Jungkook

I'm being pulled to the front door of Ms. Carlson's parents' house right now, and I'm berating myself for admitting that I was indeed hungry. I didn't think anything of it when she asked me the question half an hour ago until we changed directions.

When I came to a stop on the side of the road she told me to come with her and that her parents were already waiting. I panicked because I hadn't prepared for this and certainly not for a meal in a house where I'd never been before.

"I really don't think I should come in with you," I say for the second time as we come to a stop at the front door.

Ms. Carlson looks up at me. "It's okay, Mr. Jeon. My parents love to invite people over. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, it's not that," I say, not explaining further. I don't know what to say until she gasps.

"Oh my God." she panics as her big eyes open even wider. "Is this considered a bribe?"

"No, Ms. Carlson." I sigh.

"Oh, great." she smiles.

I honestly sometimes don't understand how quickly her mood can change. One minute she's panicked and the next she's relieved like she doesn't have the craziest ideas running through her head. If I wake up grumpy in the morning, I'm grumpy all day.

"You don't have to worry about anything and I don't want to force you." she then says when she notices my hesitant behavior. "I just wanted to take this to thank you again for letting me ride with you and for letting me stay in your bed."

I gulp. "You've already thanked me seven times," I say, hoping it doesn't occur to her that I couldn't have known the exact number if I hadn't been counting.

"An eighth time won't hurt, will it?"

The sincere smile on her lips then actually makes me give in. I sigh and nod slowly. Her big eyes, looking darker than normal in the current dim light, shine up at me and she lets out a small yes.

Turning away from me, she rings the doorbell and we wait for someone to answer. I can hear chatter on the other side and then footsteps coming closer and closer. I clear my throat and suddenly the collar of the turtleneck feels tighter than it is.

Ms. Carlson turns to me one last time and I can just see a flash of something in her eyes before the door opens and she quickly turns back. A tall man, probably in his late fifties, stands in the doorway, smiling big at us.

"Mikayla, my darling!" he greets happily, taking a step forward and pulling his daughter into his arms. "I missed you."

"Dad, I was here last Saturday!" Ms. Carlson laughs as she pulls back from the hug. I stand weirdly behind them, watching the interaction.

Her father laughs deeply and then when his eyes find me, his smile doesn't disappear. "This is the guest you told me about?"

"Oh, yes." Ms. Carlson nods and steps aside so I can greet her father.

I hold out my hand for him to shake, completely ignoring the fact that her parents already knew I was coming. "Good evening, sir. I'm Jungkook."

"Nice to meet you, son. I'm—"

"Isaac, what's taking you so long?" another feminine voice sounds from the distance, until then a woman appears next to Ms. Carlson's father.

Just like Ms. Carlson, she has black hair with silver streaks. It has been kept shorter, ending on her shoulders. She looks young for her age, or it is the youthful smile she wears on her lips.

Her cheekbones are high and her nose is small. She is the older form of her daughter and I can see where Ms. Carlson got her features from. She has her father's lips, though, full and even.

"Mom." Ms. Carlson and the woman share a long hug before pulling back. "Dad wouldn't let us in because he wants the casserole for himself."

"Isaac!" the woman playfully scolds, punching him in the arm.

"Olivia, you know that's not true!" the man counters. Then he turns to Ms. Carlson and scrunches up his nose.

"Isaac, I know you're giving our daughter the evil eye!" the woman warns, then sighs, muttering something like kids under her breath. She quickly recovers from it, shaking her head. "You're not going to introduce me to our guest, huh?"

"Oh, sure. Mom this is Mr. Jeon. Mr. Jeon, this is my mom, Olivia."

I smile politely at the woman who is a few inches shorter than Ms. Carlson. "Nice to meet you. Please, call me Jungkook."

I extend my hand to her as well. She smiles up at me, but for some reason her eyes seem unfocused, staring somewhere at my chest. My hand lingers in the air before her husband nudges her and then she shakes my hand. And that's when I realize it.

She's blind.

I immediately feel bad, thinking how disrespectful it is to offer a hand to a blind person when they don't even know what's going on. She still smiles warmly at me, though, telling me she's glad I came over for dinner.

"Come in, come in." she waves her hand, already running into the house. "Dinner's ready, let's not get the food cold."

I clear my throat, wiping my sweaty hands on my pants as I follow Ms. Carlson. I can feel something warm lifting in my cheeks, but I hope that little mistake a few seconds ago didn't create a weird atmosphere.

"Careful, honey," warns Mr. Carlson as he walks ahead with his wife and she almost trips over a step.

"We've lived here forever, but I still can't get used to this stupid step." His wife laughs with a sigh, holding onto his arm.

He laughs back. "I told you to let me fix it, but you're so stubborn and say no."

"You're already overworking yourself. There's no need," she says, dismissing him. "You're not the youngest anymore anyway."

"Hey. I'm in great shape." He prods, and the two start arguing.

Ms. Carlson giggles beside me as she watches the interaction between her parents and when our eyes meet, she smiles up at me. Maybe I stare a little too long without really showing a reaction that makes her look away quickly.

We walk down a long hallway and I find picture frames hanging on the wall. I don't know if it's rude or intrusive, but a couple of children's pictures of Ms. Carlson catch my attention. In one, she has lost both of her front teeth and is smiling big into the camera.

This makes me wonder if she had a good childhood, but judging by the few minutes I've spent here with her and her parents, I'm almost certain it must have been.

"Mr. Jeon, I can show you the bathroom if you want to wash your hands before dinner," I hear her say and I lower my gaze from a picture of her graduation.

"That would be great," I say and start to follow her. We walk down another hallway until we arrive at a door. She opens it for me, revealing a bathroom in white. I press my lips into a line before nodding at her.

She looks up at me and the same glint from before takes over her eyes. It's subtle, not really lingering for long, but it feels like vulnerability. And I can understand that because after all, she has opened the safety of her home to a stranger.

She gives me privacy and leaves me alone in the bathroom. I wash my hands quickly, not wanting to keep the others waiting, and walk back the way we came until I arrive at an open doorway into the dining room.

I should feel like I'm intruding, out of place, coming from nowhere, and joining a family for dinner, but oddly enough it feels just the opposite. The interior is homey and warm and I can't help but feel welcome.

As I step inside I come into view with Ms. Carlson already setting the table. Where once there should be only three plates, another has been added, white dishes decorating the table along with a vase in the center full of fresh flowers. I wonder if her father got them for her mother.

Mr. and Mrs. Carlson both come out of the adjoining kitchen, with him holding a large casserole dish in his hands. He's complaining that he can feel the heat of the baking dish through his oven mitts, and she tells him he's imagining it.

"Jungkook, son. Please sit down." Mrs. Carlson says, and I walk over to the square table. "I hope you like a casserole."

"I do, thank you," I reply. I admire how she prepared the food. Not that I'm saying blind people can't cook because they have one less sense, but it smells very good so you would think a chef prepared the meal.

The couple decides to sit at one side of the table, leaving the other to Ms. Carlson and me. After we are all seated at the table, Ms. Carlson cuts into the casserole with a knife and spoons it out with a spatula.

I wait for her parents to start eating first and when they do, I lift a decent amount into my mouth. I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a long time. Sure, I cook whenever I have time, but that doesn't compare to what I'm eating right now.

Everything is balanced. The vegetables, the sauce, the cheese on top. I savor every taste on my tongue and we finish eating while Mr. Carlson has a casual conversation with his daughter. Her hand accidentally brushes against mine every now and then, but she's so engrossed in the conversation that she doesn't notice. Or she doesn't mind.

"So, Jungkook. What do you do?" he then asks me, which catches me off guard.

I quickly swallow what was left in my mouth and clear my throat. "Oh, um. I thought you already knew because your daughter works with me."

"Really? So you guys met at work?" Mrs. Carlson asks.

I nod at first, then realize she couldn't possibly know. I wince, hoping I don't do anything stupid for the rest of the evening. "Kind of."

"I didn't think you'd date a colleague, Mikayla." Mrs. Carlson notes, causing her daughter to choke next to me. "You didn't mention anyone cute there."

I clear my throat again, probably for the thousandth time today, while Ms. Carlson coughs loudly. She pours herself a glass of water and chugs it all in one gulp.

"Mom!" she groans under her breath. "He's my boss!"

"Your boss?"

"Yes!" Ms. Carlson laughs awkwardly as she looks up at me for a moment. "I literally introduced him to you outside as Mr. Jeon."

"How come you're dating your boss and we don't know about it?"

"This might be my last straw." Ms. Carlson mutters next to me before looking back up and laughing. I can tell it's to mask her embarrassment. "We're not dating, Mom. I work for him and I just invited him over for dinner."

"Your father said your boyfriend was coming." Mrs. Carlson shrugs her shoulder, bringing a large spoonful to her mouth.

"I said a guest. And then when you asked, Dad, I said it was my boss."

Her father seems stunned, maybe even a little offended as if the misunderstanding was his fault. "Your mother called me when I was texting with you. I didn't see your last message." he raises both hands in innocence.

"Yeah, that's why we thought the guest was your new boyfriend." Ms. Carlson's mother tries to defend herself. Her father picks his wife's side.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jeon. This was a misunderstanding." Ms. Carlson turns to me while her parents are still discussing the issue.

"It's not a problem. I don't mind." I reassure her and she smiles up at me appreciatively. The eye contact remains until she breaks it then turns to her food.

The rest of dinner passes in good humor. We've all forgotten the awkwardness from before and I watch as Ms. Carlson laughs and talks with her parents. They ask me a few other questions, mostly something that is not work-related.

I don't really have conversations that aren't work-related so I have a hard time expressing myself properly sometimes. However, they don't mind and listen to me with attention, smiling at me and nodding in understanding.

They talk about their memories from the 80s, how they met, and a warm atmosphere is created. I feel myself fade in gradually, something I usually find difficult. I even find myself smiling once as Mrs. Carlson berates her husband when he tries to convince her to dance with him.

I just realize that the worries I had in the car the moment Ms. Carlson invited me to dinner were actually completely unnecessary. They make me feel like I'm home, like they have known me for a long time.

After everyone finishes their meal, Ms. Carlson gets up from her chair. "I'll do the dishes," she says, starting to stack the plates on top of each other.

"Jungkook can help you, right?" her mother suggests, and Ms. Carlson almost drops a glass on the floor.

"Mom, he's our guest!" Ms. Carlson protests, but her mother waves dismissively.

"Eh, you're both young. Do you mind, son?" she then turns to me and I straighten up.

"No, no I don't mind," I say, also standing up from my chair. It would have been rude to do nothing anyway and I turn to Ms. Carlson. "I'll help you."

She nods appraisingly, but I can read in her eyes that she feels bad. I try to wash that away and gather some stuff from the table. Ms. Carlson leads the way into the kitchen and I follow her with the dirty plates in my hand.

She sets the dishes down in the sink and then turns to me, taking the plates from my hand and putting them with the rest of the dishes. She looks up at me. "You don't actually have to help."

I shake my head. "It's okay. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you." She smiles before brushing her hair out of her face and starting to do the dishes.

It's quiet, just the occasional sound of dishes clinking together and water running. She puts the plates and glasses in the dishwasher and washes the pots and casserole dish by hand. I said I would help, but actually I don't do much.

"Do you have cloths to dry off with?" I ask.

"Third drawer to your right," she answers.

I grab a blue cloth from the drawer to dry the pot in her hand that she was washing. She hands it to me with a small thank you and turns to the baking dish.

"I always hated doing the dishes when I was a kid," she then starts, bringing me out of my thoughts. She's always so random. "When I was grounded, I had to do all the dishes by hand."

A big smile sits on her lips. "Were you a naughty child?" I ask, kind of curious after seeing the pictures hanging on the wall. She looked well-behaved, but maybe I'm completely wrong.

"Depends on what you see as naughty. I mean, I was never disrespectful or anything. But I was hyper. A lot." She laughs as she hands me the last of the dishes so I can dry them off. "I couldn't sit on my bottom for five minutes."

I can very well imagine it, and I think Ms. Carlson can read the amusement in my eyes as her smile widens. I set the dry baking dish down on the counter and watch as she wipes everything clean with a rag.

"My mom used to take me to the playground. Or just anywhere I could let off steam. She... she wasn't always like this, you know." I can hear the drop of whimsy in her voice as she then finishes wiping the counter. She looks up at me and for the first time, I want to know what her eyes are saying.

I can't even imagine what it's like not to be able to see. Maybe if you were deaf or couldn't taste, you could handle it well but the gift of sight is so important. Sometimes we take simple things like that for granted until we don't have it anymore.

"She's... amazing," I comment, which makes her straighten proudly.

"She is. She has become obsessed with cooking since then. She was always good at it and now everything she cuts is the same size." she giggles. "I don't know how she does it because I certainly can't, although I can see."

"I'm sure you can," I say thoughtlessly, thinking back to the cookies she brought a few weeks ago.

She smiles shyly, taking the cloth from my hand and hanging it over the handle of the cabinet under the sink to dry. Not saying anything - which is quite shocking to me - we walk out of the kitchen together.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asks over her shoulder just before we walk past the dining room.

"No, thanks. Actually, I was about to leave." I admit, glancing briefly at my wristwatch.

"Oh, really?" she presses her lips into a straight line when I nod. "Okay. Thank you, for the ninth time, for everything."

The teasing tone and her bright eyes make my lips twitch up a little. "No problem. Do you want me to drive you home or...?"

"No, I'll stay here tonight. Thanks though," she says and I nod. She turns toward the living room. "Mom! Dad! Mr. Jeon is going home now."

"Your suitcase is still in my trunk, though," I remember and she slaps her forehead. Mr. and Mrs. Carlson appear in the hallway as I make my way to the door.

"I'll be right back," Ms. Carlson announces, disappearing around the corner.

"Why are you leaving so early?" Mr. Carlson puts a hand on my shoulder and Mrs. Carlson agrees. "We could have had a beer."

I smile. "Thank you, but I have to get up early for work tomorrow." I can feel how heavy my eyes have just gotten after getting only a few hours of sleep last night.

"You'll have to come back soon." Mrs. Carlson insists, and if I didn't know better, I'd think she said it in a scolding voice.

"I'll try to do that. Thank you for your hospitality and for the food. Everything was delicious."

"You're welcome." they both say at the same time.

Mrs. Carlson steps closer and though I wanted to shake her hand, she pulls me down to her by the shoulder. Her hug is warm and gentle, just like her personality. And she giggles when she realizes she has to stand on tiptoe to give me a proper hug.

It surprised me, but it's not bad. And when Mr. Carlson also offers me a fatherly hug, it confirms the idea that these people in front of me should be protected from anything bad. They not only opened their home to me but called me son, even though they met me for the first time today.

They treated me like a normal person. Something I haven't had in a long time.

After we pull back from the hug, I open the door and step into the night. The air is definitely cooler than it was a few hours ago when we arrived here. And except for a few street lights, it's pitch black. Ms. Carlson also appears in the doorway and then steps out.

"I'm going to go get my suitcase," she informs her parents, who then turn around after giving me one last wave.

Ms. Carlson and I walk slowly over to where I parked. Neither she nor I say anything before we then arrive in front of my car. I turn to look at her and find her already looking up at me.

"Your parents are wonderful," I decide to say.

"Thank you." she smiles. I can read in her eyes how much she loves them.

I can see where she got her personality and good traits from. The way she talks, the things she tells are reflected in her parents.

I shake my head. "No, I should be thanking you for inviting me to dinner."

"No problem," she says, shivering a bit as the wind gnaws at her skin. "Oh, by the way. These are for you."

She holds out a small basket to me. I look first at her then at the basket and then take it from her hand as she looks at me expectantly. "What are these?" I ask, not being able to make out much in the darkness.

"Strawberry jam and pickled vegetables. My mom made them." she looks up at me again, her eyes huge and waiting.

"Thank you," I murmur, looking away. "I'll go get your suitcase."

She nods and even though I said I would get it, she walks with me to the trunk. I get the suitcase out and set it down next to her, which she thanks me for. I nod and put the basket with the jars in the trunk, making sure they can't break.

After I slam the trunk shut, I turn back to her. She stares at me and I stare at her. There is silence between us and I swallow.

"Good night, Mr. Jeon." She smiles then, grabbing the handle of her suitcase.

I nod. "Good night, Mikayla."

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A/N: third time someone thought that they are a couple 👀