I gave it up, Y/N.
...
He gave up what?
Long after Jungkook's gone, you're finally dressed, and the bathroom is no longer steamy, you mull over that last, obviously meaningful statement that he threw at you before his departure.
He gave up what?
The video? The muffin?
You wish you could think it's something as shallow as that, but the reality is that his tone implied at much deeper waters.
Some inequivocabile feeling in you pushes your mentality to muse over a further meaning, reviewing every gesture and change in his facial position, every vocal shift and tone movement. He meant something, but what?
You can't help but feel, in context, that the statement was much more emotionally revealing then you're currently understanding. Jungkook sounded awfully sincere when he said it, tone silky and informative, as if he was letting you know in plain speech every emotion beating in his heart.
But that's the whole problem, isn't it?
He didn't tell you what he was feeling; instead, he jam-packed every emotion into four words and your name, then dropped that lovely little bomb at your doorstep with a bow tied around the pin for you to decipher.
He wasn't talking about the video; so what was he taking about?
Tapping your finger on the fabric of the comforter, you tug on the hem of your alpaca shirt and stare up at the ceiling.
Your head hurts.
Whoever said that girls are more difficult to understand than boys has most likely never dealt with Jeon Jungkook before.
"Hey." A soft knock on the door makes your heart jump in your chest, and you huff a little before turning to see Namjoon peering into the room. "You ready to come in here? We have a couple things to discuss."
He looks amazing today, superbly angled face framed unstyled golden-brown hair. The soft fringe falling down his forehead somehow gives Namjoon a gentler feel, still cool and masculine but at the same time compassionate and impressionable.
Unmovable iron covered in fluffy wool.
"Sure." You stand fluidly, rubbing the slightly sore skin of your left leg under your sweatpants.
Namjoon leads you into the living room where everyone is gathered, faces sober for once.
Your eyes clash with Jungkook's gorgeous black ones, so totally different from the playful gaze he graced you with minutes ago in the private space of your room.
With the depth of his eyes staring back at you, his words echo far back in your head, a faint whisper of silky admittance.
I gave it up, Y/N.
Still not knowing what he meant, you shake his voice out of your head and make yourself scan the room, taking in the seven men who've adopted you. Each and everyone has an internal intensity about them, eyes quiet but riotous within.
Even light-hearted Hoseok is looking blankly out he window, his eyes shadowed with seriousness.
"Holy crap," whispers Jimin under his breath. His orange hair is kind of sticky-up, like he's been running his fingers through it, and he's sitting on the couch with his elbows braced on his knees. "I can't believe we're going to do this. This is the most freaking idiotic thing-"
"We're gonna get blown to pieces," says Yoongi. It seems that in the face of reality, he's forgotten all about any beef between himself and Jungkook. Now his pretty eyes are creased with subtle stress, lips pursed. "How will this even work? We thought we could just...walk in?"
Yeah. That's exactly what all of you thought.
Then someone actually sat down and thought about it, and the acute naivety of your plan came into blinding light.
You lean up against the wall in the entryway, feeling the downtrodden atmosphere creep its tense way into your shoulders. The doubt in the air is suffocating, impending doom permeating the room like a black fog.
When Namjoon spoke about it, it seemed so easy, so patriotic for the nation of your own individualistic freedoms. Walk in, give your mob boss parental units the verbal middle finger, and walk out unbothered and unharmed.
His words were just so uplifting, painting a vivid scene of your group striding in like the protagonists of a comic, confident and ready to take on the entirety of evil.
It was just so easy...until it wasn't.
As all of the men in the living room are either staring grimly off into the distance or rubbing their temples with stress, you'd say that the gravity of the hypothetical situation is finally setting in.
It's the eight of you versus a coalition of black world patriarchs.
The odds are not in your favor.
"We can do it. It'll work fine." Namjoon puts his hands on his slender hips, trying to keep his voice positive and calm. "All we have to do is confront them. We all left-"
"We all ran." Yoongi clasps his hands together, making hard eye contact the the younger man who's attempting to convince you. "We all ran from them. How can we intimidate them, Namjoon, when we're the ones who ran?"
Biting your lip, you can't help but acknowledge Yoongi's point.
Seeing it in Namjoon's light, it's like the eight of you broke ranks from some sadistic slavery system and courageously took a stand, showing to your families that you refused to adopt their immoral lifestyle. Like you're heros who defeated the enemy with one fell blow.
But in all reality, you just ran.
Slipped out in the night, like criminals.
Like you're the ones who've done something wrong. Where's the courage in that? And how could the biggest, meanest bulldogs in the country be afraid of a group of cowards standing up to them?
You in particular.
How can little, pathetic you ever be anything to be afraid of? How can you ever be anything threatening, anything adamant?
How can you ever be...anything?
What's going to happen isn't what you imagined at first. You thought that walking in all glitzed and glammed into that party, with Jungkook and Yoongi and all of the tatted up, brutal men surrounding you would be the ultimate sign of your father's power weakening. You'd be a symbol of power and rebellion.
But in all reality, what you'd really be is a laughingstock.
A pathetic excuse for the spark of a rebellion.
As silence mutes you all into catatonic lumps of humanity musing upon your own demises, it occurs to you that sometimes there just isn't anything left to say.
What words can help you gain a victory like this?
As you glance into Jin's eyes across the room, seeing the stark bleakness there, you know.
There are none.
No words, from Namjoon or anyone else, can help to fix this.
After everything you've gone through - all the lengths to find this party and get a way in, now all of you realize.
This plan of yours is completely nonsensical. You'd be walking targets, vulnerable and unprotected.
In the end, verbal war won't make flesh wounds.
"We're done," Jin says quietly, face drawn and pale. "All we can do is sit here. Hide. Confronting them at that party won't make any difference."
Heck, what can any of you say? He's right, totally and undoubtedly.
You're all doomed.
***
"Maybe we could-" Taehyung stops, popping himself on the mouth as if scolding himself. "No, that wouldn't work. Nevermind."
Jimin grunts vaguely in response, one of his booted feet kicked up onto the coffee table. Softly, he pats the empty couch cushion next to him and murmurs, "Sit down, Tae. You're making me nervous, pacing like that."
Taehyung does as the orange-haired suggests, shaking his own silvery mane and he plops down on the couch and drops his head to rest on Jimin's shoulder.
Even though the thought is totally inappropriate for the stressful moment, you internally simper over how cute they are together, soft and cuddly and seeking each other for physical comfort when they're worried.
Tae turns his face in toward Jimin's shoulder, and Jimin strokes Taehyung's silky hair.
From your vantage point across the room, you sigh.
It's been hours since you gathered in the living room to discuss the plan, only to realize that your plan wasn't really a plan at all. Now everyone is in a zombie-like state, thinking so hard about how they're going to get out of this mess.
Hoseok is spreadeagled on the carpet in the center of the living room, eyes closed, his hair puffed out around his head like an ebony halo.
Through the kitchen doorway you can see Jin and Namjoon passing alternatively, taking turns pacing around the kitchen as they brainstorm for ways to save all your butts. Their voices are quiet murmurs dancing across the air into the room, soft whispers of frustration.
Without a plan, all you have to do is sit here and wait for your father to figure out where you are. It's a waiting game, and you need to get a plan before your time's up.
Yoongi's disappeared off into one of the bedrooms to do who knows what, leaving the room with a final scathing look at Jungkook and a mouthed 'we're not finished'.
You assume that's in regards to the whole Mina situation.
And finally there's Jungkook, leaned up against the doorway between the kitchen and living room, his eyes dark and observant as he watches his brothers putter around.
He glances up, catches your gaze.
Watches as your eyes wander to Hoseok's finger tapping anxiously against the carpet.
To Namjoon's creased face as he passes by the doorway.
To Jimin's full lips flattened into a thin line.
Jungkook moves away from the wall, slumping toward you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.
His head tilts to the side, tattoos swirling against the golden skin of his neck and behind his ear, disappearing where his dark hair brushes his neck. The shuffle of his socks grows louder as he approaches, halting when he stops by your side to survey the room as you are.
"Are they always like that?" you ask him under your breath, eyes still trained on the two figures sprawled on the couch. "I didn't take Jimin as the...cuddly type."
A vision of his bloody grin while skipping upstairs flashes through your mind.
Jungkook pops his knuckles, shaking out his hands immediately afterword, and one of his rings glints. "Jimin hyung is a protector, and Tae hyung is the one out of all of us who needs the most protecting. They're a match made in heaven."
Looking back at the pair, you see more clearly that Taehyung is tucked into the obvious cradle of Jimin's arms, the older comforting the younger with gentle, reassuring strokes of his hand.
"Because he can't touch guns?" you ask. "Taehyung, I mean. He needs protecting because he can't touch guns?"
Jungkook angles his head from side to side in a 'eh kind of' gesture, tossing a casual finger towards his hyung. "Tae hyung doesn't like violence, or being the one administering it, anyway. He usually does the recon, tracking and intelligence stuff."
Jungkook leans, letting his foot and leg bump against yours. "He isn't usually in the thick of the fight. He kind of...freezes."
Freezes. Hands trembling, staring at a gun like if he touches it he'll die an instant, painful death.
On the couch, Taehyung stares blankly out at the living room, his wide eyes deep and bright and slightly obscured but the moon-colored brush of his bangs. His gorgeously full mouth is parted slightly.
He looks small and sweet and innocent.
Like, as Jungkook said before, he needs protecting.
"What happened?" you ask quietly. "Does anyone know..."
Shrugging, Jungkook rakes a hand through the dark strands of his hair, fingers leaving it fluffy and upturned in their wake. "I've heard bits and pieces. I think he was kidnapped when he was younger, but I'm not sure of the whole story."
Gnawing at your lip as Jimin rubs Taehyhbg's shoulder, you marvel at how these seven men have gone so long with each other and never shared their full pasts. Obviously, some know more than others.
Hoseok's family seems to be common knowledge, at least to Yoongi, and Jimin and Jungkook know some of Taehyung's past but you aren't sure how much.
Jungkook's afraid of the rain, Yoongi's a locked box, and Namjoon and Jin pulled each other out of their own separate maws of caged desperation.
It's a big mishmash of informational scraps, so scrambled up that you can't paste them together to see the full picture.
All you can figure is that they've all gone through their own stints in the seven levels of Hell, facing demons beyond your imagination.
Jungkook says, "I wanna nap. You? Nap with me?"
You arch an eyebrow at him. "Nap with you? First of all, is this the time? Second...is this the time?"
"Always nap time." He takes your arm and pulls you away from your surveying spot, back toward the bedrooms. "Besides, isn't this what normal couples do? We nap together, and...cuddle. And stuff."
He's blushing, a sweet pink painting across his cheekbones.
Holy crap. "Are we a couple?"
Now, amidst all the stress and worry and fear, all you can think about is what he meant by 'I gave it up, Y/N'.
The hall is dark compared to the living room lighting, so you have to squint your eyes to see his face, cheekbones lighter than the dips of his black eyes and lips.
"Aren't we?" Jungkook leads you into the bedroom he's using, quiet light filtering in through the blinds. "I mean we do couple stuff, right? And we talk and everything. About our feelings."
You'd never have guessed that the tattooed, semi-aloof man in front of you would ever say those words.
You wouldn't know what couple stuff entails, so you shrug. "I guess. I'm not sure, to be honest."
You fight to keep your own blush from flooding your cheeks as Jungkook declares, "Well, it doesn't make sense to not be a couple. We might as well. Right? Because we're taking it slow, and getting to know each other."
If he's looking for a verbal agreement from you, you aren't sure you can provide one. Your tongue is glued to the roof of your mouth, excitement and trembling rushing warmth rocketing through your veins.
You finally manage to pry your tongue free, and choke out, "Okay."
Jungkook's hand slides down from your forearm to your hand, his fingers catching on yours and sliding in to fit between yours. He grins, quick and bright like the flare of a candle wick lighting. "Okay. Yeah, okay."
"But I still hate you." Your voice is a little shakier than you would like as a crazy kind of jubilation screams in you.
Laying down on the bed, Jungkook rolls onto his side - facing you - and when he looks up at you his eyes are sparkling like pitch-colored iridescent diamonds. "I know, Princess."
Pat pat.
His hand smooths over the comforter next to him, tan and ink and silver slivers of metal rings. "Come here."
Okay. You inhale deeply to calm the slight tremble in your hands and sit on the edge of the bed. Laying down, you feel your hair splay out on the pillow. The ceiling above you is dark as you deep your eyes locked on it, nervous to look to the side.
Jungkook's breath is moving your hair, making the tiny strands around your face swaying to and fro in ecstasy at his nearness. He smells earthy and masculine, like a thunderstorm rolling over a mountain top and splitting around the frosty peak.
It takes all the courage in you to turn onto your side and face him.
This close, his face is highlighted in stunning detail. Your eyes dip to the cross tattooed at the hill of his cheekbone and and the tiny scar there.
"What did you mean when you said that you 'gave it up'?" you ask.
Your nose brushes his.
Jungkook closes his eyes and bites his lower lip, teeth scraping the piercings. "Go to sleep. It's nap time."
You almost argue, but Jungkook sets a quieting hand on your hip, slipping an arm under your head to pillow you.
You shut up, and go to sleep with his breath brushing your skin.
***
"Get up. Freaking- get up, Jungkook. Y/N. Now."
The voice is a calm kind of panicked, trying to hold it all together when everything is falling apart.
Sleep still hangs like a cloud in your mind, but the fog isn't thick enough to keep out the urgent, piercing voice that you vaguely recognize as Hoseok.
Seconds later, his hand lands on your shoulder, firm and shaking with the intention of getting you up now.
He's not playing around.
Even Jungkook slowly becomes conscious next to you, peering blearily at Hoseok. "Hyung? What's wrong?"
Rubbing your eyes, you take your first good look at Hoseok's face and feel your stomach drop to your toes.
He's pale and scared, eyes shifting back and forth like he's waiting for an attack from any direction. "Get up, freaking now. We have to get out."
"What?" But Jungkook moves, the tone of the older man's voice pushing him into military-like defense mode. You follow him out of the bed and stand, heart pounding in anxiety as Hoseok starts to herd you from the room.
"Hyung, what is happening?" Jungkook hisses. He reaches back and grabs your hand, keeping a hold on you.
You hear movement in the living room, catching a glimpse of Yoongi's black hair slipping past the doorway.
"I don't know," Hoseok gasps. "I don't know. We just...we have to get out. Something's-"
Something's
What would have come next?
Looking back later on, you would wonder how things would have turned out if Hoseok had woken you up five minutes earlier. If he had gotten you all out, pushed you all out the door in time..
If you had all gotten out.
But Hoseok doesn't finish his sentence.
Instead, he flings his arms around his head and ducks down, putting himself between you and Jungkook and the back of the house.
The back of the house which, milliseconds later, explodes into a fiery ball of cinderblock and flames.
[A/N]
VERY unedited
It took a long time, but it's also like three times longer than a normal chapter lol.
To those of you who told Nini (bruhseok/SEOKJESUS ) to tell me to update, she did indeed pass the message along. You can thank her for this chapter 😂
Hope you enjoyed.
❤️PB