chapter three
———◈—◇—◈—◇———
"This was a huge mistake," you groaned, head slumped in your hands.
It had been a long day at work the next day, avoiding your father and Jaewon at all costs, while also having to field off calls from real estate agents, solicitors and bankers, all of them determined to get your rental contract signed and your bank account drained. As of today you were officially a tenant of that drafty loft - but you hadn't had the energy to move in tonight, opting instead to drink away your sorrows after work with your best friends instead.
Rae and Jungkook eyed you sympathetically now across the table in the dimly lit bar.
"Hey," Jungkook soothed, reaching for your hands and pulling them away from your face. "It'll be okay, you'll work it out."
"Are you kidding?" you narrowed your eyes at him, and saw the uncertainty cross his features at your confrontational tone.
Sometimes you weren't sure how Jungkook put up with you and Rae. You were both so outspoken and confident, and Jungkook was the opposite of both of those things.
But you supposed that was probably why it worked. Jungkook was the Yin to yours and Rae's Yang.
Rae's in particular. She was loud, proud, and accepted absolutely no shit from anyone.
Like now, for instance. She had opted for a hot pink power-suit for work today, and even now in the bar after a long day, she glowed like it was nobody's business. Beside her, Jungkook was her complete opposite in all-black; but his dark, handsome features were still accentuated in the dim lighting, gorgeous without even knowing it.
"Come on, babe," Rae rolled her eyes at you now across the table, sipping at her gin cocktail as her and Jungkook eyed you side-by-side. "It's not like the world has ended, you're just doing what every other twenty-something year old adult does at this stage in life. You have to grow up some time."
"But I was so close to promotion!" you replied indignantly, feeling a little like a petulant child. "And now I'll have to-"
"To what? Work for it, like the rest of us?" Rae cut in, bordering on annoyance now, before Jungkook could get a word in. "You think that any of us have ever been offered a promotion? I mean - take Kookie for example. You've seen how good his designs are, right?"
"Yes," you nodded as if it were obvious. "They're the best in the company by far."
"Right," Rae agreed, ignoring a blushing Jungkook, going crimson at this praise. "But do you ever see him in one-to-one mentoring sessions with directors? Or conversations about promotions? No. Because Jungkook isn't the child of the CEO, is he?"
You gazed at Jungkook, wide-eyed with realisation. "Is that true?"
"Well, I - uh," Jungkook stuttered, now so red he looked like he might pass out. "I - I think there's a bit more to it than that-"
"Oh, don't be so freaking modest all the time, Kookie," Rae cut him off, placing a hand on his tattooed forearm. Her bright pink lacquered fingernails stood out against the dark ink. "You're insanely talented. Just own it."
Jungkook was gazing at Rae now - and the hand she had placed on his arm - as if all his christmases had come at once, his doe eyes wide and disbelieving.
But you had no time to assess what this meant, though you were sure you knew already. You were too busy reeling from Rae's revelation that Jungkook had never been considered for promotion. It was crazy - Jungkook was the best designer on your floor, far better than you had ever been. He deserved to be promoted months ago.
Could you really have been that blind about how nepotistic your father was?
You turned to your other friend, incredulous. "Rae? It's the same for you? You've never been offered a promotion?"
"Uh, babe, I'm literally a black trangender woman in Korea," she said sternly, rolling her eyes. "What do you think?"
Shame rolled through you like a crashing wave.
You'd noticed that Rae and Jungkook never really seemed to advance at Min Design, but you'd figured it was just because they liked their jobs and didn't want to change them.
Fuck. How had you never thought about this before?
"Damn," you said under your breath, feeling your cheeks go red with humiliation. "Am I really that oblivious? That much of a- a-"
"A spoiled brat?" Jungkook offered, clearly emboldened by Rae's hand still resting on his arm, before freezing when he realised how sassy it had come across. "Uh - sorry, I meant-"
"No, it's fine, Kook," you told him, your voice sardonic and bitter. "You can say it. I am a spoiled brat."
"Yeah, but look at you now," Rae offered, an eyebrow quirking in bemusement at how uncomfortable you were. "Going it solo. I'm proud of you."
"Me too!" Jungkook chimed in with a cute scrunch of his nose, clearly still feeling bad. You had a sneaky feeling he knew that you couldn't help forgiving him when he did that. He was freaking adorable.
"Did you tell Yoongi that you're moving out yet?" Rae asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she swiftly changed the subject. Jungkook deflated a little as her hand left his arm at last. "He'll want to know."
You sighed, heart sinking a little.
Honestly, the thought of telling your older brother - and only sibling - was a little daunting. Mainly, it was because Yoongi had struck out on his own years ago, when he broke it to your father that no, he didn't actually want anything to do with a big design corporation in Seoul. He wanted to make music, which had been his passion for as long as you could remember; your mother often said that Yoongi had sung before he spoke.
Your father had, naturally, been furious. He'd told Yoongi that if he wanted to waste his life doing something as frivolous as produce music, he would do it without your father's support. Yoongi had accepted that without complaint, moving out and going on to moderate success ever since. He lived downtown with his boyfriend, Hobi.
Yoongi was a touchy subject in your family. He still came home occasionally - very occasionally - but really, he only kept in touch with you. Your mother loved Yoongi very much, but every time she spoke to him she got this pained look in her eyes, as if she were remembering the gossip and scandal that had circulated her group of socialite friends when he had first left the house. You knew, deep down, that she loved Yoongi more than her reputation, but in a family like yours, reputation wasn't something to be sniffed at.
Your father, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with Yoongi for more reasons than just his reputation.
"No," you shook your head now, trying not to think about it. "I haven't told him. Not yet. He'll just think I'm throwing a tantrum and I'll be back home within a week."
Jungkook shook his head in disagreement and opened his mouth to speak, but Rae got there first.
"You should still tell him," Rae offered, flipping her purple-tipped braids over one shoulder. "He might be able to help. And besides, you'll have to tell him the venue for our dinner on Thursday anyway, now that it won't be at your parent's house."
Ah, shit. You'd forgotten about that.
Every few months, your friends gathered for dinner at one of your houses, and the host cooked for everyone. It was just a few of you, but you always looked forward to a night of good food and laughter with your closest friends. It had also historically been entirely stress-free, seeing as your maid Kiki would cook everything for you whenever you had to host it.
But now, you'd have to have your friends over to your new, less-than-chic apartment in two days' time, and actually make them something.
You could only imagine Yoongi's face when he saw the monstrosities you might cook up.
"I'll call him later," you resigned in defeat, seeing the look of satisfaction on Rae's face.
There was no avoiding it, really. You'd have to tell Yoongi sometime.
You just hoped he didn't dismiss it as some stupid act of rebellion.
—◈—◇—◈—◇—
Something about Rae and Jungkook's words at the bar had stirred in your chest.
This was why they were your friends, after all - they loved and cared for you, but were willing to call you out when you were being ridiculous. And you had to admit, you were being a little ridiculous tonight.
If you were going to move out, you were going to do this properly. No more whining and waiting.
So when you got home - your parent's house, seeing as you'd planned on staying one more night - you didn't go to bed like you had planned. It was only around 8pm - plenty of time, you figured.
You pulled out your suitcases instead, hauling all of your stuff into them haphazardly and chucking them into the trunk of your car. You had wanted to vacuum-pack and store them neatly, hire a moving truck maybe, to ensure your designer stuff didn't get ruin - but there was no time for that now. You were feeling too independent and spontaneous to wait any longer.
You left home without saying goodbye to your parents, stopping by the late night hardware store on the way across town to pick up as much furniture as you could fit in your car, wincing a little as it dented your bank account even further than your rental payment earlier that day. When you arrived at the apartment, it was closing in on 10pm.
It took a good hour to haul everything up the stairs - unfortunately, it seemed the handsome asshole from across the hall was right about the elevator. Eventually, you stood in the open door of your apartment, panting and glancing around at the virtually empty rooms; there was a bed and the kitchen was fitted, but not much else.
Right, you thought, knowing you should go to bed but too wired on this new independent girlboss thing to sleep. Where to begin?
Maybe you'd have to order things like a sofa and television, which were too big to simply go and pick up. But you could at least put up some shelves while you waited for them. After all, you were a grown adult - you could build a shelf. How hard could it be?
By midnight, however, you were ready to give up.
"Dammit!" you cursed, wiping your damp brow with your free hand while you held a hammer in the other, newly acquired from the store. You had found a ladder in the hallway between your apartment and the asshole's across the hall, and were currently half-way up it, trying to nail a shelf in. But the nails you had placed in one end of the shelf just did not want to go into the wall, no matter how hard you bashed it. "I wasn't cut out for this!"
In your moment of frustration, the hammer slipped from your hand and dropped to the floor with an almighty clatter.
Fuck, you thought, figuring it would mark the floor - until something much worse occurred.
The next few moments happened very quickly. The front door - which was still open from you hauling your stuff in - creaked a little. There was a scratching of nails (or was that paws?) against the hardwood floor below you, a flash of brown and black, and then-
Crash!
The ladder swayed ominously beneath your feet as something struck the base, making you shriek, and you barely noticed the front door creaking once more, a larger shape moving into the room this time, when you were losing your footing, heart leaping into your throat as you lurched backwards-
The last thing you saw was a blurry ball of brown fluff, before you were falling through the air.
———◈—◇—◈—◇———