✯ ✯ ✯

✯ ✯ ✯

The phone rang, persistent and annoying, dragging him away from a dream about a brunette with a cutely scrunched nose.

Just five more minutes.

Silence, a few blissful seconds of it, then the ringing returned, louder and more insistent, like a drill to the skull.

Fuck.

Jungkook briefly considered throwing the phone out the window but decided against it. He forced his eyes open. The dream disintegrated, replaced by the sight of the ceiling fan spinning in lazy, hypnotic circles above him. Its rotations seemed to echo the pounding in his head.

Pain pulsed through his skull, each throb like a sledgehammer hitting a giant bell. He moved his arm slowly towards the nightstand, sheets rustling beneath him. His fingers fumbled for his watch, knocking something off in the process.

The ringing continued, relentless. Jungkook squinted at his wristwatch without lifting his head.

9-fucking-32. Who the hell calls this early?

Carefully, he returned the watch to the nightstand and grabbed his phone. One glance at the caller ID and he bolted upright, a move he regretted instantly as pain surged through his head like a vengeful tidal wave.

"Hello?" Jungkook's voice was rough and thick with sleep.

"Mr. Cook, this is Amanda, Mr. Degas's assistant," came the crisp, professional reply.

Jungkook sat up a bit straighter, wincing as his head pounded in protest. "Morning, Amanda," he said, forcing a note of optimism into his voice. "Didn't expect to hear back so soon. Good news, I hope?"

A brief pause, then Amanda's voice returned, measured and polite, like she was delivering a weather report. "Unfortunately, no. Mr. Degas chose another candidate. I'm truly sorry, Mr. Cook. Your resume was impressive, but the competition was fierce."

His shoulders sagged. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to process the disappointment, words caught in his throat like stubborn fish bones.

The hard work, the stupid cow brain—all for nothing?

"Mr. Cook? John?" Amanda's voice softened with genuine regret. "I'm really sorry."

Jungkook closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. "Yeah, thanks for letting me know, Amanda. Have a good day." His voice was as flat as a week-old soda.

He hung up and let himself fall back into the pillows, sinking into the mattress like a stone in water.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckety fuck.

Defeat hovered around him, stubborn and clinging as stale cigarette smoke. The light seeping through the shades had the nerve to be cheerful, casting a golden hue over the cluttered room. Jungkook sprawled out on the bed, willing his brain to retreat to the sweet dream he was having before reality barged in uninvited. The brunette.

He felt something under his hand that definitely wasn't a sheet. Lacy, with straps. Jungkook lifted the object to his eyes and immediately tossed it aside. Melanie's bright pink bra.

Hold up. Where the hell is Melanie?

Jungkook turned his head to the other side of the bed. It was empty. The movement sent a sting through the skin on his neck, like it had been gnawed on by a pack of angry hyenas. He groaned, the memories of last night flooding back.

At least she's gone now.

The last thing he needed was another complication, especially one as persistent as Melanie. He rolled off the bed, pulling on his sweatpants. His throat felt like sandpaper. Stumbling over discarded clothes, he made his way into the kitchen.

What's this?

A sticky note slapped on the fridge caught his eye, its bright pink color, perfectly matching her bra, another jab at his already foul mood.

"Hey stud muffin!
Last night was BEYOND EPIC.
Let's hit the hottest club this Saturday.
You know you want to! Call me,
-Mel"

There was a bold lip print at the bottom, the red lipstick smudged. Jungkook huffed, crumbling the paper in his fist. He yanked open the fridge and grabbed a small bottle of banana milk.

What a headache... both the hangover and her.

The cold bottle felt good against his throbbing head. He tossed the note into the bin without a second glance and leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip of the milk. The sweet, familiar taste soothed his raw throat.

Ahh... now we're talking.

Jungkook glanced at his phone, half-expecting another call, but the screen remained blank. He sighed in frustration.

Unbelievable. All that effort down the drain. That pretentious mustache-wearing douche.

He gulped the last of the banana milk, tossed the empty bottle in the trash, and rubbed his temples, trying to herd his scattered thoughts. The apartment was a mess. Boxing gloves lay next to a stack of art supplies and vinyl records, his sketchpad was half-buried under yesterday's clothes.

This place looks like it's been hit by a tornado and then thrown into a blender. Just another day in the glamorous life of Jeon Jungkook.

Sighing again, he dialed Taehyung's number. It rang at least a dozen times before his friend finally picked up.

"Hey, man," Taehyung's voice was groggy, like he'd been dragged through his dreams kicking and screaming. "What's up?"

"Got some bad news," Jungkook said, rubbing his temple with one hand, his fingertips pressing against the dull ache. "Degas didn't hire me."

There was a pause on the other end. "Damn, sorry to hear that. But you know what that means, right?"

"Plan B," Jungkook replied, a hint of hope creeping back into his voice.

"Exactly. The auction's in three days. We need to make sure your piece gets in. This is our chance to get a foot in the door with Degas."

Jungkook let out a dry chuckle. "Sure, because everything always works out perfectly for us, right?"

"Hey, I know it's tough. You've put in a lot of work, and this is a huge setback. But you never know. The auction could be our ticket in." Taehyung countered, unfazed. "So, what's the plan for today? Heading to the gallery?"

"Yeah. They're actually choosing pieces for the auction today. I'll go there in a bit. Just need to shake off this headache first."

Taehyung's tone shifted to something more playful. "Headache, huh? Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain redhead from last night, would it?"

Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "Don't remind me. She wants to go out again."

"You gonna take her up on it?" Taehyung teased.

"Not a chance," Jungkook replied, clearly annoyed. "I don't need distractions like her. Not now, not ever. Can you imagine she left her bra here?"

Taehyung choked on his laughter. "I can already picture you returning it..."

"Shut up, man."

"Alright, alright. Anyway, I'll get the bug and meet you at the gallery later," Taehyung said, shifting back to a more serious tone. "Hang in there, JK."

"Yeah, thanks, Tae," Jungkook muttered, ending the call.

He dropped the phone onto the counter and rubbed his temples again, trying to massage away the tension.

Gotta keep my head in the game. The stakes are too high.

With a sigh, Jungkook shuffled to the bathroom. The cool tiles soothed his bare feet as he turned the shower knob, waiting for the water to heat up. Stepping under the spray, he let the water cascade down his body, washing away the residue of last night's regrets.

He closed his eyes, letting the warmth seep into his muscles, slowly dissolving the stress. Each drop hitting his shoulders was a reminder that he was still alive, still fighting.

Getting out of the shower, he wiped the steam from the mirror, and as his reflection stared back, he noticed several red hickeys dotting his neck and collarbone. He groaned.

Fucking awesome. Just what I needed.

Jungkook quickly styled his hair, running his fingers through the damp strands to give them that tousled, effortless look. He rummaged through the closet, bypassing his usual shirts in favor of a black turtleneck. The fabric was thick and slightly itchy. He knew it was going to be a scorcher of a day, but it was the only way to hide the marks.

Thanks, Melanie.

He sighed, feeling the heat start to build under the heavy material. But there was no choice. He paired the turtleneck with black pants and leather shoes, then sprayed his favorite W. DRESSROOM perfume. Just as he was heading out, his phone chimed with a notification. Mingyu's name flashed above the message.

"Drop by the club tonight. There's someone I want you to meet."

God, I hope he's not trying to set me up again.

"Sure." He typed in a quick reply and locked the door.

Time to face the day, hickeys and all.

✯ ✯ ✯
A/n:
Hey delulus!

Who's the villain
you want to bitch slap?

Melanie?
Jeff?
Degas?
Patrick Yang?

✯ ✯ ✯