Addicted to You

Chapter 1: Milk Run Miracle

It was not just a Sunday; it was THE Sunday-the day your sleepy little town would explode with color and chaos for the annual festival! The air was absolutely humming, thick with the kind of collective excitement that only a beloved, years-old tradition could conjure. And you? You had hit the jackpot. Your apartment, shared with your incredible Mom and two equally loud brothers, was the VIP box for this afternoon's parade, sitting smack-dab across the street from all the action.

​The clock had just nudged 11:00 a.m., but down in the plaza, the crowds were already a surging sea of anticipation. They were ready to cheer, and the only thing missing was the first float. Meanwhile, you were just dragging yourself back to the land of the living after a night spent cramming for a late assignment.

A slow, luxurious stretch later, the aroma of a full-scale kitchen operation-and your mother's voice-finally pierced the morning quiet. She was making breakfast, her familiar rhythm of conversation blending with the sizzling from the pan as your brothers "helped."

​Then, the siren call.

​"Y/n! If you're awake, sunshine, get in here! I need a favor," your Mom's voice boomed.

​Milk. Of course.

​"Give me a minute, Mom!" you called back, already swinging your legs to the floor.

​First, clothes. Since the apartment perpetually mimicked a tropical climate, thanks to the lack of A/C, you usually slept in glorious, breezy solitude. You grabbed the perfect trifecta: worn-in jeans, a blindingly white tank top, and the cloud-soft, light-pink hoodie. Your hair? Brutally yanked back into a quick-and-dirty bun. Mission complete.

After a speedy bathroom refresh-the aloe-scented soap a brief moment of zen-you headed to the kitchen.

​"Parade time, sis! You coming with us?" your brother asked, chugging water like he'd run a marathon.

​You gave him a definite head-shake. "Hard pass. I'm running on fumes. I'll just watch the floats pass by from my window. Less people, less noise."

​Your Mom swooped in forty-dollars and a ten-dollar bill already in her hand. "Fifty dollars," she stated, pressing the bills into your palm. "A gallon of milk and a bottle of vegetable oil, please. You keep the change."

​"On it, Mom. Shouldn't be long." You pocketed the cash and your phone. The resident-only parking garage was a sanctuary, a world away from the developing street pandemonium. You craved that brief, quiet escape.

​Jumping into the car was pure instinct. The engine ROARED to life, the seatbelt clicked home, and you were out, threading the needle through the quickly clogging streets. You hit the main road just before the first barrier slammed shut. Victory!

​And then, the real magic. Your phone synced, and the car transformed. Within seconds, it was vibrating with the fierce, undeniable energy of your favorite BTS playlist! Volume cranked to eleven, you were lost. You were the ultimate ARMY, but the ache remained: you had never felt the electric thrill of a live concert. Today, the road was yours, and the music was the adrenaline.

​You skidded to a stop in a decent spot and charged into the supermarket. This was a surgical strike. Milk first-a quick grab. Oil second-a smooth retrieval. You glided to the register, already feeling the clock ticking on those road closures.

​"Hello, miss, good morning. Did you find everything okay?" The cashier smiled warmly, already scanning your items.

​"Morning! Yes, perfect. Just trying to beat the parade traffic," you replied, nodding politely.

​"Oh yes, the parade! I'm getting off just in time to catch it. Are you going?" she asked, bagging your haul.

​You shrugged, forcing a casual smile. "Nah, I'm staying home. I live right across from the plaza, so I can watch from my balcony if I feel like it. I'm too tired-late night with college friends," you lied smoothly.