Chapter Text
Judging by the angle of the sunlight filtering through your blinds, remaining to hover only just above the horizon, it is clear that it is currently a time that you should still, most definitely, be completely dead asleep. Whoever is pounding their fist against your front door seriously needs to piss right off. Otherwise, your early-morning murderous tendencies will begin to take form in 1. your barely suppressed rage, and 2. the baseball bat hidden underneath your bed.
For an infinitesimal moment—amidst you weighing up the possibility of being granted parole if you were to enact second-degree murder on your front doorstep—the knocking stops. But before you can truly appreciate the pleasant buzz in your ears from the sharp, repetitive sound fading into a comfortable silence, the screeching tune of your ringtone flares to life on your bedside table.
“Mother–“ You slam your hand down on the device, blearily looking at the screen to swipe your finger across the ‘answer’ button before continuing to scream into the speaker– “Fucker! Leave me in peace!”
“Never. I have coffee. Answer the door, hoe–”
Mercilessly hanging up, you roll onto your back with your eyes closed. A low, guttural groan emits from your chest due to the voice of your best friend, Kim Taehyung, attempting to bribe you into coherency with your sole point of weakness. And he fucking knows it.
It is an agonisingly difficult decision to make. You could leave the plush comfort of your toasty bed, snatch the coffee out of his hands, and then slam the door back in his face. Or, you could simply abandon the delight of having a coffee until later when you can make one with your own devices. This way, you can snuggle ever deeper into your pillows, and let sleep lift the dreaded weight of being alive from your conscious for a few more hours.
But the further you dwell on the issue at hand, the rising con of the entire dilemma continues to raise its ugly head. That is, Taehyung is not a man who easily gives up. He refuses to take rejection as the immediate answer, most especially when it comes down to you. So, even if you were to put either plan that ultimately results in avoiding him as much as possible into action, he would burn up his phone battery with persistent calls to your cellphone. Even if you turned the device off, he would resort to beating that door down until his fists are no more than bloody stumps at the ends of his wrists.
Thus, the undesirable fact of the matter is that, either way, you are going to have to face Taehyung. And you really do not think you are currently sane enough to do so because, really, is anyone sane if they can be a fully functioning human being before eight in the morning? You rest your case.
As if on cue, the knocking starts again in an increasing staccato. You faintly consider taking the baseball bat with you. Although cracking his skull open may not solve all of your problems, it will at least get rid of three.
You swipe your phone from the bedside table and disconnect the second call trying to ring through. After swinging your legs off the edge of the bed with a disgruntled sigh, you navigate your way through the house with your eyes mostly shut. Your shoulders bounce and thump against the walls while you lethargically progress towards the source of the continuous sound, pounding away like nails being hammered into your temples.
You barely notice in your half-asleep state that, the nearer you approach, the more apparent the sound of boyish voices on the other side of the barrier—separating you from your source of hot, liquefied energy—comes to be. So when you abruptly unlock the front door and swing it open, you are channelling too much focus into ducking out of the way of Taehyung’s knocking fist—which nearly punches you straight in the face—to immediately realise that it is not just him who is trespassing on your front yard.
Expect the unexpected, is always the motto that labels your group of friends. Evidently, today is no exception.
Crookedly parked on the curb that marks the end of your parent’s property is Kim Seokjin’s dual-cab Hilux. The tray is piled high with what seems to be camping supplies in an array of canvas and polyester materials, all strapped down by knotted ropes. The owner of the vehicle himself stands with his hands on his hips. His expression is affronted as he debates about something unintelligible with Kim Namjoon, who is seemingly inspecting a tyre. You make out the words wheel alignment before you focus your gaze onto your one, true tormentor.
Taehyung, without a single takeaway coffee cup in sight, stands on your doorstep with his empty hands hanging limply at his sides. You suspiciously narrow your eyes, and guilt leeches into his tone as he says, “I don’t have coffee, but we’ll be getting some on the way.”
“Rude,” you pitifully kick at him, and he swiftly dodges your foot with practised ease. “What time is it? And on the way to where?”
“Probably just coming up to seven in the AM,” Taehyung chirps, as if it is such a humane time of the day to be this energetic. You can already feel your body sagging with sheer dread at the ungodly hour of the morning, wishing to collapse into the soft cotton of your sheets as your eyes slip closed once more. “But on the note of where, we’re going to the lake that’s three hours up north to get slizzard like lizards. So hey, come camping with us!”
“What the hell,” you grunt, resting your forehead on the doorjamb. You crack one eye open, squinting blearily against the morning sunlight. You can barely comprehend anything that your best friend—who you are slowly beginning to realise has no concept of forewarning people who prefer to sleep-in about such elaborate events—is saying. Your gaze narrows onto a certain someone who is now flailing in the distance over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Is Seokjin wearing pink crocs?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Hmph.”
“So are you in, or are you in?”
You glare at him. “It sounds like you’re not giving me much of a choice on the matter.”
“I’m not,” he grins like a million-dollar lottery winner. “All you have to bring is a pillow and a bag of clothes. We can share my tent and the double-mattress.”
“And exactly how long have you known about this camping trip?”
“Since last night. Jeongguk suggested we invite you, but that was at like, eleven-thirty, so I knew you would already be asleep. I messaged you, though.”
The latter end of his sentence goes unheard. Your hearing zeroes in on that particular name with a riveting jolt of electricity up your spine. Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon I-want-you-to-fuck-me-ten-ways-to-Sunday-and-back Jeongguk. Suggested we invite you.
You sound a lot more breathless than you should. “You… you what?”
“Texted you,” Taehyung huffs. You bring your phone to chest-level and light up the screen to see that, indeed, Taehyung had sent you two messages just before eleven-thirty last night.
Received [23:28PM]: tHe PaL oF aLl PaLs
get your vodka face on hoe, we goin’ camping
expect chauffeur at ass crack o’ dawn
“Huh,” you murmur, scowling at the message. You then direct your glare at Taehyung, who seems to legitimately believe that the texts were the perfect forewarning of his arrival at such a sacrilege hour of sleep. “Well I’ll damn be–”
“___!”
Quite literally out of nowhere, Jeon Jeongguk himself leaps onto the patio beside Taehyung, nearly knocking him over in the process like a bowling pin, and successfully startling a screech out of you.
He is the twenty-one-year-old college sophomore who Park Jimin, another addition to your small family of friends, has shared dance classes with since the beginning of last year. Jeongguk was still a freshman then. But he was eventually dragged out to meet the rest of you at-the-time sophomores and seniors for a night down at the college tavern. A place that was highly frequented by the suffering second and third year students.
In your defence, you were beyond the point of a little tipsy by that time of the evening. Thus, your exceptionally loud proclamation of: “Oh my god, he looks like a tiny, baby bunny!” as the first words that the poor kid heard from anyone was mostly excused to your severe lack of sobriety. It was also quick to be smothered by Taehyung, who had covered your mouth and put you in a five-minute headlock. On the other hand, everyone around the table had sputtered into drunken laughter and very vocal agreement.
Albeit he was slightly flustered by your ebullient announcement—and the even more boisterous response that it received—Jeongguk took the remark as a compliment. Rather than, you know, a warning sign that he should pack up his things and run for the hills while he can. Yet, from there onwards, he secured himself a position in your tight social circle as the family favourite; the precious kid that you would all pride over and adore.
Indeed, young, freshman Jeongguk was a darling combination of baby fat cheeks, spindly limbs like a sapling, and large, bunny teeth that would often rest on the jut of his lower lip when he was deeply concentrating. The kind of cute that you want to tuck into your pocket and protect with every inch of your own life, which all seven of you did without question. Besides, it was no hidden secret that Jeongguk lived for the attention. He was always leaning into palms when they would ruffle his hair; nuzzling into fingers when they would cup his cheeks and coo over him; pressing against arms and shoulders on Hoseok and Jimin’s small, ratty couch during Friday movie nights to sap all the body warmth that he could get.
As the year progressed and the friendship ties with the newest addition were sewn all the tighter, you never took much notice of the fact that Jeongguk would brush away the hands of the other guys, and declare his preferences for the only person who was sans a third leg. AKA, you. And to nobody else but you, the sparkle in his eye when you would douse him in your affections was nothing more than that: his eyes catching the sunlight. Frankly, you had no intentions of believing it was anything beyond the midday illumination that was flickering in his iris. Even if Taehyung would be waggling his eyebrows in the distance, and Jimin would be nudging your side with his elbow, making irritable sounds of assumption that would only cease once you grabbed his arm and bent it behind his back.
But it was not until after the winter break that the greatest threat to your existence came to rear its head in a process that you honestly should have foreseen. Jeongguk’s very own kind—the precious fledglings still teetering on the edge of their teenage youth in the two years that surpass its defining bracket—have always been the number one casualty to such lethal evolution, after all.
College puberty.
It is exactly as it sounds. Where general puberty draws the path between childhood and becoming a teenager with the sprouting of hairs in places that no kid could have ever imagined, and the muscle pains that pull infant limbs into jumbles of gangly and awkward; college puberty is precisely the same. Except jacked up on steroids and protein powder, with a side-serving of flirtatious and audacious.
Victim number one, Jeon Jeongguk, slipped into this precise trap while you were studying abroad up until the end of those holidays.
Coming home, you were expecting everything to be the same as when you had left. For the most part, everything was. Your parents were still working abroad nearly every week. Seokjin was still studying like a madman with the fierce intent of making the most of his college tuition. Yoongi remained to have square eyes from staring at the producing software on his desktop for eight hours straight per session. Namjoon had not stopped writing strange Facebook posts about existentialism and the flawed concept of reality hours after midnight. Hoseok had burned himself through two pairs of sneakers, and had practically wore away the lacquer that oiled the floorboards of his dance academy’s practice room. Jimin was still partying like tomorrow would never exist, and was sticking his dick inside of anyone, anything that would give him the consent to do so. Taehyung, of course, had remained to be a pain in the ass that you loathed to adore.
Taehyung had also texted you a slew of emojis the minute your plane landed on the soil of home, jumbled amongst random words such as “muscles” and “bunny”. Hinting at your foredooming. In all of your stupidity, you had not considered in the slightest that maybe the guy was onto something.
Nonetheless, from what you could see, nothing at all had changed during the two months of your absence. In other words, you were completely oblivious and utterly defenceless to the slaughter that your heart and underwear had been bound to endure. A fateful occurrence that had come to fruition on the first night that you had met up with the gang at the college tavern.
The moment you had entered the bar on that fresh, chilly night was when you had noticed the anomaly on the otherwise picture perfect graph of unchanged constants. That teeny, infinitesimal dot of difference was leaning against the service register, waiting for the next round of drinks to be served up so he could take them to the usual table where the rest of your friends were already tipsy.
At first, standing frozen in the entrance of the tavern with the door slowly swinging shut behind you, you could not believe that it was him. You had even briefly considered that he was a close relative or a freakishly similar doppelgänger, who just so happened to attend the same college as the rest of you.
Because Jeon Jeongguk did not have shoulders that broad the last time you saw him. His jeans were never that snug around his newly sculpted ass. Nor did they hug his larger, solid thighs in such a way that not even a finger looked as though it could fit itself between the denim and his skin.
But all of the doubt that was sprouting from your certain identity misplacement had been washed away by a tidal wave of shock when the Jeongguk-lookalike who, in fact, was your very own Jeongguk, turned away from the bar.
A tray of eight pints had been loaded onto his exposed, veiny forearms that bulged from the rolled-up sleeves of his navy, button-down shirt. In the midst of that ninety-degree swivel, his eyes had vaguely passed over your wholly still figure before doing a double-take. Beer foam had slushed over the edges of the glasses in the abrupt whiplash when he noticed that it was you who had been stunned into a silent gawker.
Jeongguk had opened his mouth, closed it, and then repeated the action like a startled fish. All the while, you had stared at his face with an expression of growing disbelief as you had taken in the lack of baby fat cheeks; the newly sharpened edge of his jaw; the mature set to his eyebrows that were on complete, unadulterated display with the way that his dark fringe had been styled away from his forehead. It was a sight that was utterly unacceptable, and so totally not the adorable Jeon Jeongguk that you had farewelled at the beginning of winter.
But apparently, while you were gone, Jeongguk had discovered the campus accommodation’s gym and the 4oz jar of Suavecito Pomade that Namjoon uses liberally on his own hair. An unpredictably toxic combination that had kept you rooted in position while Jeongguk had hastily placed the tray back down on the bar to free his hands.
“___!” he had exclaimed in a tone that was three notches deeper, blasting you with his traditional bunny grin that was suddenly not as endearing as it used to be. Rather, it was a fierce, heart-melting juxtaposition to the entirety of his primed form and projected overwhelming desire into your very soul.
Jeongguk had then strode over and lifted you with startling ease into his arms, murmuring a gentle I missed you into your hair. His touch was a defibrillator reviving your unresponsive heart back to life. Melting into his chest, you had finally caved with a grin of your own and wrapped your arms around his neck.
It was there that a distant part of you had wholeheartedly accepted that you were a fucking goner. Jeongguk officially had his foot stuck in a trap that was designed to drag you down into your own personal hell of tantalising imagination and drool-worthy daydreaming.
That is, Jeongguk, physically, had transformed into a panty-dropping man. Yet he still honed the heart of gold that knew just the right ways to tempt your own.
Fast forward seven months: Jeongguk is now on your doorstep in low-riding grey sweatpants and a black Puma hoodie that matches his same-branded sneakers. He rakes a hand through his distressed bed-hair, wearing a grin soft with sleep. Taehyung is still recovering from the bump that nearly barrelled him off the patio and into your mother’s beloved petunias, theatrically balancing himself against the wall.
What the fuck. He looks unfairly handsome in sweatpants.
“Jeongguk,” you breathe, smiling; trying to not make it obvious that you feel like the walking dead. “So I hear you’re the reason behind this rude wake-up call.”
“Guilty as charged,” he admits, oozing confidence, even at this absurd hour.
You wonder—certainly not for the first time—whether it is just a switch that never flicks off when you are packing an extra fifteen kilos in muscle weight. The comfortable wear of polyester does nothing to hide it, either. It only makes the harsh angles gentler, warmer, as if you might sink right into his chest like maple syrup if he was to wrap his arms around you. Something sweet fizzes in your stomach at the thought.
You only realise Jeongguk had continued to speak once he lowers his head so that your eyes are levelled. He leans in with a quirk of his brow and a cheeky remark of, “You in there, ___?”
You blink, focusing back on him. Jeongguk’s newfound proximity allows a waft of oaky cologne to drift into your senses, sending you into a mild state of delirium. In a meagre attempt to dispel the heat that trickles into the high points of your cheeks, you pinch the bridge of your nose and squint your eyes closed in faux irritation.
"Yes, you ass," you mutter, and Jeongguk’s chuckle recedes as he straightens up. You open your eyes to teasingly glare at him, all the while he wedges his balled up fists into the pouch of his hoodie with a grin.
You fix your gaze on Taehyung, who is brushing off his torso and observing the interaction with a peculiar glint to his iris, which you choose to ignore. "So, what's the plan?"
At that, both of their expressions light up, voices stumbling over one another as they simultaneously say, "You're going to come?"
"Did you really think I was going to say no after you guys dragged me out of bed like this before seven? On a Saturday?” you huff with a twinge of exasperation. They at least have the common sense to look a little sheepish amongst their excitement.
"That's the spirit!" Taehyung hoots, bustling through the doorway and gathering you in a hug that quite literally squeezes a groan out of you. You barely have the chance to reciprocate before he is pulling away and setting his large palms on your shoulders, lips curved in a grin that screams mischief. You one-hundred-and-ten percent have no desire to delve into the reason why. "And chill, man. I promise you can sleep during the drive. Turn that frown upside down and get your things.”
Taehyung looks over his shoulder at Jeongguk, who watches the two of you with his tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek. But it morphs into something tender when Taehyung continues to say, "Jeonggukie, help her out."
"What– No, that's fine!" you fluster, a burning sensation climbing up your throat as you recall the catastrophic state of your bedroom. You grab at Taehyung's wrists to pry his hands from your shoulders, eyes wildly darting between them in a mild panic. "Bag of clothes and a pillow, right? I'll be out in five minutes."
Taehyung gives a sound of acknowledgement before walking back over to Seokjin and Namjoon, whereas Jeongguk remains to hover at the entrance. He looks faintly disappointed, though perhaps you are not nearly as awake as you initially thought, and you mistake the drop in his expression. To ease the atmosphere, you stick your tongue out at him. Then, you turn on your heel to go make the most of those five minutes of peace. Lord knows that Taehyung is already counting down the seconds.
But you are stopped in your tracks by the sound of Jeongguk's voice chasing sweetly after you, tinted with a shade of innocent goading.
"Cute pyjamas, ___," and you can hear the damn grin in his tone, which brings your attention to the apparent lack of that hangs from your figure.
You wear nothing but a tattered shirt, stamped with the faded logo of your university. You received as a freebie during orientation week two years ago; an old, stained thing that is two sizes too big and terribly revealing of your legs. Most of all, it is beyond far from the definition of cute.
Feeling the embarrassment begin to spread to your fingers and toes, you whirl around to bite back with a cutting remark, or perhaps, throw your phone at him. But Jeongguk is already gone like the sneaky motherfucker he is. Thus, you resort to internally screeching at your lack of decorum before storming away to collect your things and change into something substantially more adequate.
By the time you are locking up the house, the sun has climbed a few inches higher, and you are feeling vaguely more human. Your softest pillow is hiked under your arm; a duffel bag is looped over your shoulder by the strap. The daggy, makeshift pyjama-wear has been replaced with a white summer dress, partially covered by a cropped, coffee-cream knit sweater. Jeongguk and Namjoon are already in the car, with Namjoon riding shotgun and Jeongguk seated directly behind him. Seokjin is nowhere to be seen, and Taehyung is leaning against the ute’s tray, irritably tapping his foot like you are a student who is late to class.
"That felt more like seven minutes to me," he brusquely comments, and you ceremoniously flip him off.
“I was saving you guys from my morning breath,” you retort, making a show of running your tongue over your minty, pearly whites. You bat your best friend out of the way with your pillow. “Move aside, slick. What’s the rush, anyway?”
“He’s having separation anxiety from Jimin, who’s carpooling with Hobi and Yoongi,” Seokjin says, popping out from behind the mountain of camping gear. He circles the vehicle in his vibrant pink crocs to stand right before you, regarding your belongings. “Hm, you’ll have to keep those at your feet. They would fit in the tray if somebody hadn’t brought–” His voice rises, leaning back to narrow his stare at the window of the passenger seat– “A goddamn chainsaw!”
Distinctly, you can hear the squeaks of the shoddy window attempting to be briskly wound down. Your eyes remain glued to the haphazard collection of tents and mattresses. “I don’t understand how a chainsaw fits into this equation?“
“Firewood, you sons of bitches,” Namjoon spits scornfully. His head is tilted at a ninety-degree angle to fit through the small gap, made by his feeble attempt of winding the glass down. “I’m saving us the time and energy of scavenging for shitty branches that can barely catch flame. So bow down to me and my genius thinking, peasants. I’m King of the Forest. The Messiah of the Lake. Lord of the–“ Thankfully, Jeongguk cuts Namjoon off with a firm kick to the back of his seat, causing Namjoon to yelp and yank his head back into the car to try and twist the nipples of the youngest.
Taehyung, Seokjin and yourself all spare glances at one another before collectively rolling your eyes. The three of you wordlessly move around the Hilux to jump inside and get the show on the road. Seokjin puts the gears in neutral and starts the engine to warm it up as Taehyung opens the backdoor. Inside, Jeongguk is all bunched up and cosy in his corner of the vehicle, taking in your change of attire with drooping eyelashes and a sweet smile. Your best friend ushers your now flustered self forward with a dramatic sweep of his arm, but you shake your head.
“You take the middle seat, it’s roomy enough,” you say, lifting up your pillow and swallowing the feeling of your heartbeat. “I want to lean this on the window and get the shuteye you promised me.”
“Fair call,” he says, pursing his lips. He almost appears reluctant, but you choose not to question it.
Taehyung climbs in beside an obscurely disgruntled Jeongguk with you following on his heels. You firmly shut the door behind you and place the bag at your feet, leaning forward while you do so to look past Taehyung and scrunch your nose up at the youngest. At that, Jeongguk’s taut expression melts into an endearing little grin that has your heart bounding against your ribcage.
“Alright kids, ready to go?” Seokjin vigorously whoops as he steadily drives the ute off the curb, which is reciprocated by varying levels of excitement from the rest of you. Taehyung throws his arms up and cheers; Jeongguk gives a noncommittal fist pump; Namjoon merrily dances until he painfully cracks his elbow against the centre console; you fluff your pillow up against the window and then bury your face into it.
“Nams, get on the beats, my dude,” you hear Taehyung say. A familiar hand jostles your knee. “___, will you be able to sleep with music playing?”
You peak out of the downy plush with one eye cracked open. “At this stage, I could sleep through the apocalypse. Go for your lives.”
“Sweet!” Taehyung squeezes your leg before releasing it, and you return to your corner of facial comfort. “There’s nothing like the early-2000 hits of a So Fresh CD before eight in the morning.”
His statement is met by two groans of distaste and a sole vociferation of agreement, which distinctly sounds like Namjoon. The pair of them shuffle through a small stack of CD’s, deciding on which So Fresh year to kick off the three-hour trip with. The Hilux picks up a monotonous reverberation that vibrates through your muscles, tingling your bones and making them feel slack and heavy.
Despite the dreadful time of day, you cannot deny the excitement that flickers inside of you at the thought of going on an adventure with your best friends for the first time in years. Camping had been a regular occurrence once Seokjin and Yoongi earned their licenses. The seven of you would always head to the lake that Taehyung’s parents and your own would holiday at when you were both kids.
Now, it is a rarity to indulge in. It is hardly common for all seven of you to have matching schedules of free-time outside of university and your respective part-time jobs. The last time you went as a group, all but Yoongi and Seokjin were seventeen, the two of them being eighteen years old, which was at least five years ago. None of you even knew of Jeongguk back then.
That thought settles tight in your stomach; a knot of exhilarating uncertainty, tightening with the knowledge that he was the one who said to bring you along. There is no doubt that, over the past seven months, a small bud of something has planted itself within your chest. A something that carefully and unsurely blooms with every new interaction that you have with Jeongguk. Whether it be catching him staring at you from across the room, spending your free-time on a Wednesday studying together at the library, or the frequent manner in which his fingertips brush your sides, shoulders, lower back, in the most tender of ways. So gentle that, sometimes, you hardly even notice it.
Sure, the both of you have been friends for nearly two years, at this stage. But the level of tentative intimacy and hazy tension has steadily grown since Jeongguk’s transformation. The basis of your every interaction has become centred on stolen glances, private smiles, and flirtatious comments that have you biting your lip, cheeks glowing with heat.
Jeongguk hardly hones a shred of the adorable, young aura of his freshman year anymore. Maybe that is why you could only ever see him as the little brother of the group back then, no matter that he was twenty-years-old and knuckling down on his first semester for Screen Production.
Now, he catches attention like a Venus flytrap. It took a while for the group to get used to it. Though it quickly became commonplace that, wherever the lot of you would go, Jeongguk was bound to be pulled up by anyone and everyone who would try to weasel the ten-digits of his phone number out of him.
And much like the carnivorous plant, Jeongguk lures in the unsuspecting prey with his unbearably appealing looks and charming personality. He practically has the poor victims drooling all over him like lapdogs, desperate for attention. Yet at the very moment they believe they have him, perhaps gingerly placing a hand on an area of his body that hints with lustful suggestion, the pin drops and Jeongguk snaps shut. The warm smile freezes over into a icy facade. Whatever sentence he was speaking is curtly severed at the centre. He quickly downs the rest of his drink, and abruptly brushes past the suddenly perplexed prey, who watches on with wide, stupefied eyes as Jeongguk strides away without a single glance back at them.
It tends to be convenient for you, as this kind of incident usually occurs right around the time you are stuck in a sticky situation with an overly drunk guy who cannot take a goddamn hint. Jeongguk always magically sweeps in to save you with an arm around your shoulders and a hard glare directed at the drunkard.
“Why do you do that?” you had asked one night, arm looped through his own as you had walked down the empty streets together. You were staring up at the murky night sky; vodka still tasted toxic on the roof of your mouth.
Jeongguk had hummed, feeling warm against your side. “Do what?”
“Abandon a solid opportunity to… y’know,” you had given a vague jerking off gesture with your free hand, slanting your gaze to him with a raise of your brows, “relieve some stress? You always get up and leave them, right when they’re just about ready to take you home. You butter them up for it too, like a real dick cheese.”
He had looked down at you then, remained silent for a while, contemplation dancing around in his eyes like the stars pinwheeling above. You had been on the cusp of certainly intoxicated, a pleasant heat soaking your limbs, vision attaining a fuzzy vignette at the edges. You had sworn there was a secret hiding between his damp, rosy lips. But it may have merely been the shadows playing tricks, for the boy had stared right back at you and bit down on his truths.
“I start realising they’re not worth my time.”
“Truly, a dick cheese,” you had scoffed, and Jeongguk had done nothing but laugh in response until his lungs could no longer manage.
So, whether the feelings are requited is another question entirely. Maybe, you are waiting for him to snap shut on you too; to realise his time best be wasted elsewhere, crushing the bloom of something that is beginning to spread dangerously close to your heart. Maybe, that is a thought for you to push aside and deal with when you are alone and can sort out your feelings. You refuse to be woken up this early just to have your good mood dampened before the trip has truly begun.
Ten minutes into the drive, and the four boys are singing along to the lyrics of Because I Got High by Afroman. With your temple bouncing against the pillow, and a smile tilting the corners of your lips at their theatrics, you slip back into the slumber that you deserve.