You're In A Car With A Beautiful Boy, And He Won't Tell You That He Loves You, But He Loves You. And

#maknae liners triple attack combo 🥵 [cr.]

Taehyung (bts) lockscreens ! <3

MY HEART 😭 IM SO SOFT 🥺 (cr.)

When I’m with you, there is no one else 🚀

I WANT TO CRY AND LAUGH AT THE SAME TIME

summary: in which jungkook loves you, and he wants you both to eat well.

> fluff, slight angst / wc: 3.4k

> warnings: yn doesn’t have a very healthy relationship with food :( + jungkook’s spit? 😭

note: this has always been in my drafts and i guess i was lowkey scared because it gets personal, but i finally wrote it :D

—

“sometimes it feels like i’m only eating for the sake of survival, you know? so i can’t be too bothered to cook, or care if it doesn’t taste good when i do.”

once again, your casual words from a long time ago echo in jungkook’s mind this fine sunday morning, as he works hard to perfectly fold the omelette on the pan.

he smiles to himself when he succeeds. he hums a song as he places it on top of the hot kimchi rice on your plate, sitting beside his with the not-so-successful, practice round omelette. that’s when he hears the familiar sound of your fluffy slippers dragging against the floor, too sleepy and tired to make an effort to do proper steps. he carefully sets down the two plates infront of the chairs facing each other, before meeting you halfway at the entrance of the kitchen.

“morning, baby.” he chirps his greeting as he wraps his arms around you, but you hold onto his biceps to stop him.

“back hurts.” you cry out quietly, turning around to clasp your hands together around your nape. he chuckles, understanding what you’re asking him to do in a heartbeat.

he wraps his arms around you again before picking you up effortlessly, making sure to support your elbows as he leans back and squeezes you. you moan in satisfaction when you feel the cracks, relief instantly rushing into your veins as you feel significantly lighter. when he brings your feet back to the ground, you turn around and embrace him properly with your arms around his waist. you bury your face in the smell of your boyfriend’s favorite fabric softener, brain so hazy you almost fall back into sleep.

“feel better?” he asks to confirm, soothingly rubbing your back, putting pressure here and there- around your shoulder blades. this is why he scolds you about your posture regularly, because you are a stubborn creature of habit.

“breakfast smells good.” you stand on your toes to take a peek of the food over his shoulder. “and that’s a lot of rice.”

“just eat what you can finish then.” he kisses your forehead before pulling away to head towards the dining table again. “where do you want to eat?”

“living room.” you reply while rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, feeling uncomfortable because of the hair framing your face being damp after you freshened up. “want to watch queer eye. so they can inspire me to clean.”

jungkook brings out a wooden tray from the shelf. he carefully places the two plates, two glasses, and a pitcher of cold water. “i can clean instead. you rest. don’t you need to study for your exam later?”

“i’d rather clean than study.” you pout, following his footsteps leading to the living room. “i hate it more than cleaning.”

“what about jungkook?”

“what about you?” you plop down on the couch, knees on your chest as you sink into the cushion. he sets down the tray on the center table, and it produces a thump sound. “i love you.”

with a radiant smile, he offers you a plate. “wait,” you mumble, putting a pillow over your lap before taking it from his hands.

“ah!” his eyes widen with late realization. “i forgot the utensils. hold on.”

he speedwalks to and from the kitchen, and you turn on the television to play the episode you’re going to watch.

this day began with you thinking that you don’t have much of an appetite, but after the first spoonful of your favorite kimchi fried rice jungkook special with a bite-sized piece of omelette on top, you became unstoppable.

he steals a glance every now and then, delighted to see your plump cheeks devouring the food that he cooked. the joy it brings him never changes, no matter how many times he has served you his food. you make him feel loved and appreciated, and most of all, happy when you’re eating well.

needless to say, he’s been worried. you have been eating less than the usual, finishing the food in no more than ten minutes so you could go back to doing school works right away.

“my busy bee.” he sighed, squatting infront of you.

you looked up from your laptop, straightening your posture when you realized you were hunching over again.

“hi,” he greeted you again, fixing your glasses before it completely slid off your nose bridge. he could see the reflection of a research article reflecting on the lens.

you scrunched your nose, the simple action making you blush. “hi, my love. need anything?”

“just came by to give you a snack.”

he inched the bowl of assorted nuts mixed with colorful m&m’s closer to you. they reminded you of the highlights decorating your notes.

“i mixed them myself.”

you could tell. you have never seen a trail mix with these many types of nuts in your life. “chopped the nuts yourself too?”

“of course.” he grinned proudly before pointing at the m&m’s. “that’s dark chocolate too.”

a look of bewilderment painted your face. “dark m&m’s exist?!”

jungkook tucks your hair behind your ear so it won’t get into your food. pretty, he thinks to himself when you give him an appreciative smile.

he finishes his food first, gulping down his glass of water as he watches a guy have a makeover in preparation for his marriage proposal to his girlfriend.

you finish yours as well, leaving your plate on the tray as you chew on the final bite. by no exaggeration, you did not leave a single grain of rice.

“oh, my baby! you finally ate well.” he beams, pinching your cheek lightly.

“i got inspired to clean my plate because the food was yummy.” you praise him, slumping against his side after drinking three gulps of water.

“i’m proud of you. you should wear the angel pajamas tonight.” his tattooed hand squeezes your thigh, covered by seokjin’s devil pajamas from the artist-made collection.

his suggestion makes you chuckle, finding the character holding a pitchfork printed on the cloth adorable. “should i?”

—

you and jungkook eat samgyupsal for dinner, because apparently, last night wasn’t enough to satisfy his craving. but you barely ate yesterday that you forgot that you even had it, which you suspect is part of the reason why he wants to have it again. and you’re grateful, because you can enjoy it with an appetite this time.

“here, baby. eat your greens.” he wraps a piece of the freshly grilled meat in lettuce, feeding it to you with a happy grin.

your jaw works extra hard to chew the leaf occupying most of your mouth. “that was too big. the ratio was totally off!” you whine while reaching for the glass of water to push it down.

“it was? sorry.” but he doesn’t look or sound guilty, especially when he opens his mouth widely to stuff it full of his favorite food. with waaay more meat than lettuce.

you scoff, putting the cooked strips of samgyupsal in his bowl before laying out more on the grill. he tries taking the tongs from you to take over, but you put your hand behind you with a pout.

“let me. this is only the time i can cook without messing it up.”

it wouldn’t be shocking to learn that you do get insecure about your lack of cooking skills. look, you’ve tried. you lived alone for years before moving in with jungkook. there was no other choice but to try. about a couple million times. you followed the recipes, followed your instincts next. you didn’t like eating your undercooked or overcooked, too salty or too bland food— but eating outside everyday wasn’t a luxury you had. over time, it came to feel like a chore. eating. and you hated yourself for it, all because you couldn’t get shit right. it was not the right way to live, but you felt stuck.

so perhaps it was natural that you gravitated towards jungkook. jungkook who has the patience for cooking. puts the perfect amount of seasonings. has incredible chopping skills. watches cooking shows religiously. jungkook who enjoys food with his entire body. makes brain food when you study. jungkook who is feeding the both of you while you grill the meat because he just learned that you enjoy holding the tongs more than you’re afraid of oil splattering.

“this is only lettuce,” it starts off as a mere statement of observation, until it fully registers in your brain. “jungkook, i swear to god- if you don’t stop feeding me grass!”

after dinner, you go straight to studying to prepare for your test on tuesday. the center table of the living room being clattered with your study materials is a very familiar sight, somehow jungkook finds himself feeling fond of it, as he sits on the carpeted floor next to you. he has earbuds on, an audiobook paused on his tablet.

“hi. this seat isn’t taken, is it?” he sends a charming smile your way, his knee brushing against yours as he makes himself comfortable.

“well, it is now.” you roll your eyes jokingly, twirling the blue highlighter using your fingers as you try to retain the terms you’re reading inside your brain.

“i’m studying, too. english.” he makes space for his device, collecting the stray sheets of paper scattered on the table before tucking them in between one of your notebooks.

“do you have a test, too?”

“kind of?” he answers, sounding enthusiastic as he grooves and bounces to no music. he’s the exact opposite of you. “i have a schedule with my teacher on tuesday too. i want to make him proud that i did advanced reading.”

jungkook makes all of the people in his life proud. he is never not eager to learn— mistakes or fallbacks only motivate him to pour more of his time and effort into getting things right. putting aside the sad pouts, frustrated whines usually consisting of no, no, this is not it or please let me do it again or i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing wrong; and the tsk sound he makes as he tilts his head to the side as if he’s trying to knock some sense to himself before he tries again. what matters most is that he tries again and again and again, and he makes you want to do the same, too. you think of him when you want to give up, when things feel unbearable. you channel the willpower he thrives on because sometimes you forget that you don’t want to be a weak person, and you just need a little push to be reminded of that.

there is a sense of contentment and peace in the atmosphere as you study in your own little bubbles. you’re still memorizing while jungkook reads the story out loud with the narrator every now and then to practice his pronunciation. he uses his phone to search for the meaning of unfamiliar words. he decided that petrichor is one of the most beautiful words he’s learned so far.

he entertains you during your ten-minute break, peeling another orange as he speaks out his mind about something that he is both curious and annoyed about. “why are there so many words with a lot of different meanings? it’s too difficult. my brain has not much space left!”

you’re not really given a chance to speak because he feeds you a slice of orange, then himself, then you again. you can only smile in amusement with your mouth full, gathering the seeds at the corner of your tongue before spitting them out on the tissue he laid out.

you go back to studying, and he finishes up twenty minutes and two more oranges later. he plays around with the peels he carefully worked hard on not breaking earlier, making you a bracelet instead of the choker he originally wanted because of the warning look you gave him when he tried putting it on you.

he crawls on the couch you’re leaning on, scrolling through his phone for a few minutes until he grows restless again. he drags his body downward, folding his knees to level with you.

“are you almost finished?” he asks hopefully, his warm breath fanning on the shell of your ear.

you flinch with a giggle, rubbing your ear against your shoulder to make the tickle go away. “yup. just need to go over them again real quick.”

“okaaay.” he replies cutely. he suddenly gets up to leave the room, and you frown sadly when you find yourself alone again. the sound of the air purifier is almost deafening- it mocks you. reminds you of all the times you wished on ceilings for someone to make this silence bearable at most. you sigh, taking off your glasses to rest your tired eyes for a moment.

you crack your eyes open again when you feel your boyfriend’s presence infront of you.

“are you done now?” he repeats his question, holding up your angel pajamas he mentioned this morning. more than that, he’s wearing his own set, too. the first two buttons of the top undone. this is the first time you’re seeing him wear it, and butterflies erupt in your stomach at the thought of him wearing it because he wants to match with you.

so even though you’re not exactly done, you say yes anyway. you change into the pajamas, and exclaim “i’m already brushing my teeth!” with a mouth full of toothpaste when jungkook peeks into the bathroom to ask if you want a sandwich for your midnight snack.

—

it’s a reflex at this point, your feet carrying you to wherever jungkook is. the bus you get on from the university to his company, the three-minute walk it takes to get there from the bus stop. the smell lingering in the air changes with every five steps as you pass by the restaurants and street vendors. your stomach grumbles pathetically.

so when jungkook opens the door with his lips attached to his bottle filled with his favorite chocolate-flavored protein shake that you (not so) secretly take a sip or two of every now and then, your hands reach for it immediately.

“what the-” he looks down at his empty hands, and then back at you taking small sips from the bottle as you spin around on his chair.

he shuts the door before catching the armrest to make the chair stop, standing infront of you with his arms crossed. “did you just steal from me?”

you smile at him innocently, his tall frame towering over you. you clutch the bottle tightly in your hand, wary of him taking it away. “what’s yours is mine, right?”

“then you get mad at me using your shaver once-”

“it’s my shaver.” you retort, in disbelief with the example he has given. and it was definitely not just once. “that’s totally different!”

he pouts so big his cupid’s bow touches the tip of his nose. “that has my saliva in it.”

you raise an eyebrow. “so? atleast it’s chocolate-flavored this time. your spit tastes like spit.”

“what does it taste like exactly?”

“water with a hint of mint?”

he sighs in defeat. nothing he says ever phase you, so why does he still try? so instead, he sits on your lap.

“yah, jungkook!” you gasp, hitting his back with your fists. femur, the strongest bone of the body- this must be the reason why god made them that way.

“you’re so- heavy! move!”

“no! give me back my protein shake!”

“i finished it! there was like three sips left, you dummy!” you groan, pushing him off with all your strength. he gets nudged off a little, and that’s your window of opportunity to make a move. you quickly part your thighs, and his butt ends up falling in the space between.

“here-” you hang your arm over his shoulder, waving the bottle infront of his face. he takes it from your hand, shaking it to check if you really finished it.

you didn’t. you just wanted to bicker.

he gulps down what is left with a satisfied hum, putting back the cover before setting it down on the left side of his table, far away from his equipment. he leans his back against you, reaching for your hands to wrap them around his waist. still heavy, but bearable.

if the protein shake wasn’t enough of an indication that he just finished working out, his damp hair touches your cheek. you shiver lightly at the coldness.

he clicks his tongue, staring at the ocean displayed as the wallpaper of his computer. “i’m hungry.”

at that, you feel your stomach grumble again. “me too.”

“did you eat the breakfast i left at the table?”

“i woke up late. i’m sorry.” you jut out your bottom lip, upset that you weren’t able to eat the food he prepared for you. “i put the berries in a lunchbox and ran out of the house.”

his lips brush against your cheek before he puckers them up to plant a kiss. “it’s okay. i picked the berries myself. went to three different farms.”

“now you’re just lying.” you flick his neck without force, and he winces dramatically. “i bought those at the supermarket.”

“but i bought the blueberries. now kiss it better.” he counters, pointing at his neck.

so needy and dramatic.

your arms wrap around his waist again to tug him closer. instead of kissing the part that you flicked, you go the other way to kiss his mole. your favorite, after the one under his lip. the light touch prompts jungkook’s heart to do somersaults inside his ribcage.

he intertwines his hand with yours over his stomach, and you end up back hugging him with your weight leaning forward. “how did your test go?”

“wasn’t sure about two questions, but i think i did pretty good.”

“hmm, that’s my baby.” he rasps, kissing the back of your hand.

you hide the overly pleased smile on your face, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “how ‘bout you?”

“oh, english is my next schedule. let’s go grab lunch first.” he checks his black wrist watch. “we have more than an hour. what do you want to eat?”

“sushi!” you blurt out, excitedly shaking his shoulders.

“okay!” he responds with the same level of enthusiasm, standing up from the chair to face you. “let’s get gimbap!”

“sushi.” you whine out, using the strength of your legs to anchor yourself to the chair when he tugs at your hand.

“but gimbap is better. let’s go.”

he laughs out loud when the chair starts rolling along with you as he tugs you towards the door. “you can’t bring the chair to the restaurant!”

you shake your head stubbornly. “love, sushi. i’ll order the ones with fish this time.”

“you? eating fish that isn’t tuna?” he raises an eyebrow skeptically. “i don’t trust you.”

“i’ll give them another chance. you can trust me this time.” you bat your eyelashes, making good use of your charms.

you will seriously try, but knowing yourself well, there is a 90% chance that your boyfriend will have to get them wrapped up for take-out and then order your usual.

and knowing him well too, he’s not difficult to persuade. “alright, sushi. let’s get it!”

“wait. my bag-” you turn back, reaching for the khaki shoulder bag you left on the couch.

“just leave it, baby. we’ll come back anyway.” he says impatiently, circling his arm around your waist to bring you outside of the studio with him.

“but i need my wallet because i’ll buy our lunch.” you scold him as you punch in the code of the locked door.

his face lights up comically at the mention of free food. “ah, really? then can i have ramen, too? oh! takoyaki!”

you roll your eyes at the cheeky smile on his lips, stepping foot inside his studio again. “okay. order anything you want.”

—

taglist! @alanniys @jjkeverlast @queenofdragonsandcats @yvesismywife @enhypenslay @cramseys @witchfqllen @virgogentlejk @rkie @jeonwiixard @monilyv @bermudaisy @ameliejeannelaurent @takochelle @the1921-monsters @investedreader @seagulljk @yeow6n @yoonqkiss @hopeworldjimin @lllucere @unnatae @zqynmlk @bxbyyyjocelyn @zkdlllin + send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

jungkook tying his hair up ♡ 🥹

Nam's one 😂

BTS as Florida man, volume LV

BTS as Florida man masterlist

dextrocardia | 17

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: uhm... blood, injuries to hands and feet...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 17/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Determined, Jeongguk drives west, soon swapping his car for another black one at the rental. While he waits for the staff to grab the right key, he enters an address into his phone’s GPS, scanning through the satellite images in preparation. 

Ideally, he would’ve scoped the place out beforehand. In person. But he doesn’t have that option, so he tells himself that it’ll be fine. He just has to be careful. 

A few moments later, he gets into the driver’s seat, driving the new car back east, passing both the station and not too far from your apartment building. There’s a part of him that wants to stop by, to beg you to come back with him, but he ignores it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t appreciate it.

Luckily, the sun has already set by the time he arrives at the address an hour later, providing him the cover of darkness. The street in front of the two-story suburban house is quiet, and he slows the car to a stop at a safe distance. He’s relieved to see a few other cars parked along the street, making it easier for him to blend in.

Despite not being trained in surveillance quite like you, Jeongguk tries to think two, even three steps ahead. He manually switches off the interior lights before killing the engine, ensuring no harsh lights give him away if someone happens to be watching. If that someone also happens to know him, he’s fucked. 

Surrounded by darkness, he quickly scans the area before slipping out of the driver’s seat and into the back. Hidden from view, he picks up the binoculars he borrowed from the station, leaning against the seat in front of him as he peers through them.

Although it’s dark, the streetlights and the glow from inside the house are enough, and he starts by inspecting the cars parked outside. They’re ordinary cars with plates he doesn’t recognize. Unlocking his phone—the brightness set as low as possible—he writes the plates down to look them up later.

Then, he turns his attention toward the house. It’s a white-painted home with a decent-sized porch that almost reminds him of the house he shared with you during the mission, only smaller. He keeps his gaze on it, noticing movement through the mostly curtain-covered windows on the bottom floor, but it's impossible to make out any details. Just shadows dancing against the beige fabric.

A sudden sound interrupts the silence, and through the side-view mirror, Jeongguk spots a vehicle approaching from behind. He ducks, staying completely still. The dark car passes, and a few seconds later, Jeongguk peeks out from behind the driver’s seat again. The driver is parking outside the house, and so Jeongguk holds his breath.

The door on the driver’s side opens, but the man inside is distracted by something in the passenger seat, and as he begins to step out, his face remains hidden from Jeongguk’s view. He’s wearing dark clothes; a thicker winter jacket of some kind, and his hair is black. Nothing incriminating or identifying.

Come one, come on.

With both feet on the ground, the man turns his head to quickly scan the street, and Jeongguk sinks back down in his seat, his eyes wide. 

JJ.

Jeongguk watches his coworker slam the door shut, only to round the car to seemingly grab something from the backseat floor out of view. A second later, JJ emerges with a small black bag in his hand—just like the one Sana briefly described to Jeongguk after he’d stumbled across her and Jihyo buried in papers and questioned them.

JJ heads for the front door of his “stepsister's” house, taking the two steps up in a single stride. Jeongguk watches him knock and then how he stands there, waiting for someone to open. Again, Jeongguk holds his breath, praying that tonight will lead to a breakthrough. 

It’s almost as if they know that Jeongguk is waiting, on the edge of his seat, because whoever is behind that door is taking their goddamn time. Additionally, his phone chooses the worst time to ring, the vibrations unnoticeable for his target but distracting for him. Then, the door opens, and Jeongguk’s dextrocardic heart skips a beat, and maybe it also fills his veins with anger.

Ryung.

You have a hard time putting your feelings into words, somehow satisfied by your recent breakthrough but also jittery and nervous about what it might mean. You could be one step closer to finally putting some very bad men behind bars, or at least try to, but you’ve also realized that, yeah, there’s a risk that you’re in more danger than you thought.

On one hand, you’re probably farther away from JJ (at least), but on the other hand, you’re alone. Although you didn’t stay with Jeongguk that long, it’s still taken you some time to get used to not living with him anymore. Your apartment is smaller than his house, but it’s a pretty home; recently renovated but with a homey feel to it. At least you try to convince yourself that.

“Okay, my phone’s about to die, but you have a safe flight. Bye,” you tell your mother, waiting for her goodbye before hanging up and slipping your phone into the front pocket of your black hoodie. 

Your mother. You’ve tried to keep her as unknowing and uninvolved as possible, and although she knows that the city’s police force has been dealing with some corruption, she doesn’t know that you’re in the middle of it. It’s been relatively easy to keep her in the dark, or at least in the shadows; she’s not the most updated person, preferring to stay off social media and only read physical newspapers now and again.

For the longest time, before everything unfolded and while you dealt with the harassment at work and the tampering of your car, you thought your end was inevitable, and you didn’t want to worry her. Now... well… you guess you still don’t want her to worry. It would be useless as there’s never been anything she could do to help you. If anything, she’d be in danger too.

Living alone again, you've set a new bedtime routine in place. It includes a hot drink—usually tea but sometimes cocoa—along with lazily scrolling the internet on your laptop with the lights dimmed while the TV hums in the background. It helps take your mind off things and the human voices make these dark nights feel less lonely.

Tonight, however, the nine o’clock news reported a mass shooting involving multiple gunmen not too far from your station, and you watched in horror as the news anchor described the chaos. Squad cars from neighboring districts had been called in to help your understaffed station handle the panicked crowds and roaming gunmen. As a criminal investigator, there’s nothing you can do to help; you’re not trained to handle a task like that. You think about your colleagues, mainly all the officers called in, hoping none of them get hurt tonight.

To calm your nerves, you put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboard in search of your tea. Maybe chamomile will calm you until there’s an update.

But you don’t have time to pick out a tea bag before there’s a sharp knock on your door. You freeze. It’s late—almost ten p.m.—and you haven’t really made friends with your elderly neighbors.

Swallowing hard, you turn around and very slowly make your way from the kitchen to the door. Your heart pounds against your ribs, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Maybe it's Jeongguk?

Holding your breath, you rise onto your toes to press your eye to the peephole. A chill runs down your spine, and your blood freezes.

It’s not Jeongguk. It’s Hoseong, and he’s dressed in black, staring right at you, smiling.

You stumble backward, body locking up in fear.

He looks the same as you remember him—tall and muscular with dark eyes. But his hair is longer now, nearly reaching his jaw. He used to seem so charming to you, but even if he mostly looks the same, all you see now is how unsettling he is.

“I know you’re in there,” he sings, hos voice teasing. “And a little bird told me you’ve been having trouble with your door. The latch, was it?”

He knows about your door? You step back slowly, heart pounding. What do you do? You always lock your door—like now—but lately, the latch has become misaligned. It’s a small issue. Barely noticeable. Just enough to make locking and unlocking tricky sometimes.

But there’s a gap. A weak spot.

Then, you hear it. It’s a faint, eerie sound, like someone sliding a thin object, maybe a credit card, into the door. As if to wiggle the latch loose.

What do you do?

Your first instinct is to scream for help, but when you think about it… Your neighbors are elderly, and Hoseong is definitely armed and on the warpath. The best thing they could do is call the understaffed, already busy cops. They can’t help you.

Instead, you rush to the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and wrapping your trembling fingers tight around your sharpest knife. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, followed by quick, angry footsteps.

Hoseong is smiling when he steps into view, a knife glinting in his hand. The smile is twisted, never reaching his eyes, and instinctively, you start to back up against the counter. He looks angry, frustrated, maybe even worn beyond the smile. You guess life on the run brings an element of stress.

“Finally, I’ve got you alone,” he seethes, striding toward you. “You’ve ruined my life, you know that? Fucking whore.”

You hold your knife out, preparing to defend yourself as best you can. But the truth is that Hoseong isn’t just a good bit bigger and a lot stronger than you—he’s also faster and more athletic. And most importantly, he’s trained to defend himself and disarm others in a way you just aren’t.

So when you thrust the knife toward him as he closes in, he dodges with ease and uses his free hand to grab your wrist hard. In one fluid motion, he clamps his knife between his teeth to get his other hand free, harshly yanking your knife from you. It clutters against the floor somewhere out of view. Next, he’s taking his knife back, shifting his grip on it, and preparing to strike.

With one hand still trapped in his grasp, you don’t get the angle or opportunity to disarm him like he did you. Instead, your left hand only manages to grab the blade. You’re not sure if you feel how it hurts or if you just know that it does, but something warm starts to drip down your hand as you try to keep the knife away from you, gritting your teeth.

Somehow, you manage to land a kick to his crotch, and despite the less-than-perfect angle, the pressure of the knife lessens as Hoseong stumbles back. Seizing the opportunity, you push him away with all your might, sprinting toward the only place with a lock. 

The bathroom. 

Almost instantly, Hoseong regains his balance, and he’s so close that you briefly feel the graze of his fingers in your hair as he sets off after you. Panicked, you grab anything within reach, hurling it back between you to slow him down. A tall, vintage vase crashes to the floor, a frustrated ‘fuck’ drawn from Hoseong, and it’s what buys you just enough time to reach the bathroom and lock the door behind you. A split second after you’ve twisted the lock, he’s yanking on the handle. Hard.

Alone in the bathroom, gasping for air, you fall to your knees. Blood is quickly collecting on your gray tile floor, and you have to look away from your shaky, torn-up hand. Your other hand reaches into the pocket of your hoodie, fumbling with the phone as you pull it out. It’s nothing more than pure luck that it didn’t fall out during the commotion. 

Suddenly, a booming crash shakes the door, and you both see and feel the impact as Hoseong tries to kick the door in. Quickly, you scramble to sit in front of it, pressing your back against it and planting your feet firmly on the floor.

You glance at your phone, already knowing there’s no use. The police won’t have anyone to send, and even if they did, Hoseong’s going to get you before they’ve even dispatched someone. Eyes blurry with tears, you press on a contact, lifting your phone to your ear and listening to the signals. 

“Hello?”

Hearing his familiar voice, the deep but slightly surprised greeting, is what does it, and you break further. He sounds like he didn’t expect you to call, probably because you’ve made it clear that you don’t want him around.

“Jeongguk?” you sniffle quietly, shakily, knowing that there’s nothing he can do either. All officers were called in, so he’s at least thirty minutes away. 

He must hear the overwhelming emotions in your voice because his next words are clearer, sharper, as if he adjusted the phone to hear better. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here–” you whisper, your voice trembling—especially when Hoseong kicks against the door again, the shockwaves hitting you.

“–What?” Jeongguk questions, and you hear rustling in the background.

“Yeah, Hoseong’s here, and he’s got me,” you cry, nearly dropping the phone as the door is hit again. You do your best to grip the device tightly. “I’m not gonna make–”

Silence. Not even the rustling you heard on his end. You lower the phone to look at the screen through tears, only to find it black and dead.

This time, you’re not gonna make it.

Closing your eyes, you try to get a deep breath in. Maybe two. You know it’s inevitable, but are you just going to wait for it? Desperately, you open your eyes again, looking around the blood-stained bathroom for something—anything—to use as a weapon or shield when Hoseong inevitably breaks the door down. 

But there’s nothing, and hit after hit rattles the door against your back. You’re not sure why he didn’t bring a gun. Of course, he’ll succeed tonight anyway, but a gun would’ve spared him some effort and you some unnecessary terror. Sure, someone might hear a gunshot, but he’s not being very quiet now either. You have a feeling he saw his undisturbed opportunity with the mass shooting happening and the police stretched thin. If someone in the building has called, it will still be a while before anyone arrives. He'll be done and on his way by then.

Despite the lack of weapons and protection, your eyes focus on something you can use to at least buy you some time. You stand up on shaky legs, quickly heading over to the bathtub, and with all your might, try to drag and push it in front of the door. Adrenaline still pumps through your veins, but you’re starting to feel the pain of your hand, blood smearing across the white porcelain. 

The tub is incredibly heavy, but even in your state, you manage to wedge one end against the door. You’re fairly certain that it’ll keep Hoseong from breaking the door in, but the tub only reaches your thigh, and Hoseong might break through the door above it. After all, it’s of the flimsier kind, and you’re surprised it’s held on for so long already.

Or, he might realize–just like you have–that the door doesn’t swing inward. It swings out.

“You can’t hide in there forever,” Hoseong pauses his assault on the door, his voice the angriest you’ve ever heard. “You won’t be able to weasel your way out this time.”

“Why can’t you just let it go?” you finally yell, your voice strained.

“Let go? Let go?” He spits the words with fury, his rage palpable. “You’ve ruined my life, you understand that, right?! Either I live the rest of my life on the run, or I risk rotting away in jail just because you couldn’t let it go.”

You want so badly to yell obscenities at him, insult him for being too stupid to realize that he ruined his own life. He decided to assault you, turn everyone against you, and make attempts on your life. He took the risk, and he only has himself to blame now that karma is chasing him. But you don’t voice those thoughts, fearing that it would only fuel his anger and that’s the last thing you need.

“But how does this help? Coming here to hurt me now? If anything you’ll only risk a longer time in jail?”

“I don’t care,” he argues, his voice still dripping with hatred. “Life on the run will be better knowing that you’re six feet under and that your heroic boyfriend couldn’t save you.”

And then, there’s silence again. It doesn’t last long, but there’s something eerie about those four or five seconds before you hear a sharp metallic sound. 

Eyes widening, you realize that yeah, he’s also figured out that the door swings outward—he doesn’t need to kick the door in if he can unscrew the latch instead. That's what the metallic scraping is; his knife working the lock.

Your heart pounds as you frantically scan the room again. Maybe if you could wedge a broomstick or something under the handle and across the door frame? But there’s no broomstick. There’s nothing. So you’re left holding your breath and waiting for him to succeed. It feels like ages, but it’s probably only a minute or so before the lock falls to the floor with a metallic clang.

You back away from the bathtub and the door, knowing that it most likely won’t make any difference. And you’re right—the door swings open half a second later, a raging Hoseong setting his eyes on you and charging.

You try to dodge him, but he grabs you by your wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom. You stumble as he drags you out, your hip banged violently and painfully against the tub. 

“You fucking whore. You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done,” he promises, making sure to drag you across the vase shards on the way back to the kitchen.

In vain, you try to avoid them, wincing when they cut your feet. Your pain makes Hoseong—who’s of course wearing shoes—laugh, but he stops when you surprise him by throwing yourself to the floor.

The shard you grab cuts your skin, but you try to ignore the pain as you drive the sharp point into his back, piercing through his thin black jacket. Hoseong curses and his posture falters, but you doubt it did any real damage even if it hurt, and you’re right. You barely have time to blink before he whirls around, swinging his knife at you. Unfortunately, you don’t dodge the blow completely, and you feel how it swipes your side.

Still holding your wrist in a tight grip, it’s Hoseong’s turn to stumble when you yank on it in an unexpected direction; the kitchen sink. You manage to get a few steps closer, and that’s all you need. As he swings again, you reach for the kettle, hurling the scalding water over him. Some of the scattered drops hit your face and hands, stinging as they land on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the pained yell Hoseong lets out as he drops your hand and staggers back.

Exhausted and in pain, you'd hoped it would be the end of it, but it's not. Seemingly running on nothing but fumes, adrenaline, and anger, Hoseong straightens up, and then he’s focusing on you yet again, gritted teeth and angrier than ever.

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