˖ ֹ੭୧ Jυᥒgko̲oK ⊹ ࣪ (13)

You met Jungkook on a completely random night on Omegle.
The screen loaded, you stared at each other for two seconds and started laughing. You didn't understand a word he was saying; he seemed equally lost with your language. Yet, ten minutes later, you had exchanged Instagram handles.
It was supposed to end there. It didn't. Translated messages followed, audio recordings that neither of you quite understood, inside jokes, and late-night conversations. Without realizing it, you had built a strangely genuine friendship across two different languages ​​and an entire ocean.
And you two were too similar. The endless parties, loud music, too many people, drinks. Jungkook lived in Korea, worked as a mechanic, and had a motorcycle that seemed like an extension of himself. He lived alone in a small, always messy apartment, with clothes scattered everywhere.
He also had that kind of look that could fool anyone: too handsome, arm covered in tattoos, lip piercings, a provocative gaze. The kind of guy someone would point at and say: that one's no good.
After so many months, the inevitable idea arose: to meet in person.
Jungkook was going to his country. He just lacked the courage. And a date.
That night, you were on a call again. You were lying in bed while he appeared on the screen with messy hair. "Maybe next month?" he asked, translating his own sentence.

You laughed. "Maybe..." Neither of you realized that "maybe" was getting too close to becoming reality. A few weeks later, you were at a party. Colorful lights, the music made the floor vibrate, and you were dancing with your friends when your cell phone vibrated.
Jungkook: I'm at the airport.
You froze. The music continued. Your smile slowly faded as you stared at the message. Then another one appeared.
Jungkook: I think I've finally arrived in your country.