happens,” she said sweetly, “when you don’t play nice in Casino.”

“I will kill you,” he returned just as sweetly.

I kept twirling my straw. “Please don’t make death threats in the restaurant.”

“No promises,” Wilden said cheerily. “So, what’d you and Mak talk about while we were wrestling with that Casino game? I won, by the way.”

Kiera elbowed him, hissing through her teeth, “You didn’t.”

Makaio said boredly, “We were talking about our first time here.”

“The patron?” Kiera scoffed. “Why are you talking about him when you don’t have to? He pissed me off.”

“To make a point.” Makaio traced the rim of his wine glass, meeting her eye right over it. “We scared him off.”

“It wasn’t hard to,” Kiera replied, waving her hand dismissively. “Someone like that just needed a push.”

I gaped and looked between them. “What are you talking about?”

“He wasn’t even drunk,” Wilden elaborated, happily stuffing his face. “He just had a vendetta against everyone at the restaurant, going up to them and yelling insults. I grew up around a lot of annoying people, so it didn’t faze me. But.” His chicken wing, now cold from waiting for his return, paused next to his mouth. He slowly lowered it. “He insulted Pat.”

The straw slipped through my fingers. “What?” I glanced at Pat, whose gaze was awkwardly averted.

“Yeah.” Wilden blinked as if remembering it clearly. His features slowly morphed into a cold exterior. “He yelled at Pat.”

Kiera set her manicured hands on the table, leveling with us. “He was pathetic. He kept reminding everyone of just how bad his day had been, but the day he described was just minor inconveniences. He told everyone that if he was having a bad day, everyone else would, too, and he would make sure of it.” She rolled her eyes. “Pissed me off.”

I looked at my friends, alarmed. “What happened?”

“He insulted Pat,” Makaio said simply.

“Are…Pat,” I said carefully. “Are you okay?”

He nodded rigidly, still unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “It wasn’t a big deal, not at all. Just things about my appearance since he didn’t know me. Let’s eat.”

“The food’s cold,” Makaio stated rather blandly.

I frowned, and although the setting unsettled me, I murmured, “Be nice.”

He side-glanced at me. “The patron was dumped onto the sidewalk.”

Kiera lifted her chin high. “Makaio grabbed him by the shirt and threatened him quietly enough that no one else heard.”

“He was easy.” Makaio sipped more wine. “Men like him never disappoint in that way.” He smiled wryly. “He knows that if he ever comes back here, I’ll find out. He’s too afraid to find out what the threat entails, so he never came back.”

I looked at my friends. Surprised was an understatement.

Wilden just grinned toothily. “Who wants dessert?”

“Dessert?” I gaped at him. “You told me you just threatened a man who insulted Pat and others here, but you’re in the mood for dessert?”

“I’m always in the mood for dessert,” Wilden confirmed cheerily.

Makaio’s fingers circled his glass. “What is it, Dove? Afraid we’ll put you on the sidewalk, too?”

I turned my hard stare toward him, surprised to find him smiling.

“I made my point.” He leaned back casually. “We know how to intimidate. With the way some of us were raised, we know how to handle weapons.”

Kiera glanced between us. “Why the weapon talk?” She pointed at me, looking at me over acrylic nails. “Are your parents threatening you?”

“No,” I refuted, flustered. “Well…no.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a yes in my book.”

“They don’t need to threaten me,” I muttered uncomfortably. “They just do what they want. But this is not about them, and I don’t need any help. I already have help.”

“Right,” Makaio said drily. “A two-person team.”

“I already told you that’s not true,” I said hotly. “There are bodyguards, and the police are involved.”

Pat finally looked at me, no longer worrying about the awkwardness of rehashing his first time at this restaurant. Worry painted his face. “Are you safe?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “We’re figuring it out.”

“Do you need us?” he asked, determination climbing to the surface. “I don’t know how to use a gun very well, but I’ve tagged along during target practice.”

“Do you all just go to target practice?” I questioned, dumbfounded.

“We work at a security company.” Wilden shrugged. “Mr. Jeon offers classes every now and then. He still does, but the head of security took over a while back because Mr. Jeon was too busy. He tries to come when he can, though.”

I knew that; it was in the welcome packet, but I hadn’t realized they’d all been there. I blinked. “So, everyone here knows how to use a gun.”

Makaio cocked his head. “Correct. Except for you. Which is why,” he furthered his point, “you need additional help, even if the police are involved. If whoever is targeting you knows you have more people on your side, he’ll be more likely to remove himself from the equation before he’s caught.”

“Did Mr. Jeon’s classes teach you that?” I wondered.

His smile returned. “No. My old neighborhood did.”

Wilden laughed. “Growing up in shitty neighborhoods means you either end up like everyone around you, or you manage to survive and get some survival instincts—with a dash of trauma! Love me some PTSD.”

My features tightened. “I’ve lived in a bad neighborhood for two years, and all I have are a pepper spray and taser.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re like everyone in that neighborhood, or at least the shitty people targeting others for no reason,” Wilden explained. “Just means you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“I’ve never thought about it,” I admitted. “Getting a gun. I…don’t think I could use it.”

“They’re more so for what-if scenarios,” Makaio replied before Wilden could. “But when needed, shoot to disarm, not to kill, unless killing is necessary.”

“How do I know the difference?”

“When it’s either kill or be killed.”

My brows drew together as the sick feeling in my stomach grew.

“So,” Wilden said brightly. “When do we go to target practice?”

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

“I’m sorry,” I told Jungkook when I returned to his apartment. “I couldn’t change their minds. They just want to help, and they’re my friends, so maybe it’s a good thing. You know,” I tried to convey the bright side. “To have more people around us.”

He looked at me from over the top of his book, slowly setting it onto his lap. “Why do you feel the need to apologize to me about this? You’ve done nothing wrong by accepting your friends’ help.”

“Well, it’s because they don’t know about…us. I mean, they know that I’m with someone, but they don’t know it’s you.”

“Why would you need to apologize for that?”

“I…” I trailed off. “I thought we were a secret. You’re my boss, I’m your employee, and I know we could explain that we knew each other before, but I didn’t know if you wanted that.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

I considered his expression, taken aback. “You want to do that?”

“They’re your friends. If you would like to tell them, you’re free to do so.” His thumb held the page in place, keeping the ceiling fan from turning it. “Have I ever made you feel otherwise?”

“No, but I just…assumed.”

“You can ask me if you’re unsure,” he said softly.

Relaxation tip-toed back into my body. “Okay. Then…if it’s okay with you, I want to tell them. We are together, so that’s our choice, not just mine.”

“It’s all right with me,” he said, then breathed deeply. “What we have isn’t a secret. You can share it.”

“Share it?” I asked, slightly alarmed. “What…do you mean?”

“Share it,” he repeated. “Who we are to each other.”

“Oh,” I released on a breath. “Oh, I thought…” I shook my head. “Okay.”

“What did you think?” When I couldn’t seem to answer right away, he came to a conclusion—an educated guess, as he would call it. His voice returned in a low rumble, “I know we’re taking things slow, Luetta, but I don’t like to share. That isn’t what I intended ‘share’ to mean. You can share who we are to each other; that is your choice, and one I am perfectly fine with. Sharing,” he said in a low, meaningful tone, “is not something I enjoy.”

My stomach fluttered. “I don’t want to share either.”

“Then it’s settled.” His dark eyes trailed over me. “We won’t share.”

My smile turned bashful. “Okay.”

Charming and handsome, his smile met mine where it was, something in it calling to me for a good ravishing. “Now, about tomorrow.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked the next morning. The sun was blinding, leaving me no choice but to squint, even with sunglasses on: a favor from Taehyung, and although they sat a bit too large on my nose, they helped. Enough.

“I am always sure,” came Jungkook’s response from the other side of the field. Lifting a target set-up with ease, he carried it to another spot. Wearing a short-sleeve shirt in the hot summer weather, he looked beyond words, each ripple of his muscle and twitch of his brow enough to make my knees wobble.

Enough of that.

We hadn’t discussed how…sensual things would go between us. It stopped at kisses, and with everything occurring, I thought it best not to bring it up. Communication was still new for me—and still frightening, even though he had been so gracious during our last miscommunication. Pattern recognition and trauma ran deep, I was coming to realize.

Shaking my head to erase my thoughts, I called, “Even this field isn’t big enough for your ego.”

I saw the beginnings of a smile. They were growing increasingly easier to draw from him, even though this situation made them slip away faster due to his constant high alert. The full amount of tension had completely left him. I didn’t have to touch him to know it. His clenched jaw told me enough.

He called back, “Don’t worry yourself over my ego. I’ve made arrangements for it.”

I shielded my hand over my forehead to view him better. “Oh yeah?”

“When your friends arrive, we’ll set it up on one of the targets.” His lips twitched. “Goodbye, Ego.”

“I have a feeling it will walk off just fine.”

“You have too much faith in my ego, Luetta.”

“I think you don’t have enough,” I retorted.

Taehyung walked over, also shielding his eyes from the brutal sun. “Jungkook, you need help?”

“No.” Jungkook paused to grab a rag from his belt loop, using it to wipe the glistening sweat from his forehead. I swallowed. “I’m nearly finished.”

“So is someone else,” Taehyung said under his breath. I turned to him, yanking my gasp of horror right back down my throat before it could be released, courtesy of his sexual innuendo.

“Shameful,” I scolded quietly enough that Jungkook couldn’t hear.

“But true.” He crossed his arms, looking out into the field Jungkook rented for target practice. “How are you feeling about today?”

“Are we just going to skip over—”

“Yes.”

I ran a hand through my hair, using the motion to self-soothe. “I’ll focus so I won’t hurt anyone.”

He chuckled. “As long as you aim at the target, the only person you’ll hurt is yourself with the gun’s recoil. I’ll show you how to position yourself when you shoot, and I’m sure Jungkook will, too, but you’re a beginner. It’s something you’ll have to get used to. It takes strength to properly fire a gun without hurting yourself.”

He looked down at me. “You and Jungkook went to the gym the other day.”

I blinked. “How did you know?”

“He told me. You work out often?”

Slightly offended, I crossed my arms, hoping the inch of muscle I had there was visible, although slightly smaller because of my recent lack of gym activity. “Yeah.”

He caught onto me and laughed. “I see some muscle there.”

I flexed, trying to sound casual when I responded, “I know. Because it’s there.”

“Mhmmm.”

I stepped closer, trying to keep the stance that helped my muscles look more prominent while trying to angle them toward him. “Look.”

He chuckled. “I see them.”

“You’re not even looking.”

“I am looking.”

I inched closer, wanting to prove myself. “They’re firm. I mean it.”

“I’m not touching your muscles.”

“Luvandor does. He tracks my progress,” I shot back.

“I’m not Luvandor.” He squinted as he looked back at Jungkook. “He’s almost done.” He twisted to rummage through the cooler we brought, bringing out an electrolyte drink. He tossed it at me. “Drink up. We’ll be out here for a while.”

When I finished gulping down the drink, not realizing how thirsty I was, Jungkook was beside us. Taking a final swig of the drink to complete it, I simultaneously held my arm out to him, still flexing my muscles. He offered my upper arm a gentle squeeze, running his thumb over the top of it appreciatively.

Pleased, I sent Taehyung a look. He only smiled, amused.

As I set the drink to the side, I jumped when Wilden announced himself with a booming, “Good morning, America!”

“It’s the afternoon.” Makaio approached behind him with his hands in his pockets, looking bored and sunburned.

Kiera, lathered in sunscreen I could smell from where I stood, wore her hair back in a bun, and it poked out from the back of her cap. “Pat, come on. They’re not shooting yet, like we told you.”

From slightly behind her, Pat exited the small building that acted as the entry point to the field and storage space. “They could have silencers on the guns,” he insisted, smiling a little when he saw me. “Hi.”

I smiled, feeling it widen at the sight of my friends. I waved in greeting, only hesitating when their eyes locked on their point of interest.

Jungkook.

“He’s here to help,” I explained to them. I felt Jungkook’s eyes on me, but he said nothing, letting me choose what I revealed.

“Mr. Jeon,” Makaio said, as if he knew. His words were nothing more than a low, tired drawl. “Is this how you spend your Saturdays?”

“Mr. Ulric,” Jungkook responded casually, but his hint of effortless authority was there. “As of today, yes.”

Makaio dragged his eyes to me, checking for whatever he deemed necessary to gauge. Whatever he assessed, he deemed it unnecessary to share. Walking forward, he surveyed the setup. “Is this it?”

“When we become more experienced,” Jungkook replied smoothly, “we’ll advance to an obstacle course at an indoor center. For now, we’ll focus on the basics.”

Wilden’s voice was light, but his stance was reserved. “Some of us are already experienced.”

Makaio stated with his usual bluntness, “I assume Jungkook is as well, considering he’s the CEO of a security company. Seeing as he’s the CEO, however, I also assumed dating an employee would be an HR violation.”

I winced.

Jungkook responded without hesitation, “It’s good to know that you’re not keen on asking questions before arriving at a conclusion.”

Kiera’s eyes were narrow as the scene played out, watching it play out with a sharpness comparable to a fox poised to strike. On the other hand, Pat suggested in a weary, too-high voice, “Maybe we should start the target practice now.”

“I’m curious,” Makaio went on. The dismissal made Pat’s shoulders slump. “What other conclusion could I make?”

“Makaio,” I said quietly. He didn’t look away from Jungkook. “We knew each other before I started working for him.”

His eyes briefly flickered to the sky, as if asking a higher power for strength. “Is that any better?”

“Yes,” I decided. “If he hadn’t given me a job, I would’ve been homeless, I never would have met any of you, and I would’ve had to deal with this stalker, or whoever he is, on my own. If you don’t like how he helped me, that’s fine, but it was a mutual decision, and he’s never used the power dynamic to his advantage. I know how it looks, I get it, and I had the same thought process, but he’s never been anything but kind, so back off.”

A hint of surprise—and approval flickered through Makaio’s expression because of the stance I’d taken. He walked forward until he was inches from Jungkook. The latter didn’t flinch, holding the unwavering eye contact. Jungkook had around two inches on Makaio, but Makaio held himself as if the opposite were true.

Makaio said flatly, “It would be a shame if you started playing the power trip, especially if the news spread and put a steep decline in your company. You would need help from the outside. A new CEO. A better man.”

“It would be a shame,” Jungkook answered, his tone devoid of whatever the conversation evoked from him. “Wonderful, however, to know that it won’t be happening. Staying or leaving, Mr. Ulric?”

He stepped to the side, still continuing eye contact. Grabbing a gun from a wooden rack, he held it out to him. From where I stood, it seemed like an offering for middle ground. Whatever Makaio took it as, he didn’t let on.

After another moment, Makaio walked forward and accepted the gun. “Staying.”

I released a breath, glancing at Pat when he did the same. The shared action urged me to walk to him, and I offered a smile once I did. “Ready?”

His words were meant to be for us, but from how close Kiera stood, I was sure she heard him. “We haven’t even started, and the conflict levels have risen so far that my blood pressure has to.”

“Are you okay?” I murmured.

He smiled weakly, as if someone had punched the air out of him. “I’m sure the sounds of gunshots will make me feel better.”

I hooked my arm through his and patted his hand. “That’s what the protective headphones are for.”

Kiera hooked her arm through his free arm, tugging us forward. “Come on,” she commanded, watching Jungkook closely. “Pat, you get first pick.”

“Oh, great,” he said in one breath, looking like he would implode.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “You’ll see. Jungkook’s not…he wouldn’t do what everyone here might be thinking he would.”

“I hope you’re right,” he responded. “I like working at his company, and I like having you as part of our accounting team.” His lips wavered into a tight frown. “I hope you’re right.”

I just patted his hand again.

Taehyung surveyed the scene. He was only spared a few, half-curious glances as everyone approached Jungkook for a gun. He caught my eye for a passing beat and mouthed, “You good?”

I dipped my chin slightly.

“All right,” he commanded everyone’s attention, his voice carrying across the field. “Grab a gun and line up. Pick a target. I’m training Luetta.” He exchanged a glance with Jungkook, and although we both knew the latter would rather not, he wordlessly agreed when Taehyung revealed, “Jungkook will be training the rest of you.”

“Great,” Wilden chirped. He eyed Jungkook every step of the way. “I can’t wait to sweep the floor with everyone.”

“It’s not a competition,” Jungkook said evenly. “I’m aware you can shoot, and well, but I’m also aware of why we’re here today. With or without all of you, Luetta and I would be going through this process for self-defense. She wanted to learn, so she will. We’re on an open field with access to guns. Focus,” he said the command lightly, but everyone heard it clearly. “This is Luetta’s safety we’re speaking of, not a competition, and certainly not a game. On top of that, you are all on land I rented, so you are my responsibility. Do not make me regret your accompaniment.”

He set everyone with a hard look, save for Taehyung and me. “Do I make myself clear?”

The already tense mood heightened, but everyone’s agreement was quick to follow.

Jungkook held his gun pointed to the floor as he administered a sharp nod. “Good. Everyone, line up. I want silence when I give instructions and when guns are firing. If you need assistance, raise your hand. Don’t shout; it will cause distraction, and being distracted while armed is dangerous.”

Agreement, this time, followed without his prompt.

“Good.” He scanned them analytically. “Take headphones on your way to the practice area and line up carefully. When a break is needed, ensure your gun is in a neutral position and released. We have electrolytes and snacks in coolers.” He motioned toward the area, then to where we would practice. “Remember the guidelines for everyone’s safety.”

More agreement sounded from everyone, and although weary of him, their respect was there.

He followed behind them as they walked, talking quietly amongst themselves, and our eyes met through it all. We didn’t have to say anything. I knew if we did, it would be later. When we were alone. For now, our shared glance was enough.

And what he said was right, all of it was. We need to practice.

Our safety depended on it.

Chapter Text

Two hours later, my shoulder was cramping.

My core strength was severely underwhelming, and I mentally cursed myself for slacking off at the gym over the past few months.

I finally took a break, watching Jungkook guide the others right after their break. He’d been giving them tips on their stance, but after two hours, he watched intently more than anything.

Taehyung stood near the cooler, a few feet from me. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“Do you usually lie to your instructors?”

I rested my forearms on my knees and lay my head on them. “They hurt.”

“Rest them. We can try again tomorrow.” He whistled lowly when Makaio hit the bullseye ten times in a row from 100 feet away. “I’ve seen him shoot before. He and the girl, Kiera. They’re good.”

“When did you see them shoot?” I asked, then concluded, “At Jungkook’s company classes.”

“A few,” Taehyung confirmed. “I’ll go sometimes when I have the time.” He watched Kiera and Makaio keenly. “They’re impressive. Wilden, too.”

Pat struggled with the volume, turning his wince to Jungkook. The latter was stone-faced, all except for the slight twitch of amusement in his brow. I wasn’t sure anyone but Taehyung and I noticed it by our exchanged humorous glance.

Jungkook nodded and gestured to where Taehyung and I were, and Pat sighed with relief, spewing his thanks as he bee-lined it for us. Sitting beside me, he looked at Taehyung briefly, managed a greeting, and asked if he could have water. He chugged a bottle and the electrolytes, sighing once he was satisfied.

“And Pat,” Taehyung added, referencing our conversation moments ago. “Is good, considering.”

Startled, Pat looked up at him. “Considering what? And wait, good at what?”

“Shooting,” I explained. “You did great.”

His shoulder hunched. “Great is an overstatement.” He rubbed his temples with a wince. “The protective headphones don’t block out the vibrations.”

“Have some more water,” I suggested, offering him another bottle. He took it gratefully. “You didn’t have to come, even though I’m happy you’re here. We could’ve met up to hang out later; it didn’t have to be at a shooting range.”

“Everyone else was going.” He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t want to miss out. And I want to know how to work a gun better,” he said more seriously. “I want to help.”

“Thanks, Pat,” I said softly. “You’re a good friend.”

He smiled and dropped his hand to his side. “So are you.”

Taehyung watched Pat for a moment, then dragged his eyes back to the field. “We won’t break their flow, but I’ll call it in thirty minutes. Either that,” he turned to grab a bag of chips, “or Wilden might find a bow and arrow and stay for another three hours.”

“A bow and arrow?” I asked.

He chuckled. “He’s been asking Jungkook for a different weapon. He’s tired of our assortment of guns. At this rate, he’ll figure out how to make a bow and arrow.”

“We have knives.” I gestured to the weaponry. “Did he use knives?”

“Yeah,” Pat confirmed with a shudder. “He’s good with knives.”

“He’ll be good with most weapons because of his aim,” Taehyung supplemented. “Not as good as Makaio, though. He hasn’t missed since we started.”

“Then why is he still practicing?” I wondered, watching Makaio.

Taehyung watched him, too. Intently. “For sport.”

Pat shuddered again, causing me and Taehyung to glance at him. “Makaio’s a nice guy, but…he can be scary sometimes. What if there are other things he’s not telling us that he’ll just let build beneath the surface until he explodes?” He frowned, picking at the grass. “We didn’t do anything wrong by being kind to each other.”

Taehyung looked at me. “What’s he talking about?”

I uncapped another drink for myself. “Makaio got upset because Pat and I were…well, I tend to be a people pleaser.”

Pat continued frowning. “His reaction was explosive.”

“It wasn’t that explosive,” I countered. “I needed to hear it. It helped me. And I…don’t want people to step all over me and manipulate me. Makaio was annoyed, but I think he wanted to help.”

Pat stared into the forest beyond the field distantly. His voice was just as distant. “Wilden was right. Makaio could’ve communicated better if we were annoying him so much. Holding it in like that…I don’t know.” Pat shook his head slowly, more to himself than Taehyung and me. “What else is he holding in?”

Makaio turned at that moment and caught my eye. A hint of his teeth showed, that wicked curl of his lip, and then it was gone as he turned and hit the bullseye for not only his target, but Kiera and Wilden’s, too.

Everyone stared at him, but he raised his hand, waiting. Jungkook hid his surprise well, but not entirely. He excused him, however, and Makaio started his walk—to me.

Once in front of him, Makaio didn’t lean down or crouch. He looked down at me, his gun released and pointed at the floor. We looked at each other. Everyone watched.

He drawled, “Your stalker should be very afraid.” And he smiled.

“He will be,” I replied.

Whatever he saw in my face satisfied him, and he held out his hand. I took it and let him lead me back to the field, where we practiced for another hour.

Jungkook watched every move.

‧₊ ̊🍋✩ ₊ ̊🍓⊹♡

Exhausted, I trailed after everyone as Jungkook locked up behind us. We’d be back tomorrow.

When I arrived at Jungkook’s car, Makaio stepped beside me. I glanced at him only to be met with a bored farewell. “Be careful.” His tone held warning, even as buried as it was.

Whether he meant to be careful with the stalker or Jungkook was up for interpretation. He left it at that, and after a quick, sharp glance at Jungkook, he walked to his car. With one hand in his pocket, he used the other to shove a boisterous Wilden away, who claimed he needed a hug after such a grueling afternoon.

Wilden howled in faux pain, but waved when he saw me. “Stay safe!” The warning was there, too, hidden by friendliness.

Kiera walked up to Jungkook. “If her desk is ever cleared at the office, we’ll all know you used power to your advantage.”

Jungkook met her warning head-on. “You can know whatever you would like to know, Ms. Salsworth.” He leaned down the slightest bit, creating more level eye contact. “But you are, as it stands, in the way.”

She gave him a hard look before side-stepping away from his car door. “Be smart.”

“I always am.”

“Ego,” I coughed, covering my mouth with my fist and looking around innocently.

Jungkook’s tension eased slightly when I spoke, enough for the taut lines in his features to disappear by a fraction. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. All of you.” He opened the car door and stepped back. “Luetta.”

Taking my cue, I waved to everyone. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me. And if you ever need a group to take care of you, you have us: Jungkook, Taehyung, and me. We’ll be on your side.”

Wilden laughed. “Sweet! I’ll keep it in mind.”

With another wave, I stepped into the car and buckled myself in while Jungkook closed the door. As he rounded the car to get to his door, Pat approached and knocked on my window. I lowered it.

“Hi.” He looked inside the car briefly, turning his concerned expression to me. “Where are you going after this? Is it still safe to stay at Jungkook’s apartment?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” However, a flash of fear struck me. But no: the new security system was in place, Jungkook and I were a team, and Taehyung was one floor away. “It’ll be okay.”

He wasn’t convinced. “What if you stayed with Luvandor? Where does he live?”

“Oh, further away. He lives in a town called Reygalia.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed with him, then? Safer?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to bring him into this.”

Pat frowned. “Just…be safe, okay? This is all a lot. And, I mean, as long as Taehyung is around too.” He paused and looked at Taehyung, who was lounging in the backseat. “Is he?”

“Yeah, he’s a floor above us.” I smiled, trying to reassure him—and myself. “Are you okay after today?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. The loud sounds are just exercise for my ears.”

I laughed a little. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.” He stepped back, avoiding eye contact with Jungkook, the latter not bothering to hide his interest in the conversation. “Bye, Mr. Jeon.”

“Goodbye, Patton.” Jungkook’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

Taehyung sighed loudly. “I’m thinking takeout.”

“Thai takeout,” I suggested. “Do you guys want to split it?”

“It’s on me,” Taehyung dismissed my offer. “It’s the chefly thing to do.”

I smiled to myself and turned to Jungkook, who was gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. “Are you tired?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Hungry?”

“No.”

I heeded his curt responses and sat back. “Is something wrong?”

He made a right turn. “Considering why we were at the target range, yes.” He took a deep breath, more strained than anything else. “Makaio was…intent on teaching you during that last hour.”

“He was helping.”

“He’s talented.”

“So are you.”

He looked at me. “I know I am.”

“Taehyung,” I said, still looking at Jungkook. “Can you pinch his ego?”

Taehyung pinched the air beside him.

“Thank you,” I said, enjoying the small smile Jungkook now wore. “Told you that your ego would walk off just fine.”

He slipped his hand onto the center console, manning the wheel effortlessly with one hand. “How could I think you would be anything other than right?”

I laughed, pleased, and eased my hand into this for a tight, reassuring squeeze. “Any wrong answer will make you call out my ego.”

His lips twitched as he returned his eyes to the street. “Smart move.”

“It comes with playing Solitaire.” I tapped my temples. “I’m always one step ahead.”

His tension was easing with every second our hands remained connected. He chuckled. “Good to know.”

Later, after a dinner of Thai takeout, Taehyung slept on the living room couch. Snoring loudly, he remained oblivious to Jungkook and my whispered conversation a few feet away. Sitting side-by-side, we had embarked on a very serious game of Mexican Train. At midnight, this was the tie-breaker round. The loser had to drink a green smoothie in the morning.

I was unscathed when the clock showed 12:30 AM. Jungkook was fated to drink the horrible greens.

Grinning, I helped him pick up the dominoes. “It’s okay,” I teased. “I won’t laugh too much in the morning, just enough to rub in your defeat.”

“How kind of you.”

I kissed his cheek. “Thanks for playing with me.”

He hid a smile. “I would say it was a pleasure, but I abhor lying.”

My gasp of indignation made his smile break through. With a low chuckle, he leaned closer and brushed his lips against mine. “And what will you do, Luetta, when the smoothie makes me sick?”

“Oh, no worries. Taehyung will take care of you.”

“I’d rather suffer.”

“Why?” I tugged the collar of his shirt, closing the small space between us. “He’s such a good chef. He’d nurse you right back to health with a better smoothie.”

“Well,” he said, unamused. “If he’s such a good chef, perhaps you should room with him.”

“Maybe I should.”

His eyes darkened. “We’ve discussed how we feel about sharing.”

Pleasure sparked within me. “I must’ve forgotten. You know. Because he’s such a good chef, so I figured you’d want me to be fed properly.”

“I will feed you well and good.” He held the back of my neck firmly, breathing against my features, “You will be taken care of in my home, my kitchen, and my bed.” His lips teased the corner of mine. “I hope I’ve made myself clear, but please, enlighten me if I haven’t. I can find other ways to clarify.”

My chest fluttered. “Other ways?”

“Yes,” he rumbled. “Other ways.”

My pulse jumped, quickening with anticipation. “Taehyung’s here.”

“Oh?” He arched a brow, ghosting his lips over mine. “What did you have in mind in order for you to say such a thing?”

I blushed. “You said—it’s because of what you just said. That’s why I thought…you know.”

He evaded the kiss I tried to initiate, his chest vibrating beneath my hands when a small sound of discontentment left me. “What do I know, Luetta? Tell me.”

My arousal grew rapidly, but with Taehyung here—

“I can’t,” I whispered, side-eyeing Taehyung as if he would jolt awake and remind us how thin the walls are, especially when there were none between us at the moment. “He’s sleeping right there.”

“Shall I wake him up?” he mouthed against my cheek. “Tell him to leave?”

“You—but we haven’t—” I swallowed roughly, my eyelids fluttering as he trailed kisses along my face, brief but charged with the same heat building in my stomach. “We haven’t done anything since…you know.”

His actions paused. Pulling back to look at me, his brows furrowed. “Am I reading things wrong?”

I soothed my fingers over his brows, trying to ease the crease I’d caused. Focusing on my task, I told him in hushed tones, “I don’t want to talk about this with Taehyung here.” Lowering my hands back to my chest, I peeked up at him. “But…no. You’re not reading things wrong.”

He relaxed again. Dipping his chin in silent conclusion, he brushed our noses together before kissing me softly. It was fleeting, nothing to wake Taehyung up, and when he pulled away, he lifted me into his arms as he stood, all in one swift, fluid motion. Surprised, I gripped his shoulders, looking at the floor where I previously was.

I blinked. “I need to go back to the gym.”

He chuckled, soothing his hand across my forearm. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “The remnants of your gym time are still here.”

I flexed my arm proudly. “I know.”

He kissed my cheek, humming into it. “When we’re alone, I would like to speak about all the things I would like to do to you in my bed. Does that work for you?”

I almost choked. “Yeah, that’s—yeah. Works for me.”

He laughed quietly as he took me to his room to sleep.

The next morning, we went to the obstacle course. It was good to learn how to shoot moving targets. Plus, it was a much-needed release for three of my friends if their grins were anything to go by. Kiera, Wilden, and Makaio enjoyed themselves thoroughly, using every weapon available to try it out. They placed a bet with each other: whoever missed the most would buy lunch. Their other bet was that I wouldn’t hit the bullseye. Their faith in me was oh-so appreciated.

So far, to the surprise of no one, Makaio was winning. Kiera and Wilden were tied, and Pat—well, Pat wasn’t involved in the betting, but if he was, he would at least win against me.

Jungkook and Taehyung remained by me for the most part, giving me pointers on how to aim better and anticipate where the target would be and how to estimate how far ahead I needed to shoot, depending on where the target moved next. It was a lot of calculating, but the target boards didn’t move too quickly—until they did, thanks to Taehyung upping the pace after an hour.

Stressed, I tried harder, out of breath and anxious. This was for my protection, yes, but even more so, it was to help Jungkook. I wanted him to be able to rely on me, not just the other way around. That’s what a team was: equal share.

I couldn’t look at him, nervous that his expression would convey his disappointment that I couldn’t always hit the board, missing entirely. I’d done well enough yesterday when the boards weren’t moving, but this was different, more challenging. When I saw the stalker’s face in my board, I almost dropped my gun, breathing heavily as I took multiple steps back.

“Done,” I said to no one in particular, needing to say it. Needing someone to hear me and understand. “I’m done.”

I blinked, and the stalker’s face was gone. A hallucination brought on by exhaustion and stress. Nothing more, nothing less. But it didn’t take away from the gleam I saw in his eyes, his snarl, and the symbol on his hat because he was real, even if he wasn’t currently here. Where was he now? Would we catch him? Was I putting Jungkook in danger by being in such close proximity to him?

“You’re okay.” Jungkook’s voice was muffled, as if I was hearing it from underwater. “Point the gun down. Release it.” I felt myself go through the motions, mutely following his instructions. “Put your hand out.” Shaking, I listened, relieved when he took it from me. “There. Done.”

He brought me to him, shielding me from everyone else. Angling us away, he took me from the room and helped me to a seating area. On the couch, I curled up to his side, my eyes glazed and wide.

“Luetta,” he murmured, squeezing my arm reassuringly. “You’re safe.”

“Are you?” I breathed out.

“I am. We all are. We’re learning how to be safer. A team, remember? Our team.”

I gripped his shirt, as if he would be stolen from me—taken by the stalker. “Is it safe for me to stay at your apartment? Should I get a new apartment now and stay there? Is that safer? I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. Jungkook, I—”

“Luetta,” he said, his low tone surrounding me. “Listen to me very closely.” I blinked, slowly tuning back into my body. “The safest place for you is with me. You’re learning how to use a gun, yes?” I nodded, and he caressed my cheek, murmuring gentle praise for the response. “Two guns is better than one. Doesn’t that mean I’m safer with you?”

“But if I’m not with you, you won’t be targeted at all.”

“That might not be the case. We don’t know who the stalker is or how they think. For all we know, he could be targeting both of us. You will stay with me,” he stated firmly. “Do not be a martyr, Luetta. I don’t condone that. Do you understand? You will learn how to use a gun, and you will stay with me—where I can see you, where I can hold you, and where I can know we are safe. Together.”

He searched my expression rigidly. “The night of the near break-in, when we spoke afterward about being in a team together, you insisted that we would do things together as a team. Do you remember my reasoning for going alone?”

I forced myself to nod, finding it hard to recall that day now that we knew the stalker had been so close.

“I wanted to keep you from danger,” he continued. “But you didn’t want that because it meant danger for me. You wanted to be with me, to face it together. I imagine I’m currently feeling how you felt that night.”

His words sank in. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” I whispered. “I know we’re a team. I know.”

“I know you do. You’re just scared.” He cradled my face in his hands so tenderly, so kindly. But his eyes burned with undiluted anger toward the reason I was afraid: the stalker. “We’re safer together. There is safety in numbers.”

I nodded, pushing my cheek into his hand. His thumb swiped along it. “What happened at the shooting range?” he asked.

I exhaled shakily. “I saw the stalker’s face on the board. It wasn’t real, I know that, but I’m scared and stressed.”

His anger heightened, yet still, his voice was soft as he spoke to me. “We’ll take a break for a moment. You’re doing well,” he told me, angling his face to catch my averted gaze. “It’s difficult to learn, especially under such stressful circumstances.”

“I keep missing the target.”

“But you don’t always miss it. Remember: this is only your second time. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else in there. They’ve been trained before.”

My shoulders slumped. “I need to learn faster.”

“You need to take a break,” he replied, watching me closely. “You can’t shoot well if your mind is wandering. How is the counting?”

My eyes lowered to his chin. “Bad,” I whispered. “I keep thinking that if I don’t hit the bullseye by the end of practice, the stalker will find us tonight, and it will be my fault.”

“Although you are powerful, and you have such impressive muscles”—I almost smiled—“you don’t hold that kind of power. No one does.”

“You don’t know that,” I countered, unnerved. “It was my fault when those two men almost broke into my old apartment.”

“It wasn’t. Whether or not you counted or checked under your bed until it felt right, those men still would’ve been in the parking lot. They had most likely come to that conclusion long before you counted that night.”

“You don’t know that,” I whispered, even though I desperately hoped he was right. The logical part of me knew he was. The part infiltrated with OCD denied it. Logic and OCD did not mix. OCD despised it, always canceling it out and wreaking havoc on my thoughts.

“Is there a reason for this way of thinking?” he asked me, his voice staying between us.

I went very still. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right. That’s okay. You don’t have to.” He kissed my forehead, and the affection coaxed warmth back into my body. “For whatever reason the thought process exists for you, I will still be there to count or check things with you. You don’t have to do it alone.” He released my face only to bring me into his arms, holding me firmly against him. “That is what teams are for.”

I buried my face in his shoulder. “I have to hit the bullseye before we leave.”

“Then we’ll make sure you do.”

I hugged him tighter for all the words and explanations I was too scared to say.

Chapter Text

We all had dinner at Jungkook’s apartment. Even Luvandor came over.

A united front: it’s what we needed to convey to the stalker. If he and whoever he was associated with wanted to get me alone, it would be impossible.

Luvandor’s worry wasn’t put at ease, even with my friends around. “Stay with me,” he told me, sitting beside me at the dinner table. “I’ll upgrade my doorbell camera and buy whatever needs buyin’ to keep you safe. If we do it right, the stalker won’t have a darn clue.”

“We don’t know that,” I said regrettably. “And I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“I couldn’t care less about my safety,” he refuted, his lips drawn tightly at the corners. “I ain’t the one currently being stalked.”

I reached for his hand, and he applied an intense amount of pressure. “I’m safe here, I promise. These security measures automatically alert the police, and their station is closer here than it is to your house. And I’m learning how to use a gun.” I smiled a small, tentative smile. “I hit the bullseye today, even when the target was moving. I moved a little closer, but I still did. That’s good, okay? I can protect myself.”

His leg bounced beneath the table. “I don’t like this, kid. It ain’t safe.”

Jungkook joined the conversation, previously an attentive listener of it. “I understand your concern, Luvandor, and it’s appreciated, but she is safest here. I can walk you through the security measures if that helps give you more peace of mind. In addition, a few of my bodyguards are always stationed nearby. As Luetta said, this is the safest place for her. I know you would like her close to you, but that isn’t the safest option.”

He lowered his chin, keeping level eye contact with Luvandor. “I hope you can understand that her safety is my top priority, so she will remain here, as per her decision, not yours or mine. Hers.”

Luvandor looked at me, his forehead wrinkled with upset, but more so with concern. “I don’t like this situation. Nothin’ about it.”

“Me neither,” I agreed. “But it won’t be forever, okay? It’s just for right now, and then everything will go back to normal. And…see?” I looked around at my friends. “I’m not alone.”

He sighed, but the sight did seem to settle him slightly. “I can see that, and while it does make me very happy, I’m still stressin’. You mean a lot to me, kid. If anythin’ happened to you, I—” He dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I stressed. “Really. I’m okay. Please don’t worry.”

He shook his head rigidly. “That can’t be helped.” He enveloped me in a hug, causing our chairs to bump slightly. “Can you do somethin’ for me?”

I agreed immediately. “Anything.”

“Text me every mornin’ and night to let me know you’re okay.” He held me closer. Tighter. “Please.”

“I will,” I swore, my heart breaking at the sight of his blatant fear toward my well-being. “I promise.”

He released me after a while, and I knew he had more to say, knew he wanted me to stay with him, but he respected my wishes and left it at that. “Is everyone ready for dessert?”

While Taehyung and Luvandor worked together to cut the cheesecake the latter brought over, I stood when my phone rang. Excusing myself, I shared a smile with Pat when I realized he was watching me. He lifted his hand in a small wave, and I returned the motion before turning and entering the far side of the hall for privacy.

Checking the number, I cocked my head when I didn’t recognize it. Figuring it was a spam call, I prepared to ask to be removed from the caller list. “Hello?”

I jolted when Keaton’s voice came through. “It’s your brother. Are you done being mad at me?”

I stepped further into the hallway, peeking down at the unknown number he called from. Putting my phone back to my ear, I demanded, “What do you want?”

“Are you done being mad at me?”

I heard Luvandor’s laughter, and my grip on my phone tightened. “That depends on what you called to tell me,” I replied coldly.

He was quiet on the other line. “I’m in town.”

“And?”

“Jesus, Lu.” He was still quiet, enough so to catch my attention. Keaton was many things, but he wasn’t quiet. “I just want to talk to you.”

I pushed down the simmering anger. “Did something happen?”

“In a way,” he chose his words carefully. “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

Annoyance slammed into me. “Stop being cryptic.”

“Stop being mad.”

“I have every reason to be mad at you,” I snapped.

“I know,” he mumbled, stopping me right in my tracks.

“You know?”

“I know, okay?” He exhaled, sounding as frustrated as I felt. “Let me just…I want to talk to you. I don’t want it to be over the phone, so can you just—” He groaned. “Lu, stop making this difficult.”

“I’m not making anything difficult,” I sputtered. “You called me on some unknown number, and now you’re being cryptic.”

“Yeah, because you blocked me on everything else, and you’re never at your apartment!” His voice reverted to a frustrated mumble. “Plus, you were with that guy. Tall and obnoxious.”

“Keaton,” I said through my teeth, my anger rising. “I will hang up on you.”

“Touchy subject?” He sighed when I didn’t respond. “Can we meet up tonight?”

“No.”

“Why? You never have plans unless you’re with Luvandor.”

I bristled. “I am with Luvandor, but I’m also with my other friends. Since you’re blocked, my life is none of your business.”

He was quiet again. “Can we meet up tomorrow? We can go somewhere near your apartment.”

“It’s not my apartment anymore.”

He paused. “Then where do you live?”

“Also, none of your business.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He moved around. “Can you do tomorrow or not? Otherwise, this is a waste of time.”

“Again: you called me, so you’re wasting our time.”

“Lu,” he snapped. “Tomorrow or not?”

“No,” I ground out.

He faltered. “No?”

“No,” I said firmly. “You’re blocked for a reason. Or did you forget your cruelty toward Luvandor? Because I didn’t forget. I’ll never forget how you’ve looked at him, spoken to him, and treated him, all because of who he is. It’s disgusting. But maybe I shouldn’t have expected kindness and empathy from a rich white male.”

All that could be heard was his breathing on the other line. Then, in a strained voice, he said, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

My eyes narrowed, even as my chest ached. This was my brother, my childhood best friend, and here I was, icing him out, doing what he’d done to me since he was fifteen.

“What about it?” I asked cautiously, because although I loved my brother, I respected myself and Luvandor more than to let him back in without proof of change. Something, anything. Give me something, Keaton.

“I want to talk about it in person,” he replied, sounding winded. “I won’t talk shit. I won’t.” I didn’t respond right away, unsure if I could believe him. “Lu,” he added, strained. “Please.”

I inhaled sharply, contemplating my choices. He was most likely telling the truth; he never was much of a liar, save for when he was five, giggling whilst telling my parents the boogie man ate all of the cookies, definitely not him. But he was being cryptic and quiet, so unlike what he’d become.

I took a moment before asking the question that was nagging me. “Will Mom and Dad be there? Do they know about this?”

“No to both questions.”

I shook my head rigidly. “Promise me, Keaton.”

“I promise. I swear on 24 cucumbers.”

Despite the situation, I felt the familiar tug of my lips, begging to smile and laugh with my brother like we used to. My agreement came soon after. “10 AM at the cafe near my old apartment. Tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t call me from unknown numbers.”

“Don’t block me, and I won’t call you from unknown numbers.”

I hovered my thumb over the ‘end call’ button. “I’m hanging up.”

He hung up first, and I rolled my eyes, knowing he was savoring the small victory. My OCD kicked in, and the compulsions began. There were formulas to make tomorrow go well, things to count, things to tap, and I squeezed my eyes shut as it overwhelmed me immediately.

I couldn’t leave my spot until the compulsions were followed through with to perfection, but it was rare for it to be finished quickly.

Ten minutes later, Pat appeared at the beginning of the hall, on his way to the bathroom. He paused when he saw me, and one look at me caused worry to burrow into his features. “Luetta?” He walked closer, taking slow, careful steps. “What’s wrong?”

“Counting,” I said, out of breath.

“Counting?” he asked, confused.

“Counting,” I snapped.

He jolted. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I shook my head rigidly.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You can tell me.”

“3, 6, 9,” I rasped. “9, 6, 3.”

“What…does that mean?”

I felt Jungkook’s presence before he arrived, standing tall at the hall’s entrance. His eyes bore into Pat’s back, then flickered to mine. His dark eyes narrowed, and he was before me in seconds.

“What happened?” he asked me, leaning down to check my features.

I grabbed his forearm, glancing at Pat. “Nine minus six is three, and three minus three is zero.”

“That’s right.” Jungkook blocked Pat from me, a not-so-subtle sign for him to leave.

Pat either didn’t catch the hint. “Luetta, are you okay?”

Jungkook rumbled, “She is with me, Patton. Return to the kitchen or use the bathroom as you said you would.”

Pat shifted awkwardly. “I don’t think that I should just leave; she doesn’t seem okay.”

Jungkook pivoted to set him with a cold look. “I think you should.”

Before Pat could respond, Luvandor came into the picture. “What’s goin’ on?”

Pat looked surprised at his presence but still replied, “Something happened with Luetta.”

Luvandor’s long, quick strides brought him to us. “Hey, hey. What’s goin’ on, darlin’?”

“Nervous,” I managed. “It’s fine. Just counting. Have a—I have a coffee meet-up with Keaton in the morning.”

Luvandor’s expression dimmed. “What’s this about? He say somethin’ cruel to you?”

I shook my head. “He promised he wouldn’t, and he didn’t on the phone. Just wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“He said he would tell me in person.”

Pat cut in, “Which coffee shop? And who’s Keaton?”

I tapped my fingers, mouthing the number of times.

Luvandor hastily revealed, “Her brother,” before training his attention back on me. Quickly noting the way I held onto Jungkook, he clapped Pat’s shoulder. “She’s all right with Jungkook. C’mon.” He pivoted Pat, the latter’s strength no match for Luvandor’s. “Let’s give ‘em some privacy.”

As they walked away, Pat looked over his shoulder at me, worry drawing his brows together.

Luvandor told me, “You know where to find me if ya need me, kid.”

Then, they disappeared back into the kitchen.

Jungkook scooped me into his arms, pressing our chests tightly together. “It will be all right. Right here, right now, you are safe. I won’t let anything harm you.”

My throat constricted. “I won’t let anything harm you, too.”

“That is why we’re a team.” He inhaled deeply, his nose pressed into my hair. “Isn’t it?”

I closed my eyes, basking in the darkness of his shirt. “I want to go to the shooting range.” I counted under my breath. “Everything will be fine. It’s just breakfast. I want to go to the shooting range, I want to go to the shooting range.”

“Then we will.” He pressed his hand to my back, applying pressure to soothe my anxious jitters. “You and I will go.”

“You and me,” I murmured, and hugged him as tightly as I could.

Managing a goodbye to my friends, I followed Jungkook to his car, silent the entire ride there. At the shooting range, I pushed all my anxiety, anger, and fear into each bullet, letting it fly to greet its target.

I remained for two hours, until my breathing had settled. Until the feverish look about me dissipated.

I sat with Jungkook on the bench. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

He wrapped his arm around me protectively. “You don’t have to thank me.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He kissed the top of my head.

“Jungkook?” I wondered.

“I’m listening.”

Whether it be from the adrenaline, the anxiety toward tomorrow, or the peace I felt when I was with Jungkook, I whispered, “I have OCD.”

He passed his hand through my hair and murmured, “I know.”

Surprised, I glanced at him. “You know?”

“I do.” He searched my face. “Is it all right that I know? I looked up your symptoms, and it all came back to OCD. I wanted to know more of you.”

“OCD isn’t more of me,” I replied stiffly. “It isn’t me.”

“I’m aware it’s not, but it is a part of you.” His thumb drifted to my cheek, offering a fleeting caress. “I want to know about everything that makes you Luetta.”

When he saw my torn expression, he cupped my face in his hands, earning a small sound from me. “Listen to me very closely,” he rumbled. “OCD isn’t a blemish. It is a diagnosis.”

“Then why do people go to therapy to get rid of it?” I choked out.

“You can’t get rid of OCD, from what I’ve read. Therapy is meant to soothe the symptoms, is it not?” I managed a nod. He continued, “Therapy also helps you understand your trauma, helps build coping mechanisms, and teaches self-love; it can be a confiding ear for what you need at the specific moment. OCD,” he said strongly, “is a part of you, but it doesn’t mar your person. It doesn’t mar you, Luetta. It began as a coping mechanism, one that was built because you felt so out of control.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” I said heatedly, angry tears welling in my eyes.

“I know it wasn’t.” The sincere look in his eyes soothed my anger, helping me take a deeper breath than before. “Having OCD isn’t your fault.” He inhaled sharply, upset. “I’m sorry that it’s set up that way, so thoroughly against you.”

A sob built in my throat, quiet and angry.

“OCD has its mind games,” he said quietly. “Your mind is strong.” He kissed my temples. “Play your own games.”

I faltered. “What?”

“It was you who came up with the number system to stop the OCD thinking. Yes?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, disheartened. “But it doesn’t work.”

“But it is something. It’s proof that you can play your own games and confuse it. Has there ever been a time when you have confused it?”

“No,” I began to say, but stopped. Luvandor’s car. In his car, OCD wasn’t allowed. It was a rule he made, but one I abided by because it made sense. His car, his rules.

I blinked slowly. “OCD isn’t allowed in Luvandor’s car. It’s his rule. I…I listen to it. My OCD listens to it.”

He kissed my forehead next, soft and tender. “Then it’s possible to confuse OCD thinking. You have to think back.”

“But no OCD in Luvandor’s car isn’t exactly…logical,” I said, confused. “I don’t know why it works.”

“Because OCD isn’t always logical. It’s comprised of fear and a need to control bad outcomes. I am sure,” he decided, “that you’ve attempted to use logic against it. Such as if you don’t check under the bed three times, nothing bad will happen. Has that worked?”

I shook my head.

“No,” he murmured. “But have you attempted to say, if I check under the bed once tonight, I’ll check under it five times tomorrow to make the number be six. A good number. And if nothing bad happens, I will only check under the bed once again.”

“But what if something bad does happen?”

“The first time will always be the hardest. That’s why you’ve created your counting formulas: to try and stop the loop OCD will drag you into. Numbers, when reduced, have an end: zero.”

“Zero is safe,” I whispered. “Zero can be the beginning and the end. It’s a circle. Nothing gets in or out.”

“That sounds lonely.”

A few tears slipped down my cheeks. “Yeah,” I managed. “But it’s safe.”

“It isn’t,” he said gently. “Logically, you don’t gain control by counting.” He looked pained. “I’m sorry that I can’t take your fear away, but I can try to diminish it. You can try new formulas to confuse the current ones you have in place.”

“It isn’t fair,” I spat out, crying silently. “It isn’t fair that I have OCD. I hate it; it’s always so loud. I just—I want a break.”

“We can try things,” he told me, catching my tears with his thumbs. “Things that will help. Some things may never truly leave you, but we can make them hurt less.”

“How would you know?” I demanded through my tears. “You don’t have OCD.”

He fell silent for a moment, focusing on brushing my tears away. Then, he spoke, and the air vanished from my lungs, taken by the gravity of his words. “I do not have OCD, but I know what it is like to be tormented. My mind is never truly quiet either, but there are things that help. Books, smoothies, plants.” His throat constricted. “You.”

It felt like I was holding my breath. My whispered question was lost between us. “What happened?”

He smiled a sad sort of smile, no hint of light. Just exhaustion, weariness, and pain. “I protect others because I couldn’t protect my parents.” He leaned back, dropping his hands from my face when he realized they were shaking. “It happened when I was a teenager.”

He looked embarrassed to recall, “No one truly takes in teenagers in foster care. It was a lost cause.”

“Your parents?” I asked quietly.

“Dead.” He looked away. “They’re dead.”

I carefully reached for his hand, but he pulled back, issuing a short, shaky laugh.

“No.” He shook his head, clenching his hands to stop their trembling. “I’m all right.”

I wiped my tears and gave a small nod, keeping my voice quiet, trying to soothe him like he soothed me. “I know.”

He tried to smile, still trying to reassure me while he appeared to be breaking.

“It’s not fair,” I told him. The words seemed right; the unfairness didn’t. “They should be here with you.” I watched him struggle to keep his expression neutral, watched him fail. “They would be so proud of you.” Pulling at the string that brought us together, I tied humor into my words, trying to take away the hollow expression he wore. “Even if you don’t like the green smoothies that they did.”

Fondness flickered in his eyes. “Yes,” he murmured. “Even if.”

I held my hand out, displaying its shake. “We all shake sometimes. It’s okay,” I added, “to shake when you’re scared and to not always be…the one protecting. You can be protected, too.” I smiled marginally. “I can hold your hand, even when it shakes.”

“Thank you,” he said, but didn’t release his hands, choosing to hold himself together.

I nodded and rested my hand beside us. “If you change your mind.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, quieter than before.

We looked through the windows that allowed us to see the shooting range. Time passed as we sat, as time always did. But pain; was it the same for pain? Did it pass, too? I wondered if it did, during our silence. I wondered if time and the right people soothed it. I wanted to be the right person for him, for Jungkook. I wanted to comfort him and hold him and tell him everything would someday feel better than it currently did, just like he’d done for me.

In that moment, I realized the gravity of who he was to me, how much he meant to me. His kindness, his person, his heart of gold that was laced with darkness from his past. But I saw hints of the sunshine that once was in his eyes, desperate to be set free to bring lightness where darkness had swept everything away. He tried to find light, he told me before, how he painted his walls with color, wore colorful suits, and bought books with colorful designs. He was aching for color, for light. And I wondered if he knew how much light he had brought into my life just by being himself.

“Your parents must have been special,” I said, barely audible. “To have raised someone like you. They must have been so incredible and kind and loving.” I looked at him then. “They must have loved you so much.”

He still wouldn’t meet my gaze, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly. “They did. They were—they are my everything.”

My heart ached for him. “What are their lives like?”

He took a deep breath, then a few more, before answering me. “My father, Ha-Jun, was a woodworker. He built everything in our home, and he built things for others, too. Everyone in his hometown loved him, including my mother, Miyoung. They wanted more for themselves, so they left for America, and then they had me.

“Their love is…kind. It’s everything love should be. Patient and nurturing and beautiful. They are so soft spoken and loving, but they never let people take advantage of them. They are strong and resilient.”

“What are their favorite things to do?”

His smile almost reached his eyes. “My father likes building Legos with me. It reminds him of woodworking, he said, because it’s creating something. My mother loves to read.”

“What’s his favorite Lego creation, and what’s her favorite book?”

He thought for a moment. “He liked a bouquet Lego set because it reminded him of my mother’s favorite flowers.”

“What are her favorite flowers?”

He held his hands tighter, memories playing out in his eyes. “Zinnias.”

My heart broke in two. But I just said, “They’re probably my favorite, too, so she has great taste.”

He hummed in response, subdued, falling back into sadness.

“What about her favorite book?” I wondered, trying to bring him back to me, trying to keep him out of the dark sadness I was all too familiar with.

“The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly.”

“What’s it about?”

“A mother and her baby. It’s a beautiful book,” he said, remembering it as he spoke. “When I was younger, I curled up on the couch with her, and she would read it to me.” His fingers turned white from the tight grip he had on himself. “I found my love for reading with her, but I never could create like my father. I can’t even create a proper meal without burning it.”

“That’s not true. You created an entire business to protect others.”

“Only because I couldn’t protect them.”

We were quiet again.

“How did it happen?” I asked carefully. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“They were murdered,” he said it simply. Clearly. But his voice shook. “My father told me to hide, so I hid. In the bathroom. To lock the doors and turn off the lights.” He stared straight ahead, but his attention was elsewhere, back to the night it happened. “They’re not likely to check the bathroom, my father told me. He said not to open the door, even if he said it was him, because I wouldn’t know for sure. He would tell me things we did so I would know it was him for certain and not a trick from the intruder.”

His eyes turned glassy. “He never did get to tell me things only we knew, but I tried to remember everything we knew. I wrote down our memories so I wouldn’t forget. Then I was put into foster care, I aged out of the system, I found a job, lived on the street until I met Taehyung in college, and I founded a business. I was lucky.”

He was detached from himself; I could see it. I knew how it felt, I knew what it looked like. His words were robotic, as if his life hadn’t happened to him, as if it was just another story his mother had read to him. Fiction. Nothing more, nothing less. But there was always truth to fiction.

The night of the power outage, when I hid in the bathroom, came rushing back to me. It had been a repeat for him, a repeat of the worst night of his life.

I felt sick.

“They found the intruder shortly after he murdered my parents,” he continued. “He has a lifetime in prison. It is fitting, seeing as he stole a lifetime from my parents, but it isn’t completely right. He stole two lives, not only one. The belongings he stole from them were returned to me, whatever he hadn’t already sold for cash. My apartment holds them in a safe box. I do not wish for anyone to take them again, and if they attempt to, I will kill them.”

His eyelid twitched. “So yes, Luetta. I know what it is like for your mind to be loud and aggrieving, although it is not quite the same. I know there are coping mechanisms to make it easier, and I know OCD originates from pain. I know pain. I know it very well. Our pain isn’t identical, but we both feel it just the same. It does count for something, I believe.”

I couldn’t speak. It seemed as if my words had abandoned me.

The situation with the stalker had triggered my OCD, but it had also been triggering Jungkook’s PTSD. He’d been suffering, too, and he’d still been so kind and thoughtful, always there to ensure my safety and that I was okay.

Pain tugged deeply in my gut, swiftly followed by the unfairness of the situation and of life in general. Its cruelty was large and consuming, but so was Jungkook’s kindness. I was floored with both.

So I found my words and told him, “You told me that I lit up your apartment. Do you remember that?”

Although confused and a little dazed, he confirmed, “Yes, I remember.”

“You’re a bigger light than I am,” I decided. “Your entire life has been dedicated to helping people; you made a business to protect them. I know you probably blame yourself for hiding and not being able to protect your parents, but only the murderer can be blamed for his actions, not you. Not someone innocent.

“You found me when I was at my lowest, and even though we bickered and bantered, everything felt…brighter with you, even when I was annoyed with you or didn’t understand why you wanted to know me. I’ve always felt safe with you,” I confessed. “I’ve always felt something for you, even when we talked for the first time in the bar. Your kindness is a light, Jungkook, you’re a light, and I—I don’t think you realize how many lives you’ve made brighter with your business and just by being you.

“You probably don’t see how many people you make smile when you’re excited and speaking to them like they’re the most important person in the world, like at the library, or the farmer’s market, or the ice cream parlor. You gave me a place to stay because no one did the same for you when you were a teenager; I understand that now. I was a stranger, but you still helped me. You didn’t have to do that. You don’t have to do anything you’re doing, but you do it anyway because that’s just who you are. Kind, loyal, and so dedicated. Do you know how rare you are? Do you know how special you are? Do you—Jungkook, do you know how much you mean to me and others? You’ve changed lives. And I know that your parents are so happy and proud of their son, not only because of what he’s done, but because of who he is. That’s the most important part.”

He finally looked at me, and I was floored by the tears building in his eyes, by the pained smile he wore that had started to reach his eyes again. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“It’s just the truth,” I whispered right back.

“It’s the truth from your lips.” His features tightened as he tried to rein in the tears. “It will always sound the sweetest coming from you.”

My tears returned just as his fell. “We’ll win. Okay? There are more of us. This stalker isn’t ready for us.”

“No,” he said at last, slipping his hand into mine. I squeezed fervently. “He isn’t.”

Chapter Text

My pulse jumped beneath my skin when I saw Keaton enter the cafe. 

He didn't see me at first and stepped into line to order, fiddling with his wrist watch. It was my father's; a graduation present. As if he felt my stare, he turned and saw me.

I was sitting at a table in the far corner, nursing a lukewarm coffee that was originally iced, but that was an hour ago. His fingers traced his watch faster. When my father gifted it to him, Keaton and I were barely speaking to each other. I wanted to ask him why he wore it, since he despised the color brown, ever since we were children, but by that time in our lives, he despised me, too, so I never asked.

Once he received his order, a small Frappuccino, he sat on the other side of the table. 

"It's a little early for so much sugar," I said by way of greeting.

"It's a little early to arrive earlier than we planned for." He gestured to my coffee. "How long? An hour? Two?"

I held my coffee protectively, feeling its condensation. "An hour. Anyway, it's good to be early."

"Yeah, sure, if it's not fueled by anxiety that something bad will happen." He sipped his sugar in a cup rather loudly, then pushed it aside. "Sugar gets me through the mornings."

"Sugar causes a drop that isn't worth it."

"You know what? Some people like fun and sugar. Not everyone gets drunk on the weekends."

"I don't get—you know what?" I snapped. "It's not every weekend. There's nothing wrong with drinking."

"Until you're an alcoholic."

"Until you eat so much sugar that you have cavities and lose all your teeth."

"Whatever." He toyed with his wrist watch, snapping shortly after, "How's...the mystery man? Fancy car. Not cheap."

"Why am I here, Keaton?"

He wouldn't look at me. "To talk."

"About what?" I pressed. "Don't avoid my questions here like you did on the phone."

"I won't," he said with a bite to his tone. "So stop being snappy."

"Fine." I stood. "I'll just leave."

"Sit," he hissed, a flush rising to his cheeks as he restrained himself from looking around, most likely to see what attention I'd garnered.

I crossed my arms. Although not one for public appearances, I wasn't one for wasting my time either. Maybe I once had been, like I'd wasted time believing my parents would change. But not anymore.

I remained standing. "Talk."

He began to, but his attention caught on my hands. "Mom told you to stop doing that."

I gritted my teeth, hating the way my heart jumped and withered simultaneously. "What?"

"Your hands. They're flaking," he pointed out. "You wash them too much."

I bristled. "If she wanted me to stop washing my hands so much, she should've put me in therapy for OBC."

His expression shifted to something colder, then it fell completely, right along with his voice's volume. "Why does this has to be so difficult?"

Still on my guard, I questioned, "What?"

"Talking to you. We used to be best friends, and then you just...changed." His fingers turned white around his drink, crinkling the cup. "For the worst."

"For the worst?" I scoffed. "Because I started standing up for myself?"

"I'm not talking about that," he spat out. "I'm talking about when you stopped joking, or when you did joke, you sounded like a robot malfunctioning, repeating the same joke until it felt "safe" enough for you to stop. I was ten years old—ten! Do you know how fucking scary that is? I thought you were broken. It looked like you were broken. You would even make your face twitch a certain amount of times, scrunching your nose and making yourself look completely different."

Hot flashes of humiliation overwhelmed me. "Don't you think that I was scared, that I still am? I can't stop it; I can't control it. That's what OCD is, and I already told you that I can't afford therapy right now. Just imagine, Keaton; if you noticed what was going on with me when you were ten years old, don't you think our parents should've? Don't you think they should've helped?"

"They told you to stop," he insisted. "They told you to stop whenever they saw you doing it."

"Telling me to stop the compulsions doesn't stop them," I said incredulously. "Punishing me for them doesn't make them just magically disappear. Yelling at me doesn't make the OCD go away."

"But you weren't even diagnosed until you were older," he went on. "How do you know you had it? How did it just appear?"

"It didn't just appear. It was always there, but it just got worse. No one was helping me; they just made the environment more volatile, and I felt unsafe, which made the symptoms worse," I stressed.

"But they tried to help you."

Exasperated, I threw my hands up. "Would yelling and ostracizing you help you study better? Or if they took away all their praise and support, would you be thriving as much as you are? You wouldn't be wearing that wrist watch in that ugly brown color you hate so much because Dad would never gift you anything since you'd constantly be in disgrace."

He clutched the wrist watch self-consciously. "What are you even talking about? They didn't even yell at you that much."

I stared at him. "Is this why you wanted to talk to me? To tell me about the life that I lived?"

He looked away. "No. But I just...I want to make it make sense, how OCD completely changed you." His features twisted. "It took away my sister."

My heart shred into painful pieces, and then I sat because I felt that I could no longer stand. "It didn't take me away. It just...it changed me."

"It's the same thing," he said under his breath. "The same meaning. It changed you, so it took you away."

"No, it just changed me, and I had to change even more to survive how our parents treated me. I couldn't stay the same, Keaton," I tried to prove my point. "I was struggling. I still am—but I have support now. It's helped me a little, but it'll never make OCD go completely away. That's a part of me—a part that you, Mom, and Dad won't accept."

"Because it ruined everything," he burst. "Why can't you understand that? It ruined everything. You became someone else, a fucking robot that only lived to complete routines or else you'd freak out and spiral. I couldn't even talk to you anymore without you going crazy."

"I'm not crazy," I said louder than I should've, lowering my voice for the sake others. "OCD doesn't make me crazy," I spat out. "The way I was treated made the symptoms so bad that I felt crazy, but I'm not crazy, and I never have been. Mom and Dad yelling and hurting me as a way to fix me is what's crazy, not me."

He shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair. "But you just changed. You used to be fun; you used to be my sister."

"Yeah, Keaton," I said sharply. "And I lost my brother, parents, and home because of a diagnosis I can't control. It's whatever though, isn't it? I have people who care about me now, and once I save up and settle in, I'll be able to afford therapy and medication, and maybe, just maybe, I'll find that part of me that I lost when I was growing up if Mom and Dad didn't completely kill it."

"They didn't kill it," he defended them. "They didn't."

"They didn't nurture it either," I seethed. "Jesus, Keaton. I almost wish you could live through what I did, so you could see the parents who raised me, not the ones who raised you. They're the same people, yeah, but they didn't raise us the same. You're their perfect, A+ baby boy, and I'm the disabled older daughter who's crazy, but get this! They refused to put her in therapy or give her medication because she was making it all up for attention."

"It's just because it started happening out of nowhere," he insisted. "Your symptoms. It's like you were making them up. Kids do that; they make shit up, especially if the younger sibling is getting more attention."

"Still think I'm making it up?"

"No, but I did, okay? Because it was so sudden."

"It was so sudden because no one paid attention," I said flatly. "But it happened gradually until finally, it was a part of me, and I couldn't tell myself apart from it."

"That's not healthy."

"Yeah, no shit, Keaton," I snapped. "What the hell do you want me to say? I'm doing my best."

"I don't know," he blurted. "I just want an explanation—a reason for why everything changed so quickly and never went back to normal. I mean, we were a fucking family, and now you're never around, you don't live in your apartment anymore, and Mom and Dad are "ethically" stealing money out of your bank account."

"Right, which is why they're the reason I won't go back home." I crossed my arms. "It's your home because they make it welcoming. It's not mine; I'm not welcomed there unless I let them shit all over me and my best friend. So, no. I'm not letting that happen anymore, so until they change, I'm not speaking to them."

"They're our parents. You can't just cut them out like that."

"Yes, I can. Blood doesn't mean anything. If it did, they would care about their kids equally, but they don't, and they won't." I raised my brows, trying to put on a strong front, even when the conversation made me feel like crumbling. "Any more questions, or should I keep defending my reasoning to live a better life away from them? You know, the people who "ethically" stole money from my bank account when I refused to talk to them after how they treated me and Luvandor? How you treated us, too?"

Shame filtered through his expression. "I...I came here to talk about that. Something about that." He picked at his cuticles, struggling not to bite the corners—a bad habit he'd formed when he was poring over homework in high school, stressed about tests. "But we started talking about this instead, and I...wanted to know, but obviously, I'm not going to understand."

"Maybe you're not trying hard enough, you know, like how you say I'm not trying hard enough to fix the OCD."

He gave me a look. I gave him one right back.

After sipping his drink, he set it down and took a deep breath. "I wanted to meet and talk about Luvandor."

I squinted. "Say one bad thing about him, and I'm leaving."

"Jesus, Lu, just give me a fucking second."

I shrugged fitfully. "I'm waiting."

"I just wanted to say I was wrong."

I hesitated. "What?"

"For the snide, shitty remarks I said about Luvandor and...who he is." 

My brows slowly raised. "You're sorry?"

"Yeah, I...yeah." He bristled. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"This is a shitty apology," I warned.

He paused, realized himself, and sighed. "Shit. Sorry. Just...another second." He collected himself by taking a large gulp of his drink. "Sugar." He gestured to it. "It helps."

I nodded slowly, awaiting his words with nervous thumps of my heart, anticipating the worst, hoping for the best.

He fiddled with his fingers. "What I said about Luvandor was wrong. It's not a phase, and he's not less of a person for wanting to be a different gender or for...er...transitioning to a guy. He's still a guy, even if he's technically not." He cringed. "No, sorry, yes. He's a guy because he identifies as one, even if he was born a woman."

My eyes narrowed further, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

"And...I should've never made digs at him," he continued. "And compared his transition to someone going through an emo phase in high school. That was stupid. And it's not true. So, I'm sorry. And the reason I was looking for Luvandor when I told you about Mom and Dad taking the money from your bank account is because I wanted to talk to him and...see if he would let me apologize." He shrugged, turning red. "But he wasn't there, so that was all for shit."

I stared and stared.

He blinked. "Are you...OCDing right now?"

"Am I OCDing right now?" I repeated. "What?"

"It's when you're doing a routine. You're doing something OCD, so you're OCDing. It's a verb."

"It's not in Fernando," I mumbled.

"Huh?"

"The thesaurus," I explained, then shook my hands. "Never mind; it doesn't matter right now. Why did you apologize? Do you want something from me?"

"Seriously, Lu. What are you going to give me, symptoms of OCD?"

"Oh, nice. What a great thing to follow up an apology with."

He winced. "I meant the apology. All of it. And I want to tell Luvandor."

"I just...don't get it," I admitted, confused. "Why are you suddenly apologizing? You've never seemed sorry about what you were saying before."

"Because I feel bad, okay?"

"Just...all of a sudden? Did something happen?"

He shrugged, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Keaton," I said slowly. "Did something happen?"

His nose scrunched up. "I hurt someone."

"How?"

He inhaled sharply. "Do you remember Koa from high school?"

"Yeah." I nodded slowly. "You're still friends with him, right?"

"Yeah, right." He wiped his hands on his pants. "So, I found out that he likes guys, not girls."

"Okay...?"

"And before I found out, I made an insensitive joke." He cringed. "It was stupid, and I didn't mean it, not really, but he found out, and it really hurt him. I just...I never meant to hurt him. He's always been there for me, helping me with homework, girl problems, and study groups. Hanging out and playing video games, too. He's just...he's gay."

"Okay. So he's gay."

"Right," he blurted. "He's gay. That's it. It's just...it's who he is, and I hurt him just because he likes someone else, even when he's never done something shitty to me."

"Right, because he's a person, just like you and me, and his identity isn't hurting anyone."

"Right!" he exclaimed, then blinked, lowering his voice to repeat, "Right. I just—I don't know why I never thought about it like that. When Mom and Dad took us to church, and the pastor told us that being gay was a sin, I believed it—all of it. I really thought...I don't know. I thought it was wrong. It says so in the Bible."

I remained quiet. 

"But I was being hateful, and I hurt Koa, and the Bible says not to be hateful. It's all so...confusing. But I know I was shitty and wrong; I'm not confused about that. I'm just lucky that he forgave me when I apologized. He's a good friend," he said earnestly. "I don't want to hurt him or anyone else just because they like the same gender, and I thought that the same thought process should go for Luvandor, too."

"I know," he continued, "that I wasn't being kind when I said those things, but I didn't realize how much it...hurt, not until I saw how it affected Koa. And maybe that's stupid for me not to realize it, but I saw Koa's face, and he looked so betrayed." He gripped the cup for support again. "I don't want to hurt people. That's not—no, that's not what I want. I want to help. That's why I'm in college: to find a career that pays well and makes a fucking difference."

"Like when you go to rescue shelters and foster puppies."

He glanced at me. "I don't know; that's a little different. They're animals, not humans, and—" He paused. "You're making fun of me."

I hid my smile behind my fist. "No. A little. Maybe."

He sighed. "I'm bearing my fucking heart here."

"Sorry, sorry. Go ahead."

He rubbed his face tiredly. "I just wanted to say sorry. That's it."

"Well...I appreciate it," I said honestly. "Even if I'm confused. It feels like it's coming out of nowhere, but...if you mean it, then you mean it."

"I do mean it. I swear on 24 cucumbers."

My smile grew a little, but then it faded. "If you're sorry for how you treated Luvandor and Koa, not to mention anyone else you hurt by hateful things you said, why aren't you sorry for how you treated me?"

"I...I am." He lifted his shoulders noncommittedly. "You're my sister. I don't get OCD, and I don't get you."

"Right," I said flatly. "So until you have a moment of clarity, you'll keep being hateful toward me."

"No," he insisted. "That's not what I said. I said that I don't get you, and I don't get why you suddenly changed."

"I just tried explaining it to you," I muttered, massaging my temples. "You can be such a little asshole."

"Me?"

"What? Are you going to tell me that I ruined your teenage years by embarrassing you in front of your friends because I have OCD? It's nothing I haven't heard before."

He looked away again. "No. Shit. No, I'm not."

"Then? Am I getting an apology, too?"

He shook his head, frustrated. "I am sorry if I hurt you, I really am, but I don't get it, Lu. I don't get why I'm wrong for being upset at you for not putting yourself in therapy and taking medication."

"Because I can't afford it? Because I never had the support that you had? Because I was ridiculed by my own family, which only exasperated my symptoms, because I never felt safe enough to be myself?"

"Mom and Dad were never—"

"Were never what? Cruel? Harsh? Found ways to punish me when I couldn't stop with the compulsions during homework after school? They used a fucking stick on me, Keaton. A stick. Do you think that would help the compulsions, or do you think it would make me think, Oh, if I count to three a few more times, maybe my parents won't beat me with a stick. Because when you don't have control over the environment you're in, you try to make yourself believe that you do."

"A stick?" He was quiet for a moment, struggling to conceptualize this. "Why would they do that? I would know."

"Would you?" I laughed shortly, hating how bitter it sounded, especially toward someone who used to be my best friend—my brother. "You didn't know hating people for liking the same gender was wrong until what, a few months ago? I'm sure you could've missed Mom and Dad hitting me with a stick."

His disbelief reeked into the cafe. "Why would they use a stick on you?"

"To fix me. Punish me. Make me afraid enough to stop compulsions—I don't know. Do you want to ask them? I'm sure they'll have conveniently forgotten."

He clasped his hands together, then released them. "Lu, I don't know what to say. They never treated me like that."

"Yeah, because you're their baby boy, who can do no wrong. I'm not. My existence, to them, was wrong. I'm pretty sure they think OCD is a sin and caused by the devil."

He blinked. "It's a diagnosis. That can't be caused by the devil."

"Right, well, you might want to ask them about that and see what they say. You'd be surprised."

He tugged at his fingers again and again. "I would know. I would know that about them."

"They show you the good side of them, so no." My voice was an inch softer, just a bit. "You wouldn't know."

He looked at me, torn. 

"It's fine," I forced myself to say. I never had been able to see him upset, always wanting to fix things, even if it wasn't my fault. "It's better that one of us gets the good side of them, and I'm glad it's you. You have support, and you're working towards a career. It's great, really."

"You're in accounting. That's a career."

"Not according to Mom and Dad."

"It's a career according to reality," he said shortly. "It's a career."

"I know. I'm making a lot of money doing it."

He eyed me curiously. "Was that your car you were in? Or was it that...guy's car?"

"The guy's car," I said simply, then felt like I should add with no small amount of pride, "My boyfriend's car."

He malfunctioned, then leaned over to whisper/shout, "You have a boyfriend?"

I settled further into my chair. "Don't act so surprised."

"You've never had a boyfriend before!"

"Okay, well, I have one now." A sinking feeling curled low in my gut, my OCD insisting that since I announced I had a boyfriend, some force would take him away from me.

Keaton paused. "What is it? What are you OCDing about now?"

I sputtered, "What?"

"You always get that look when you're OCDing," he pointed out. "So what is it? Do you have to wash your hands? You didn't even touch anything."

I dug my fingers into my palms. "No, I just...no. It's nothing."

"Great," he muttered. "You're mad that I don't understand OCD, but you don't even talk about it."

"Because you always made me feel bad about it!"

"I don't mean to. I'm just trying to understand." He sipped his coffee aggressively. "So. A boyfriend."

I shrugged angrily. "Yeah, a boyfriend. What about it?"

"He has a nice car," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I'm aware. He drives me around in it."

"Are you seriously bragging right now?"

"I deserve to brag," I said, holding my chin high as I tried not to let my OCD thinking patterns get to me.

"Anyway," he muttered. "I came here to apologize, and I did, so I'm going to finish my coffee and go."

I deflated. "Oh." I tried to snap out of it. "Right." 

He squinted. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, Lu, what?"

"What—well, what about us?" I asked, unable to stop the break in my voice. "You apologized for how you treated Luvandor, but I just got a half-assed apology, so why am I even here? Why didn't you just call Luvandor?"

"Because you're my sister," he said. "And I wanted to say it to you. I don't know."

"You don't know?" I snapped.

"No, okay, I don't, because we barely talk, and you blocked me, and you just left your apartment, and now you have a boyfriend and a new job, so no, okay, I don't know."

"You keep saying that I should change, but when I actually do, it's not okay?"

"No, that's not—no," he said, frustrated. "That's not what I meant."

"I'm not going to wait around to be accepted by my family who clearly doesn't want to accept me," I said, yanking my purse back and standing. "I'm done, Keaton. If you want to find Luvandor and apologize to him, go ahead, but I'm not here just to rid you of your guilt."

"That's not what I came here for," he insisted. "Why are you being like this?"

"Why is the way I react always the problem but never how I'm treated?" I demanded incredulously. "This is—wow! I can't keep doing this." I laughed, shaking my head repeatedly. "I can't."

"Lu—" He stood, already one step toward me, but I put my hand out, warning him, "Don't."

It happened quickly, the glass shattering as gunshots fired. I heard myself gasp, felt myself drop to the ground, my knees hitting the floor first. I saw Keaton next, his lips parted as his head bounced near the chair he'd been sitting on, a hand to his shoulder, shaking as he pulled it away to find it red.

"Keaton?" I whispered, watching everything from outside of my body.

Blood seeped onto his shirt, his expression dazed and jaded. "Lu? What's...this? Blood?"

More gunshots rang out, followed by screams and cries, but no one else was shot. Random picture frames were shattered, causing glass to be shattered, blocking an easy path to exit the shop, and then it was done. No more shots, just screams and cries and people shouting to call the police.

"He's been shot," I said. No one heard me. "He's been shot. My brother, he's been—" No one was listening; no one heard me. 

I ripped myself off the floor, every part of me shaking as I turned to survey the damage. Glass was everywhere, but Keaton's and my spot had been targeted, our path to the door completely blocked. I couldn't think about what that meant, couldn't fathom if my stalker found me and took it out on Keaton.

Instead, I shouted, "My brother's been shot!"

A few heads turned, but that was enough.

"Call 911," I rasped, waiting until I saw someone do so before I returned to Keaton. "I need a doctor. I—I need a doctor."

There was no doctor. There was just me telling Keaton to stay awake until help came, and his eyes fluttering as he failed to do so.

Chapter Text

The hospital called my parents after taking Keaton into surgery.

I couldn’t cry; I hadn’t been able to since it happened. All I could see was him saying my name with that dazed look in his eye and looking at his shaking, bloodied hands. I kept thinking it was all my fault. It must have been. I became too comfortable and thought I was safe—maybe I hadn’t counted enough last night when we got off the phone with each other, or I didn’t hit enough targets at practice, or I forgot to check Jungkook’s apartment enough—or maybe I’d walked on the wrong part of the crosswalk and set something into a butterfly effect, putting a bullet into Keaton.

It didn’t matter. Whatever I did wrong had already happened, and there was no way to reverse it.

The police were here. They’d already spoken to me, but they were waiting to speak to my parents. The police would return if Keaton survived surgery to talk to him. If he survived.

My heart caught in my throat, and I tried to swallow, but it felt impossible.

“Luetta?”

I turned, startled when I heard a familiar voice. I saw the flop of Pat’s blonde hair before I fully recognized it was him.

“Pat?” I croaked.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, pained. He hurried over, scurrying across the hospital hall. “I heard what happened.”

Words were scarce, but I managed, “How?”

“The news,” he whispered, arriving in front of me. “There are videos of it everywhere.”

“I…I haven’t…Jungkook,” I managed.

“You haven’t told Jungkook?” he wondered, angling his face to see my downcast features. “Hey, that’s okay! I can call him. Right? I have his work phone, so I can tell him which hospital you’re at.”

I gratefully watched him dial Jungkook’s number, then nodded.

His nose scrunched up in sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, then jolted when Jungkook picked up. “Oh! Mr. Jeon? It’s Patton, from Jeon’s Protection. Have you seen the news? No? You’re at work right now? Why am I not at work? Oh, sorry, sir. It’s because I saw the news.” He glanced at me, then jolted again. “Yes, sir. Sorry. The news involves Luetta, so that’s why I left my station.”

He paused. “No, I didn’t tell the others. I was getting food like I usually do in the cafe, and I saw the news playing on the TV in there, so I just ran out.” He nodded along with whatever Jungkook was saying. “No, no, she’s okay. She’s safe. It was…” He inhaled sharply and tried to lower his voice as if I wasn’t right beside him, trying to protect me from what I already knew. “It was her brother. Keaton. There was a shooting.”

Again, he jolted and pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. He looked at me, hesitated, and said, “I’m so sorry to ask, but is Keaton in surgery? Do you know his status? You don’t have to answer if you can’t.”

“Do not trouble her with questions,” I heard Jungkook reprimand sharply. “Remain with her in silence if that’s what she prefers. I will be there shortly, Patton. Do not leave her alone unless she specifically requests it.”

I held out my hand for the phone, and Pat understood, carefully handing it over. When I couldn’t say anything, he leaned in and said in the earpiece, “Um, sir? Luetta wants to speak to you, but she’s…I think she’s having trouble saying much right now. She has my phone if you want to say anything.”

“Luetta?” Jungkook. “Luetta, I am on my way. Patton will remain with you. We will figure this out together; you won’t have to deal with this alone. I promise.”

I nodded quickly, holding onto Pat’s phone for dear life as if it were Jungkook.

“Okay,” he murmured, his tone rigid. “Give the phone to Patton. He’ll relay the directions, and I will be there soon.”

I held onto the phone for a moment longer before relinquishing it, breathing heavily as I listened to Pat rattle off the directions.

“Okay,” he told me after he ended the call. “Twenty minutes tops, okay? He’ll probably break a few traffic laws, so maybe even ten.” He smiled weakly. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to sit down?”

I shook my head.

“Okay,” he said agreeably. “We’ll just stand here together.”

He stood, and I did for a while, but then I began pacing and worrying my bottom lip until it was in danger of bleeding.

Exactly ten minutes later, Jungkook appeared at the end of the hall, his suit rumpled and hair unkempt as if he had run all the way to our floor.

“Luetta,” he said in one breath, his long strides taking him to me. As soon as he arrived in front of me, he took my face in his hands, searching it quickly and intently for signs of distress. When his hands touched my face, the reassuring and familiar touch brought tears to my eyes, and I hugged him with a broken sob, apologizing for making Keaton meet me at the café.

“No,” he said sternly, holding me close. He lifted me slightly, letting my feet dangle over the ground as he brought me to the wall, allowing me privacy to cry. “You are not at fault here. Whatever OCD is tormenting you with, it’s wrong. While the doctors work, you and I will stay here and wait to see Keaton. I don’t want to hear you blame yourself, Luetta,” he said in that serious tone of his. “This is not your fault.”

“What if it was my stalker?” I stammered, clinging to him. “What if he took it out on Keaton or was trying to shoot me and shot Keaton instead?”

“Then it was the stalker’s fault, not yours.” He held me tighter. “Not at all yours.”

Pat stood awkwardly away from us, giving us the space we needed. His eyes widened, however, when Taehyung appeared.

To my surprised look, Jungkook told me, “I told him.” His eyes zoned in on Taehyung, then back to me. “If there are too many of us, and it overwhelms you, you can tell me.”

I shook my head, sniffling as Taehyung walked over. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment of Pat on his way to me, then lowered his face to where I nearly hid it in Jungkook’s shirt. “Hey. We’re here.”

I managed a nod.

His lips set into a straight, rigid line. “We’ll figure out who did this. Jungkook already has his team looking into it; I’m manning the operation when he isn’t here with you.”

“But…you don’t work for him anymore,” I said, confused.

“No, but this case is important. You’re in it,” he replied firmly. “You’re a part of my team, remember? We’re all in this with you; you’ve got Jeon’s Protection with you.”

“Thank you,” I rasped. My eyes flitted towards the doors they took Keaton through. I choked out, “I hope he wakes up.”

Taehyung nodded gravely. “We all do.”

My friends appeared one by one, all except for Makaio. We settled into the waiting room, and I was seated between Jungkook and Luvandor, neither man daring to let me out of their sights. We had hospital security here, but a large amount of Jungkook’s security team was stationed outside, too. We weren’t taking any chances.

“Where is he?” Wilden wondered, checking his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. “He won’t answer my texts. Douchebag,” he mumbled. “At a time like this.” He looked at Kiera. “Do you know where he is?”

“Am I my co-worker’s keeper?” she drawled. “No, obviously, I don’t.”

“No need for the attitude,” he quipped, then glanced at Pat. “Any chance that you know where he is?”

Pat shrugged, glancing nervously around the hospital.

“Pat,” Wilden bribed. “Hey, buddy. Do you know where Mak is?”

Pat jolted. “What?”

“Are you good?”

Pat shuddered. “I hate hospitals.” He paused, then paled considerably. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to sound inconsiderate—”

“Then don’t,” Jungkook said shortly, cutting him off.

Pat swallowed and nodded quickly. “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. Sorry, sir.” His eyes darted to mine. “Sorry.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, trying not to listen to the news on the TV, repeating the horrors of what had occurred a few hours ago.

As if summoned, Makaio appeared in the waiting room. He looked around groggily, yet still somehow on high alert. He began walking to the front desk, dressed in lounge wear and not his usual business attire, but then he saw me, and he stopped. Then he walked straight to me.

Lowering himself to my height, his eyes narrowed until his pupils almost disappeared entirely. “Were you injured?”

Pat spoke up before I could, sounding upset. “Didn’t you see the news?”

Makaio turned eerily slowly to look at Pat, which effectively silenced the latter, then turned back to me for a response.

I shook my head.

“Your brother,” he rasped, sounding half-asleep.

My chin wobbled.

His eyes darkened and shot to Jungkook, who was watching with ferocious focus. “I assume you have security on this.”

Pat demanded, “Didn’t you see our security team outside?”

Makaio turned to him and snapped, “Was I asking you?”

“Fuck off,” Wilden snapped. “Pat’s got a point.”

“When I’m not speaking to him,” Makaio nearly growled, “or addressing him, Pat can be silent.”

Wilden scowled. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Enough,” Jungkook said sharply, silencing everyone. “This is not the time nor the place. You will do well to keep your voices down and sharp remarks to yourself. Mr. Ulric,” he addressed Makaio coldly. “You would be wise to step away from her.”

“It’s fine,” I whispered.

Makaio’s features shifted at the sudden drop of my voice, and he moved even closer, gripping the handles of my chair. “Whoever did this,” he ground out, “we’ll find them. That is what Jeon’s Protection does; that is what we’ve been practicing for. Your brother will be avenged regardless of the surgery’s outcome; I give you my word.”

He stood, his eyes blazing with a deep darkness. He turned sharply, every move intentional, already on his way out of the waiting room when Jungkook commanded his attention with the question, “Why were you not at work this morning?”

Makaio turned with a slicing glare. “If you would like to interrogate me, take it up with my lawyers.”

He left, leaving us all to watch after him.

Kiera’s gaze lingered on him, then shifted to me. She didn’t say a word, processing everything mentally.

She stood. “We need drinks. Luetta, what do you want?”

Tears sprang to my eyes, even though I tried to stop them. “I don’t want coffee. Keaton and I were having coffee—”

“She will have an energy drink,” Jungkook said, squeezing my inner thigh for comfort. “Strawberry flavored if possible, but if not, any fruit flavor will do.”

Kiera nodded curtly and went on her way.

Jungkook looked at my troubled expression and lowered his voice, keeping his question between us. “Are you all right? Did he make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine,” I said quietly. “He just wants to help.”

Jungkook was rigid, alerting me that he didn’t agree, but he dipped his chin and said nothing. His hold on me just became tighter as if anticipating I would be stolen away from him.

“Luetta Dove?” a nurse asked.

I jumped up, clutching my heart. “Yes?” I asked breathlessly.

They lifted their eyes from their clipboard and gave me room to enter through the doors they’d walked through. “Come with me, please.”

Jungkook stood, and the nurse added, “Family only, sir.”

His jaw clenched. “Wonderful.” He took my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’m her husband.”

The nurse nodded. “Right this way, please.”

Feeling faint, I walked with Jungkook through the doors, giving one last glance over my shoulder at Pat and Wilden, who both offered me tight smiles of encouragement. I looked away and braced myself for devastation.