❝ Resistance❞
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I STARED AT THE WALL IN FRONT OF ME, the clock ticking behind me. Two days have passed—nothing changed. Jihee is the same, Jungkook is the same, I don't even go out of the room anymore, somehow—I just want to go back home.

Everyday, every second, seemed like an eternity for me, every thought was—when will these six months end? When will I meet my father?—I rested my hand against the table, turning to the window, the rain was pouring outside, it had been a while.

The door creaked, I turned around to see Hana, she peeked from the door, dark-circles around her eyes—she seemed tired. I raised my brows at her, getting up. "What's wrong?" I asked her softly.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Here." She extended her hand out to me, a slim magazine clutched in her hand, I glanced at her, before taking it from her hand, the title was in italic and large letters, Best Destinations for Vacations.

My brows arched, confusion in my heart, I didn't even process what this book in my hand would mean. At this point—I wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook sends me to an abandoned island too. I looked over at Hana, who seemed to have understood my confusion well.

"Ah, didn't sir tell you?" Her voice echoed in the large room, my confusion raised, I knitted my brows as I hastily shook my head at her. She sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. "You have to select a place to visit." She said.

As she turned on her heels, I suddenly stopped her with a question, "What place? Am I going somewhere?" She turned her head only slightly, face blank. "Not 'I', it's us—" She grinned, walking to the door,

"You and sir are going on a honeymoon."

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New York, Italy, Rome, Austria.

So many places—my eyes laid straight on the book on my lap, there were so many countries—I didn't even know some of them existed. My lips puckered in a small pout—it was a habit. Whenever I was confused, my lips automatically turned into a pout.

I turned the page, my eyes coming to a full stop, my matt-red painted fingers laying flatly on one name, 'Paris'. My lips pressed into a thin line, New York was like a full-course meal for me,

I wish I was born in Paris.

I smiled, my eyes slowly disappearing and the sides of my eyes closing in small lines—this is it!—I mentally cheered, I quickly marked it with a marker, closing the book as I placed it on the table beside the bed.

I grinned, leaning against the frame of the bed, I looked over at the clock—8:14—I turned to the door when I heard footsteps, my heart alarming, I quickly panicked, laying on the bed as I pulled the sheets over my body, closing my eyes as I pretended to sleep.

For the past two days, this is how I avoid seeing Jungkook, I don't want to see his face—

This is how it'll work. I'll ignore him for six months, it'll be easy.

I felt my heart clutch in my ribcage as the door opened, I heard a tired sigh, followed by a small thud. Gosh, he has to throw his clothes like that?—I clutched my hands under the sheets, my eyes closed tightly.

I felt the side of the bed dig, before I felt fingers touching my face, can he stop that already?—he sighed, before his eyes landed on the magazine. He reached out to pick it up, opening the book. He turned the pages, before he spotted the place I had marked.

He raised his brows, "Paris?" He mumbled, glancing back at me. "I've been there several times." He rolled his eyes, tossing the magazine back on the table. "What a bad choice you have." He muttered.

I hate it—I hate it when he judges me on my choices, on my childishness, on the small things that I do, he wants everything to be perfect, he wants everyone to be perfect. Can't he just stop thinking of me like that? Can he stop judging me already? Just what is wrong in admitting that I've never travelled overseas? What's so wrong if I'm not one of those rich girls?

I clutched the sheets tightly, my heart ached, my breath came uneven—I wanted to kick him. I gulped silently, feeling the bed beside me dig—he had laid down.

I secretly opened one of my eyes to see him already looking at me, his elbow resting against my pillow, his head lying on his palm as he watched me with bored eyes.

I flinched, quickly closing my eyes as I pretended to sleep. "Hun, I've already seen you. So stop acting." He suggested, his voice filled with thorns. I sighed—I couldn't sleep without embarrassing myself, could I?—my eyes averted from his.

He chuckled, "Your cheeks are red." He mumbled, I tried to turn away from him, but his sudden touch startled me. He ran his fingers through my tinted red cheeks. Life can't be anymore embarrassing.

I looked at him, seeing his eyes tiredly looking back at me, he seemed tired, he's always tired. "You look cute." He said, smiling.

I felt my cheeks turn redder, I glanced down at his fingers, realising that my mouth was open, I quickly closed it, removing his hand from my face.

"D-Don't touch my face, did you wash your face?"

I stuttered over my sentence, my back moving as I tried to get away from him. He scoffed lightly, "You don't like me touching you?" He asked, I paused, turning to him with a clenched jaw,

"That means you haven't."

He raised his brows, batting his eyes once, twice, thrice. "Huh?" He mocked his face tilting to another side. I scrunched my nose in disgust. "I don't even know where you have been and whom you've touched. Don't you touch me before washing your hands." I warned him.

He knitted his brows when I pulled the sheets over my head, hiding myself under the sheets. He chuckled as he mumbled silently,

"You're so hard to resist."