࣪︎ ꣑୧ ˳ Jʋngkoꪮ𝗸 ˳ ֹ ׅ﹙ 01 ﹚

The restaurant sign flickers behind you, illuminating the empty parking lot in jagged flashes. The smell of recent rain mingles with stale coffee and the artificial sweetness of strawberry shortcake. Your apron is damp and wrinkled; the fabric of your T-shirt clings to your back, uncomfortable. Each gust of wind from the highway lifts your skirt slightly, but offers no relief.

Your hair lost its shape a while ago. Half of it is still tied up, the other half loose and frizzy, strands plastered to your skin. You sigh, looking at your phone, your thumb hesitating over the screen. You just want to get home.

You call your brother, he answers on the third ring, distracted, talking to someone else at the same time. —I can't right now— he says quickly—I'm busy, call Jungkook— and hangs up.

You stare at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary. As if it might change. As if it were going to give you another option.

Jungkook, your brother's best friend. The boy who arrived from Korea years ago and, without you even realizing it, became a part of everything. Your house, your days, your thoughts… more than you'd like to admit.

You could skip the call, you could walk; it's not that far. Maybe a mile and a half if the storm doesn't get worse.

But the sky rumbles in the distance, deep, announcing that the rain hasn't completely stopped. Your feet ache. And, though you may not want to admit it, he always appears when you need him.

There's something in your chest that tightens when you think of him. Something soft, almost dangerous, that you've been trying to ignore for a long time.

You take a deep breath and, before you can change your mind, you press his name.

The phone barely rings once before I answer.

—Yes?—Her voice is low, calm, with that slight accent that never completely disappeared. Familiar. Too familiar.

"Jungkook?" you say, hating how your voice barely cracks.

A second of silence.

—Hey… are you okay?