When the campus heartthrob Jeon Jungkook who's actually a secret, self-professed romantic at heart, and the innocent country girl Kim Y/N, who's actually not as timid and docile as she seems, end up sharing a dorm for the semester, both discover tha...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"WH-WHAT ARE YOU doing here?" I stuttered, my eyes slowly fluttering up to meet Jungkook's dark, stormy ones as he one handedly unzipped the bag hanging off his shoulder and retrieved a neatly folded, black, flannel shirt that looked like it would be a couple of sizes too big for me.
"Saving your stupid arse from shitheads like him, that's what." he rumbled in mild displeasure, nodding towards Junsu who was now curled up into a foetal position on the ground, delicately nursing his bloody nose.
I was surprised that not only was Junsu still here, stubbornly refusing to move from where he'd fallen; but he also refused to quit glaring menacingly at Jungkook even though a single movement from the tall, muscular man standing beside me caused him to practically cower and visibly shrink further back into his shoulders as he gingerly touched his torn lip and bruised jaw with a disgruntled expression.
But Jungkook looked like he could hardly care about the latter's glowering looks as he zipped his bag right back with an unnerving calmness, not a single frown marring the smooth skin of his forehead.
"Take this," he muttered, handing his shirt to me before pursing his lips in what looked like a mix of anger and hurt. "You can wear this," his eyes flickered to my naked shoulder for barely a fraction of a second as his jaw clenched even harder.
"Thank you," I mumbled quietly as my face heated with a mix of gratitude and mortification. My voice came out so low, I wasn't sure Jungkook had even heard me; and if he had, I had no chance of affirming it because the warmth of his hand disappeared from underneath mine just as rapidly as it had come, leaving behind only the lingering traces of heat where his fingers had momentarily brushed against mine, and a soft, fresh-smelling shirt that felt as cool as ice against my feverish skin.
Lowering my head, I let my fingers dig into the shirt's light fabric, indulging in its silken softness for a few more seconds before hesitantly but quietly slipping it over my shoulders. The clean, gentle fragrance of what smelled like a fabric softener filled my senses almost instantly as I wrapped my arms around myself, silently revelling in the newfound aromatic warmth.
As much as I hated to admit it, I felt like I would love every second of being engulfed in Jungkook's shirt, for as long as I could. For as long as he would let me.
With its pliant cuffs ending well beyond my wrists where they nearly brushing my fingertips, and its ironed hem falling just a bit lower than mid-thigh, it reminded me of my seven-year-old self, wearing my father's favourite shirt and running around the house, flapping about my little arms, giggling, chortling and skipping and sliding over the excess fabric that threatened to trip me over. But I never tripped.
Because Appa was always there to catch me.
He would chase me around with a silly, doting smile plastered on his pleasantly youthful face and his strong arms outstretched in front of him, always ready to dive in front of me and break my fall before I could even squeal for help. I smiled wistfully. Although, I was never going to get those moments back, I could certainly get used to wearing Jungkook's figure-drowning shirt and reliving one of the happiest memories of my childhood.
