form follows heart /jungri

i. peaches and asshole

a/n: inspired heavily by the love hypothesis! (a great book hehe) and will be updated every week because this draft has been sitting in my google docs for a long time so 75% have already been written:)

hope you enjoy!<3

Yerim's list of "sights that nobody, no matter what wrong they committed, should be forced to see" was long with a total of 19 bullet points. The dots on the surface of a strawberry, for example. Her Shih Tzu's sexual relationship with her couch pillows was another one. Or the most recent one: a couple having sex on the subway during a luggish Monday night.

But standing next to a bin of nectarines, a few flies dawdling above the sweet fruits, Yerim was positive that the sight in front of her had just dethroned everything else.

Jungkook clad in black yoga pants (so loose it could probably fit two of Yerim's torso), thick white socks that were rolled at the ankle, an oversized shirt reaching the midst of his thighs, and slippers that definitely belonged in the house and should never see the light of the day. In other words, he looked like an abstract drawing that went wrong, which really said something because those kinds of drawings could never be wrong.

That wasn't the main reason, though. With him looking like this, he felt normal, which Yerim didn't like one bit. Because him being mean to her in business attire gave her an excuse for him hating her: the job. However, in regular clothes, that protection was stripped away, meaning he simply hated her.

For what reason? She had no idea. 

"Why are you here?" The question sounded more like a command.

He shoved a hand through his hair. Yerim blinked in disbelief, watching the black strands flop from one side of his head to another. They seemed to have a mind of their own, sticking up from the humidity, static, or whatever made hair stand up. And - oh my god - was his hair always this long, reaching below the lobe of his ears? Huh, thinking back to the times they worked together, she realized that he wasn't wearing the usual greasy hair gel, which, in her opinion, did nothing but suffocate his hair follicles. 

"I need to buy food."

His response - more specifically, the tone of his voice - almost made Yerim jump out of her skin and run away screaming "murder". Not because his words were as sharp as a knife's edge, but because they didn't contain an undercurrent of malicious intent and torture. No, everytime he spoke to her, he had always been downright rude. Yerim swore, in the four years she worked for him, that she had never heard a single compliment from those chapped lips of his.

"But why do you need to buy food?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Because I need to eat."

"What? No, wait, wrong question." She pointed at the paper taped to the black plastic sign and said, "These nectarines cost about two dollars per pound and are probably expiring. Shouldn't you be at a store that sold - I don't know - one stalk of celery for fifty dollars?"

Buying groceries that expensive would probably leave Yerim paying off debt for the rest of her life and even her next life. But, for Jeon Jungkook, one of the youngest supervisors of Jeon's Skyline, a successful firm that domestically and internationally catered to the architectural designs and needs of its customers, swiping fifty dollars was as easy as breathing. He probably woke up atop silk bed sheets and dressed in tailored velvet suits to drive to work in his sleek, eco-friendly electric car. It also helped that his father was the CEO of the company.

He continued to look massively confused. "Celery for fifty dollars?"

Yerim scowled. "Don't act dumb with me. I know rich people eat out of silver spoons."