"I know where the heating switches are, Kook. I've been here a million times," you say with a tight-lipped smile, arms folded securely over your chest. It's not like his apartment is cold—he's had the ondol on all morning—but yet your arms refuse to budge.

It's always cold this time of year, but his apartment is never really affected by the outside unless his windows are open. Perks of a modern apartment. Your place is an igloo these days, February particularly unkind this year.

You're dressed in a slouchy grey jumper and a pair of yoga pants, hair up in a claw clip. Strands of hair frame your face, and your makeup is understated. After all, there's no one here to impress. Just Bam, who is curled up on his bed in front of the TV unit, and Jungkook, who hasn't been able to look you in the eye since you arrived.

"Right," he nods, looking around the room as if he's checking to see if he's forgotten anything.

He hasn't.

He just really doesn't know how to look at you when you're dressed like that and he's feeling the way that he is.

"It's just been a while," he adds with a shrug. Mutters, "Wasn't sure if you were used to someone else's heating by now."

The mumble of a statement that felt more like an accusation rumbles in your ears. It's uncomfortable, like a small avalanche of jagged rocks scraping against your skin. It cuts and it bruises—but he doesn't look at you, so he doesn't see the hurt in your eyes, just like your pain deafens the hurt in his voice.

It's been a difficult few months. Things between you shifted like the breeze of cold air rushing in. It was sudden and it was abrupt and it was entirely out of the blue. One minute he was kissing you, and the next he was out of the office at every possible opportunity.

Every email you sent to him would be replied to with other people CC'd in, and the meetings you used to have about upcoming projects were always attended by other people. It was as if Jungkook was using other people to bloat the distance between you even further, as if his cold shoulder wasn't bad enough.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoff, but it falls on deaf ears as Jungkook goes to say goodbye to Bam.

You don't ask for further clarification. The sooner he leaves, the better. You like it when it's just you and Bam.

In all honesty, you wish you could see him more, but Jungkook doesn't invite you back on his lunch breaks any more. Doesn't ask you to come for walks. Doesn't ask anything of you, really.

Well, technically, that's a lie. He asked you to watch Bam on New Year's Eve.

You could have done it. Could have tried crossing what was left of the bridge between you. Could have taken some nails and a little hammer and repaired it along the way.

But he was asking you to sacrifice your New Year's Eve so that he could go out without you. Come midnight, he'd be kissing God knows who. Replacing the lingering memory of your lips, if he hadn't already.

So you'd said no, and he hasn't asked for a single favour since.

Until now, that is. With the international deal coming to fruition, Jungkook is needed out in the States for a few meetings, and you've missed Bam, so you gladly said yes.

Though you'll never admit it, you like to be needed. Relied upon. Enjoy pretending that you're still someone he can lean on.

"Don't mind the doggy cam," he says, nodding across to a small recording device over on his shelving unit in the living area. "There's a light that goes green when I'm watching the feed, so you'll always—"

"Woah," You almost choke—and finally, Jungkook looks at you. "You can fuckin' unplug that right now."

For a second, it's as if things are normal. Jungkook smirks, even.

And it hurts.

"No can do," he shakes his head. "After the New Year's incident, I'm not risking it."

"Oh, well I'm hardly—"

"No. It's not up for discussion."

His lack of trust punctures your heart. It was already weeping anyways, but now your insides are flooding.

A certain guilt washes over you, nevertheless. You blame yourself for the New Year's Day debacle.

Your refusal (for no good reason) to watch Bam over New Year and the subsequent hiring of a professional sitter was potentially the worst thing that could have happened.

An entire bar of chocolate was eaten by Bam, stolen from the sitter's handbag.

New Year's Day was spent sitting in the vet's office with a dishevelled and disastrously hungover Jungkook, waiting to hear how Bam would be. No one knew how long it had been in his system.

You'd never seen Jungkook cry before New Year's Day, and quite frankly, you never want to witness it ever again.

For those few hours, all was forgiven. Jungkook needed you, and that was enough.

You yearn to be useful. To be needed. To be used.

And God, Jungkook could use you so well, if he really wanted to.

It's what makes this whole thing so unbearable. He had a taste of you and decided he didn't like the flavour. Wouldn't even use you to satisfy a craving; to sustain his insatiable sweet tooth. It's insulting, in a way. Makes you bitter. Maybe you always were, and that's why he didn't like it. Didn't like you.

"Whatever," you roll your eyes, deflated by the claws you've chosen to dig into your skin. It's all nonsense, and anyone with more than two brain cells would realise it. Shame you're both as stupid as each other. "Just don't spy on me. Freak."

"I'll be checking up on Bam, and that's it," he dismisses. "You know where the camera is. If you don't want to be caught doing anything weird, don't do anything weird in front of it. Simple."

"You're the one intending to spy on me all the way from New York with a fuckin' nanny cam. You're the one doing weird shit, regardless."

"Not spying, and it's a doggy cam, not a nanny cam," he deadpans, as if it makes a difference. 

"It's fuckin' weird."

"Yeah, well, so are you," Jungkook childishly retorts, as if he isn't about to embark on the biggest business trip of his entire working career. "Just ignore it. I'm gonna be too busy to check regularly. Oh, and on that note, can you send me over the memos from our last meeting? I asked Cal but he's always forgetting."

Rolling your eyes, you fail to hide your irritation. "Yeah, well, if we had our meetings like we used to—"

"Then we'd never be able to train up the next generation of dream teams," he deflects. 

There's only one dream team. You both know this. Hearing him replace your legacy like that is nothing short of insulting.

"Look, I can't faff around all day. I gotta go," he tells you, but doesn't really bid you farewell. He fusses over Bam, like usual, then just says, "Don't burn the place down."

The door clicks shut before you can even respond.

When Jungkook leaves, he takes the heat with him.

A shiver traces over the lines of your body, skin pickling like Jack Frost has personally invited you for a waltz. There's frostbite on your fingertips, and it won't be long until it's reached your heart.

How odd it is to feel so out of place in a room you once considered home. The candles on his counter that you'd burn when cooking together haven't even dipped by a millimetre. They've remained unlit; without their flame.

You wonder if perhaps he didn't want reminders of you.

Though you try not to analyse it, you know you're not welcome. There's a duvet folded up on the sofa, and his bedroom door is shut. It's out of bounds.

Your crown once dented his pillows, but you wouldn't be surprised if someone else's perfume sticks to the fibres now.

Pursing your lips, you sniff. It's not like you're crying. It just feels like you might.

This place was a sanctuary to you, and now it feels like a prison cell. You'll be stuck here until you've served your sentence. Done your time.

As you sink into the sofa, pout prevailing, you want to protest. To scream that you didn't have a fair trial. The jury were biased, and Jungkook was in no position to be your prosecutor when he committed the same crime as you: the foolish act of kissing a friend.

He's kissed hundreds of women in his time; half a dozen probably work in your office! If not more! Why should you be treated with such contempt when none of them are?

It's been three months, and the answers are no clearer than they were in the aftermath of it all happening. Even now, you can barely remember what happened. It's like you've blanked the entire sordid affair from your mind.

By the door, Bam sniffs around where Jungkook's bags had been. He's used to Jungkook leaving, but he hates it all the same. Wishes his best friend could stay home and hang out with him all day.

Funny. So do you.

"Bammie," you mindlessly call out, encouraging the pup to lift his head and look in your direction. "He's gone. C'mere."

It shouldn't make your lip tremble to declare what is true, and yet it does. Jungkook is gone, and you hate it. You hated it when he was here, too, but at least he was tangible. Now it's just you and Bam, and the lingering scent of Jungkook's aftershave.

He's got a collection to rival a perfume store, but he always wears the same one. Sometimes, you can smell it in the hallways at work.

Ships in the night are what you've become; Jungkook a pirate, seemingly intent on stealing your treasure only to go and let his vessel get shipwrecked. Stupid. Foolish.

It takes a second, but Bam eventually joins you. He tightly curls up as if he isn't the size of a small horse and rests his head on your lap.

"How are you so cute when your daddy is such a prick, huh?" You tenderly ask him, softly stroking the top of his head. When he nestles even deeper into your lap, you're reminded of how his gentle nature was learned from Jungkook. Makes you wanna cry. It's frustration, more than anything, making you feel this way. Confusion. "What am I gonna do, Bammie?"

Your question is met with silence, because of course it is. Bam has no real comprehension of what's been going on, but he has missed you. Is glad you're back. Glad that you're home.

But home is where the heart is, and you think you might have accidentally left yours on Jungkook's sleeve.

"Where were you last night?" Jungkook asks, a scowl pre-emptively settling into his dark features.

It's unfair for him to look so handsome in the low light of his hotel room. You haven't worked out the time difference, but it seems as if the curtains are drawn.

It's been a couple of days since he left, but with all the travel and connecting flights, he's only just had the chance to call.

He's sitting by the desk, phone propped up against something. It's less personal like this, but it also means you can see his bed, and how one side is a mess, but the other is still tucked in, unslept in. It gives you a little comfort to know he was alone.

It's not like his sleeping arrangements are any of your business, but nor should yours be his.

"Sorry?"

"I checked Bam's camera to make sure—"

"You did what?!"

" —He was okay, and you weren't there. And nor was Bam. Where the fuck were you? You can't just—"

"Oh, you are unbelievable, Jungkook," you shriek, aghast by the invasion of your privacy. You're also partially deflecting, because how the hell do you explain it to him? That you missed him? That you one hundred percent overstepped a boundary, thinking he'd never find out? That you'd cried yourself to sleep in his sheets? It's mortifying. "I told you I didn't like that camera."

"And I told you to look after my dog, but apparently that's too hard—"

"You're an asshole," you seethe, switching to the back camera so he can see Bam trotting along on his leash. "Bam was whining at your bedroom door, so I went in there with him. Okay?"

You'll recite that little white lie like a bible verse if anyone ever asks you about it because the truth is far more humiliating: how you leant against his door frame and pushed the door open for no reason other than morbid curiosity. How you'd sighed so deeply it felt like your lungs had collapsed. How painful it felt when you realised Jungkook's bedroom is just the same as it always has been.

Though his bed was made, he'd not rearranged his pillows, and your fears of someone else's head indenting 'your' side were rendered null and void. All of his pillows had been pushed onto your side, a small round neck pillow in his spot. A queensize bed, yet no woman to claim it.

He hadn't been sharing his sheets, at least not recently. Not if the pillows were anything to go by. Somehow, you took comfort in that. In the cold light of day, it feels rather insane.

You're not sure what possessed you when you rearranged the pillows for him, nor what demon had entered your body when you decided it was appropriate to climb into his bed.

But Bam had followed suit, and both of you found serenity in the scent of Jungkook surrounding you.

You also weren't sure what prompted the crying, but now that you're on the phone with him, it's pretty evident.

Military-grade asswipe.

"I didn't give you permission—"

Flipping back to front camera, you want Jungkook to see how irritated you are. You want him angry. Want him fighting. Want him to show something other than contempt.

A small part of you is glad to be getting a little passion from him this way, even if it's, like, the total opposite of how you want it.

"You asked me to look after Bam, and that's what I'm doing. Just because you're being a prick and don't know how not to let your tantrums cloud your judgement doesn't mean that I'm the devil," you almost spit. He's wound you up plenty of times before, but never like this. Never without a smile. "I don't know what is wrong with you at the moment, but do us both a favour and get laid, or something. You've got pent-up frustration you need to get out—"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He snaps right back, his scowl cloudy with contempt. A sore spot has been hit; you just don't realise it. "Just because you're off shagging God knows who doesn't mean that I am. Some of us have a little dignity—"

"Sorry?" You almost choke. Of all the years you've known him, he's never taken this tone with you. Never. It stops you in your tracks. Bam eases to your heel. You don't fight back for a second, and when Jungkook reads your expression, his scowl softens.

"Look—" he tries, but is cut off.

"No," you shake your head. He goes to speak again, but is interrupted by your continuation. "A few months ago, if anyone dared to speak to me like this, you'd rip them a new asshole, Kook."

His slightly ajar lips purse together in defeat. The way he swallows, dimple forming in his cheek, only accentuates his strong jaw. For a second, it looks like an apology might follow—but it's too late.

"Bam's fine. I'm looking after him just as well as I always do," you curtly assure him. "You know I adore him. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go."

Even if he does mind, you don't give him a chance to say as much. You hang up the call and flick your phone to do not disturb, before stuffing it in your back pocket. The words you spoke were sour. Makes you feel sick.

If you'd have told yourself six months ago that speaking to Jungkook would make you feel like this, you'd laugh. It would have seemed so absurd. So out of the ordinary. Foreign and frightening.

Then again, so was the idea of kissing him. So much has changed. None of it for the better.

Bam trots on without a care as you pick your pace back up. It's a simple route you follow, one that he knows well. It takes you down through Jungkook's neighbourhood and past a small market that sells seasonal fruits and flowers.

It's the route Jungkook normally takes before work, picking up a few groceries as and when he needs them. Up late after such a terrible sleep, it was the only walk you'd have been able to fit in and still make it work on time.

Out of season and a rare find for this time of year, a rogue bunch of sunflowers on the florist's market stall are almost painful to look at. They're so bright. So warm. Kind of like how Jungkook used to be.

And so you shell out far more than you should for the out-season flowers because you want something in his apartment that doesn't make you feel all kinds of fucked up.

Anyone who saw you walking back to Jungkook's place would think you have life figured out—gorgeous puppy to your heel, a bouquet in your hand, all before the start of the working day. 

The thing is, all it takes is a glance at your expression to know it couldn't be further from the truth. You're forlorn, and it shows.

How could you not be?

Everything is fucked.

By mid-morning, you're chewing on a croissant, scowl fierce. Anyone would be mistaken for thinking you'd just been ravaged in a nasty divorce settlement, or had a lover confess to an affair—a betrayal of the heart. Apt, you think.

Across from you, Mingyu laughs.

"Have you actually tried talking to him?" He asks, brow cocked in that annoyingly arrogant way it always is when he's talking sense.

Hair slicked back, he's joined you on your (incredibly early) lunch break, knowing that your face of thunder was probably scaring everyone in your office. He's gotten relatively used to it over the last few months.

In fact, he often catches you in here, dodging work. He's always doing the same thing. Is waiting for his current contract to be up before switching to an office across town. Can't stand his new supervisor.

You look up from your half-eaten pastry and scoff. "You mean fighting? That's all he seems to be able to do these days."

Both of Mingyu's brows raise now as he shakes his head. "Okay? You're hardly sunshine and rainbows, are you? Ever consider that maybe you're just as bad?"

Feigning offence, you cross your arms over your chest. Yes, you're being dramatic, and no, you don't care how ridiculous it may be. 

"I didn't do anything wrong."

Ever since Mingyu ran into you on that fateful day, he's been getting earfuls of just how bizarre your friendship is with Jungkook.

He thinks you're in denial.

You think he's dumb. Especially when he says things like, "You know friends don't share beds, right?" and "He called you mummy. He's a freak, and he's in love with you."

If the fact you and Mingyu weren't compatible hadn't already been established, the way you yearn for Jeon bloody Jungkook right in front of his face would have done the trick nicely. He's been your sounding board for all of it, whether he likes it or not. Truthfully, it always makes him feel better about his own lacklustre love life.

Sure, Mingyu had liked you back when you started dating, but it never really blossomed into anything more than a casual flirt. How could it when he always knew you'd rather spend an evening with another guy when given the choice?

If he was being totally honest with himself, he knew he was only in the dating scene because his best girl friend had recently started seeing someone new. Saw a lot of himself in you. Is probably why you hit it off.

And so when you'd bumped into him (quite literally) in the lobby of your office building in the immediate aftermath of The Kiss, Mingyu had a good idea of why you looked so grief-stricken. Or at least, who would have played a major role.

"Woah, easy there," he had laughed, straightening up your shoulders. "You good?"

"He kissed me," you had croaked, still in an absolute daze.

"What?" Mingu had stuttered out another laugh, only to then add, "Jungkook?"

Ever since then, comfortable in the fact there's no bad blood between you and fantastically bemused by the on-going clusterfuck of your friendship with Jungkook, Mingyu's been great.

He calls you out on your bullshit, but it's only because he's projecting. Is relieved he gets to see a play-by-play of what could have happened to him and his best friend, without any of the actual emotional grief of it all.

"Well, tell me exactly what Jungkook's done wrong?" Mingyu asks, genuinely clueless as to how else Jungkook could deal with your argumentative ass. He's learned a lot from his observations of your messy situation. You're training him up to be a saint of a boyfriend for whoever catches his eye next (unless his best friend becomes single, that is). "Yeah, he's been rude, but so have you."

"The doggy cam!"

You know Mingyu is literally a man, but surely he has to see how invasive and outrageous it is for Jungkook to spy on you like that.

"Okay, but hear me out—he thought Bam was gonna die," he stresses, knowing that Jungkook's obsession over keeping Bam safe comes from a place of love. It has nothing to do with you. Not really. Mingyu just isn't aware that Jungkook has also been going absolutely insane about you, just like you are about him. It kinda has everything to do with you. Two birds, one stone. "He raised him from a puppy. Loves him like a family member. Hell, dogs are family. You can't tell me you don't understand why he's—"

"I do!" You sigh, unfolding your arms and raking a hand through your bangs. They fall back into the same position, just as defeated as you are. Shrugging, your scowl eases into a pout. "It just translates to the fact he doesn't trust me. I'd trust him with my life. And so, I guess it just hurts."

"That's not what it means at all," Mingyu gently sympathises. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms over his broad chest now, smiling. "As soon as he gets back, I'm banging both of your heads together."

"Side on, please," you grimace. "Wouldn't want us to accidentally kiss again."

With a shake of his head, Mingyu grins. "That's exactly what I want."

The sudden flicker of a small green light in your peripherals forces your head to turn toward Jungkook's (incredibly invasive and borderline perverse) doggy cam as you're washing up your dishes. 

You're still not used to it—and quite frankly, you don't think you should have to be. It's ridiculous.

Shaking your head, you make sure to over-enunciate your words, knowing that he's watching the feed: "Dirty pervert."

You wonder what he's doing. Know it must be early. You've worked out the time difference now. Have spent the entire day thinking about him. Just because he's being a prick. No other reason.

It's just shy of the witching hours, midnight skies keeping you company through his large windows. Must be around nine in the morning in New York.

You imagine he's still in his hotel, white sheets hanging off the ridges of his body like the marble linens of Grecian statues. He's wasted on the age of smartphones and digital cameras. Is the kind of man they would have built temples for. Or perhaps, it's just you who thinks that, which is a pretty weird thing to think about someone who is just a friend.

While Jungkook's always been good with jetlag, you think he's probably sleepy; face a little puffy, lips poutier than they typically are. He's always cuter like that, hair messily falling over his brows, perfectly undone.

No one ever really gets to see him like you do. It's a double-edged sword. 

A blessing and a curse: a blessing, because who wouldn't want to see it? A curse, 'cause the fact you get to see him like that means he's beyond the point of wanting to impress you. Seduction is just not on the agenda.

And yet you've stood right here in his kitchen, eyes trained on his naked body as the stream of his shower washed him anew. Have studied the muscles of his back. The tipping of his head. The tensing of his ass. The jerk of his arm, and the unspeakable things he did for your eyes only.

It's a shame he always snaps you back into reality so quickly—and just like that, your phone buzzes on the counter.

Flicking accept on the call, you prop your phone against the vase of sunflowers on the kitchen island.

"I hate that stupid fuckin' camera," you hiss, turning around to hook the tea towel back up. You've had time to cool down but still don't feel like playing nice. "Always feel like I'm being watched, you little creep."

Jungkook ignores your remark. Has far more pressing things to discuss.

See, despite your fight earlier that day, Jungkook has an incredible ability to both dwell and yet move on in the same breath. Who says men can't multi-task?

He's still just as irritated as you are, but is distracted. Has questions, and he'll be damned if you don't give him the answers.

The house is burning down around his annexe. The smoke is getting to his head. Making him all loopy. He's so fuckin' frazzled. Is begging for a little water.

"Who got you the flowers?" Jungkook asks without missing a beat, as his camera loads into action on your screen. He can't see them from the angle of your front camera, but had noticed them on the live feed of the doggy camera.

"Can you stop spying on me?" You call back, neatly stacking the washing up you've just done. You'll put it away correctly whenever Jungkook hangs up. Are just trying to be nonchalant. Unbothered. Indifferent to his call. 

Plus, you know he's a bit anal about his kitchen organisation, and you'll do anything to irritate him at the moment.

"I'm not spying," he says, horrified by such an accusation. You know precisely what kind of face he'll be pulling; how cute he'll be, all aghast and desperate to counter how you indict him. God, how you wish you weren't fighting. "Was just making sure you were in before I called you. Wouldn't wanna interrupt you, or anything, if you were on a date, or something like that. And anyway, stop avoiding the question. Who got you the flowers?"

Turning to face the camera, you're ever smug to be proven right about your earlier thoughts. Or half-right, at least. He looks positively offended, but he doesn't look cute.

No, Jungkook looks anything but cute.

Head cushioned into a crisp white pillow, his dark hair is a mess, like a pair of hands have been running through it all night—but given the latenight jetlag, you know it's not the case. His tattoos are out for your viewing pleasure, collarbones dewey, nipples just south of the frame.

Jungkook is perfectly undone. Looks like he just woke up. Like his body is all clammy beneath his sheets. Like he's yet to sort out the glory that greets him most mornings. Like he looked that morning you woke up in his bed. Like he does when you daydream about it all.

Fuck.

You're so fucked. So completely and absolutely toasted.

But of course you are. 

You belong in that damn annexe, and the house is burning down. Of course you're toasted. Roasting, even. Sharing a heat with Jungkook that neither of you are willing to acknowledge.

"Is it frozen?" Jungkook asks with furrowed brows, not realising you're wholly stopped in your tracks from the mere sight of him.

It's not like he's handling it much better. White shirt, claw clip, free of the day's makeup, and definitely heading to bed, you're a fuckin' wet dream. He'd been begging for water, yes, but this isn't what he meant. 

Fuck.

"Uh, maybe," you shrug, trying to play it off. "Your signal must be bad."

Jungkook tries to focus on anything but you and draws his phone closer to his face, studying the bars of wifi at the top of his screen.

"I'm connected to the hotel wifi," he half purrs in that sleepy way he so often does when he's just woken up. "Ah well, fine now."

It's almost as if he's slept off that argument. Either that, or he's so jetlagged he's convinced himself it was all a dream.

"Mm," you agree, before diverting the conversation. "Can you just text me before you call instead of using the camera? Gives me the creeps."

"It's not weird," he defends. "What if you're out and Bam eats something he shouldn't?"

"I never leave food out."

"Well, what if—"

"Kook," you offer a kind smile. "I think you're just paranoid."

"Yeah, well, you would be too! After last time—"

"Kook," you interrupt with a softness to your tone. It soothes, just like your fingers had done when you'd tenderly held his hand in the vet's waiting room two months ago. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to him, okay?"

Silence fills the space between you, Jungkook unwilling to accept your assurance. He tries not to, but he does carry a slight grudge—but you're not Bam's mum. You had no obligation to take care of him on New Year. He knows this. Knows he asks too much of you.

Doesn't mean he can't hate the fact you aren't Bam's mum. Doesn't mean he can't hate the fact you'd apparently made plans without him for New Year. Doesn't mean he can't hate how you divert the conversation whenever he asks who you were busy kissing when the clock struck twelve.

He always plays it off as a joke. Grins. Smirks, even, as if he enjoys getting under your skin—and while this would normally true, he only does it because he can't handle the hideous feeling that settles under his skin whenever he thinks about you with someone else.

So, it should hardly be a surprise when he asks once more, "Who got you the flowers? Stop avoiding it."

There's ice to his tone. It's not like he's snapping, or aggressive, but he is grouchy. The way your face twists into an expression he can't quite read only makes him even more so.

"Told you I didn't want strangers around Bam," he reminds you, as if you need to be told twice. "It's, like, the one thing I ask of you. At least have the decency to tell me."

Just like clockwork, he's an asshole once more.

"Do you wanna try that again?" You ask, brows raised, lips upturned. The way he's speaking to you is nothing short of rude. His mother raised him better than to be short with people doing him favours.

"No," he scoffs, because he thinks you're being unreasonable. "Just tell me who got you the stupid flowers."

"Literally, why does it matter?"

"Because!"

"Because nothing," you counter. "You're being dumb."

"And you'd being annoying."

"So hang up then."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The familiar beep of the call cutting off sounds, Jungkook's irritated face disappearing from your screen. 

You didn't end the call this time. He did.

And it makes you feel all torn up inside, for no good reason. He's the one being a dick. He's the one who needs to rectify this. Not you.

Standing up a little straighter, you scoff, annoyed by just how childish he can be.

All over some fuckin' sunflowers, you think. You'd only bought them to brighten up his drab minimalist style. 

You're single as can be, and he damn well knows it—and even if you weren't, you'd never break Jungkook's trust like that. The insinuation that you would is beyond offensive. It's upsetting. Devastating, in fact, to not be trusted by the one person you'd trust with your entire life.

"Fucking' prick," you curse under your breath, shaking your head in disappointment.

Oceans divide you, thousands of miles illustrating just how at odds you seem to be with one another these days. At some point, things changed. You could pinpoint it, if you really wanted. Could mark it out on a map of your past endeavours; how the thing that could have made you just kind of... broke you, instead.

Once Jungkook has finished yelling into one of the overpriced and frankly unappreciated hotel pillows on his bed, he glances at his phone, where your message thread remains open.

He's not sure what, but something compels him to flick back to the doggy cam. He shouldn't. It is intrusive. An invasion of your privacy. He knows this.

And yet he does it regardless.

Pacing his kitchen, you're talking. There's no audio, but he can see how animated you are. How passionately you're talking, hands gesturing to illustrate your words further.

For a moment, Jungkook's blood burns.

There's someone there, he thinks. She's brought some fucking guy into my house.

It's late in Seoul. Time for bed. Given the sleeping situation from the night before, he assumes you're staying in his room again tonight. Brat. You never do as you're told.

If a guy stays with you tonight, it's in Jungkook's bed.

He gags for a second, and doesn't even mean to. Just finds it so deeply unsettling, for every reason you'd expect and also for a few that he'll never admit.

He's got half a mind to get a flight right back to town just so he can curse you out in person.

But then you pause your pacing, and Jungkook's eyes are trained on you. You tip your head back. Breathe, despite the shuddering of your chest—and then you're dabbing at your cheeks with the back of your hands, drying your face of tears.

No one comes to comfort you.

You sink to the floor, back against the kitchen island, knees tucked up to your chest. Nobody comes to sit beside you like Jungkook likes to think he would.

No one makes you laugh. No one offers a distraction.

You're alone.

From the sofa, Bam perks his head up. Notices how sad you must be. He hops down and heads straight toward you. Nudges his damp nose against your cheek, then nestles into your side, curling up beside you.

And Jungkook feels fucking horrible. Like nails on a chalkboard, it's uncomfortable. Intrusive. Disturbing. He just wants it to stop. All of it. This weirdness between you both, the fact you're fuckin' crying, the way he can't make heads or tails about how he's feeling towards you.

He sits alone in his annexe, the house still smouldering. Not even Bam is allowed in, these days. Jungkook has resigned himself to solitude, 'cause he's so convinced he's gonna lose everything, anyway.

The only sure deal in his life is this job, but he considers throwing in the towel, now. Drags his laptop from the bedside table to his duvet, and starts searching for flights home.

He's a forty-minute cab ride from LaGuardia. Next best flight leaves in three hours. He hasn't even been to a single meeting yet, but thinks he could do it. Scramble his things together. Fly home to you. Tell you he's sorry.

Seventeen hours. That's how long it'll take. Twenty, if he includes now until take off. Another hour to get from Incheon back home. Should probably round it up to twenty-two hours, just to be safe.

He could show up just before eight o'clock. Have a way better fuckin' bunch of flowers than those shitty sunflowers. He could tell you how confused he's been.

How nothing makes sense without you, but that nothing makes sense with you, either.

How he thinks about you incessantly.

How his annexe has been awful lonely without you.

How he thinks he stopped breathing the moment he kissed you in the middle of the office, and how he hasn't been able to breathe without you ever since. It's why he hiccups. Chokes on his words. Splutters out the dumbest shit.

But then his phone vibrates.

DoggyDaycareCam: 1 ALERT

Camera disabled.

Error: Lost connection. Please plug your DoggyDaycareCam back in to resume stream.

Tossing his phone down into the sheets, Jungkook rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling. Questions all of his life choices. Groans. 

"Fuck."

hehehehe we are back with a new cluster of chapters!! the new york saga!!! yaaaaayyy

there will be another chapter next weekend!!

LUV U, MISS U, MWAH X