You stash your things in your trunk and get into your car after the long day you've had at work is finally over. Your hands put the key into the ignition on instinct, and you turn it, the engine revving to start as you turn the heat on, the cool evening air of November chilling your bones. You sigh, and instead of putting the car into drive and beginning your commute home, you slam rest forehead against the steering wheel and leave it there, a sigh escaping your lips. Today was not a good day.

After your encounter with Hoseok and Yoongi, you still had to do your job. You did your job well, as you always do, but you felt like shit throughout the day. You had arranged the boys in various positions intertwined with string in the wooden structure, and they had looked amazing. You knew these photos would mean something to all the people who viewed them, so you gave it your best effort. But you felt awful. Every fiber of your being felt like the biggest jackass ever to exist.

"But don't pin your insecurities on me. Our situation isn't as black and white as you think, and it's time you recognize that."

At the sound of his loaded words replaying over and over in your head, you lift your head from the steering wheel only to smack it back down in aggravation.

HOOOOOOOOOOOONK!!!

You screech as your horn sounds and you sit up straight so fast your neck cracks, and you see the only person more startled than you by the sudden loud sound through your front window as they walk by your car.

Yoongi scowls at you through his window, his previously styled hair mussed by a blue beanie and a flannel on his thin but toned frame. A bag is slung across his shoulders. In one hand he holds his phone, and in another, he holds an iced coffee, black. On second thought, judging by the sight of his unspilled coffee, maybe he isn't startled. Maybe he's just annoyed. That seems like the more plausible option, considering you know that Yoongi doesn't scare easily.

You mouth a "sorry" through the window, your sincerity showing on your face, and Yoongi rolls his eyes in response. Your heart contracts, but you know you deserve that; you should've seen that coming. But what you don't see coming is Yoongi marching over to your car, opening the passenger door, and sitting down, which is the last thing you expect, and exactly what the blonde boy does. He sips his iced coffee casually as you gape at him, as if hopping into your ex's car is a perfectly normal thing to do.

"So, did you honk on accident, or are you just excited to see me?" Yoongi asks, and you practically choke, coughing on a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. "Because technically that's catcalling, and catcalling's rude." He says matter-of-fact-ly. He glances over at you as if he just now notices your struggle to breathe properly and lifts up his iced coffee, holding it out you. "Do you need a drink—"

"Yoongi, why the fuck are you in my car?" You finally ask as soon as you can get enough oxygen into your lungs. He flattens his lips into a thin line, and for a moment, you see the old Yoongi, your Yoongi. The one with plush cheeks and a gummy smile that never stopped showing, the one that you haven't seen for years. You know you can't possibly call him yours, because he's not anymore. But in your memory, he's yours. Despite the bitter, callous end, everything before that was still yours to cherish.

"Because we need to talk." Yoongi says.

"We've already talked." You blurt defensively, and point to the passenger door. "Get out of my car."

"No, because this time, you actually need to listen. No interrupting, no snapping, no crying and running away. Just listen. And then you can talk, and I'll listen without doing any of those things. And you know what that'll be? An actual conversation." Yoongi says, and you fall silent. His deep eyes survey your own, your face, your hands that you clasp together to keep them from shaking.

"Make it quick." You say, though the last thing you want to do is talk to Yoongi. He wastes no time coming up with words to say, plopping his coffee in the cup holder.

"Y/n, what I did to you was wrong. I know. I admit that I didn't feel terrible about what I did at first, and I was selfish for that, but the more I thought about it and the more I lived with myself afterwards, the worse I felt. But I'm trying to make it up to you. I never thought I'd see you again, but now that I have I don't want to go back to acting like we never happened after this week is over." He says, and you shake your head almost instantly.

"But it will. Because I don't want anything to do with you, Yoongi. I don't know why you did what you did, but—"

"That's what I'm trying to explain. Do you want to know the real reason why I left?" He asks. You don't. You don't want to know, because you don't want to forgive him. You're not ready, not yet. You don't know if you'll ever be. But your voice gets caught on the lump in your throat and before you can tell Yoongi to take his explanation and shove it where the sun doesn't shine, he's telling you.

"I left you because you deserve someone who gives you all the attention and time that you deserve, all the time and attention that I couldn't give you. And it hurt too much to tell you that, so I left. It was selfish and stupid but it's true. You do deserve someone who can give you that, and—" Yoongi's eyes drift from your own to meet the shimmering diamond on your ring finger. His hands, cold from his iced coffee and the November chill, make contact with your own. A shudder runs through your entire body and you jerk back, but he doesn't let go, only clasps your left hand between the both of this cold ones tighter. "It seems that you've found that person." He says softly. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can't tell if you're going to cry or throw up.

"I loved you." Your voice comes out as a whisper as your eyes fill up with tears. "I loved you, Yoongi. Did you not think about that? I wanted to be with you, marry you, grow old with you, and you just left me? I thought you left because you didn't feel the same way." Yoongi shakes his head quickly, cooing quietly no, no.

"Y/n, I know it doesn't seem like it, but I did. I loved you. More than you'll ever know. Please realize that. I loved you so much. I did. I swear." He says, and he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips caressing your skin as he speaks. "So much I—so much I don't think a part of me ever stopped." He says quietly, hot breath brushing your skin, velvet lips on your palm.

Tears spill from your eyes uncontrollably, and Yoongi closes his eyes. He presses a sweet, gentle kiss to the place your thumb and forefinger connect, and suddenly, you want his lips on your mouth. You want his touch everywhere, you want his voice, his thoughts, his laugh, his smile. You want him. And he must want you just as much, because he pulls you by your hand to lean you across the console of the car. He places both hands on your tearstained cheeks and kisses you.

His lips press to yours with a fervor, a fire, a fierceness. Your hands grasp at his flannel, snatch the beanie from his head to tug at his wild blonde locks. He moans, a low, guttural sound that only ignites the spark in you. Your head spins and your heart races, your stomach does backflips of ecstasy. You're drunk on his touch and high on his taste of coffee and something entirely Yoongi, on his smell of tea tree oil and deodorant and fresh laundry. He pulls you across the console and you squeal, straddling his denim-clad thighs. You take the opportunity to shrug his flannel off his shoulders. His hands untuck your blouse from your pants, and he slides his cold fingers underneath the fabric, pressing them against the searing skin of your waist.

You shiver and continue to devour his lips, his teeth tugging at your lower lip, nipping and biting, his tongue soothing the sting. Your name spills in waves from his lips as you rock your hips against his own, his voice intoxicating you, making your senses hazy to all stimulation other than his lips against your own and the friction his jeans create against your core. You want him, all of him, you want to replace the pain he's caused you with passion, with pleasure. He tears his lips away from your mouth to place sloppy kisses on the column of your neck, to suck and nibble on your throat. You moan his name as he fists one large hand in your hair and unbuttons your blouse with the other, leaving nebulas of purple and pink and green on the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

He slides the blouse from your body until you're left in your bra, and he pulls back to look at you, his eyes filling with an even more intense lust. You squirm under his gaze and lean in to kiss him, but he places a hand on your shoulder to hold you back. His eyes are no longer on your own, or even your breasts, but on your lower stomach. The lust fades and is replaced by an emotion you cannot decipher as you follow his eyes down—to the scar from your Cesarian section.

Reality rains down on you like a bucket of cold water. You scramble out of Yoongi's lap as fast as you can, narrowly avoiding his grasping hands as he tries to keep you where you are. "Y/n, what is that? Is that—did you have—?" Yoongi's swollen lips struggle for words, and you struggle for breath.

"Get out of my fucking car, Yoongi." You sob out, tears blurring your vision as you try to wrap your head around what you've done. You've cheated. You've cheated on yout husband. You're an awful, awful human being.

"Y/n, do you have a child?" He shouts, and you sob even harder. Yes! I do! And so do you, because she's yours! She's yours! Your mind screams, but you'd never tell him that.

"Yoongi, get out!" You shout. He looks at you, looking only what you can describe as devastated, before snatching up his flannel and getting out of the car, slamming the door. You put the car into drive and tear out of the parking lot, tears blurring your vision and you cry.

What the hell have you done?