not my fault | jjk

iv. Cherry blossoms

He put an extra cautious emphasis on afternoon, stressing the word like he was using it for the first time.

When the doorbell rings near 10 pm, you let your novel fall, crawling off the sofa that you pulled out to a bed and rushing to the wooden entrance. You didn't expect Namjoon to return home this fast – something must have happened on his little trip.

You ready yourself to mock the life out of him, eager to meet his wasted eyes and listen to his drunk rambling about the night he just experienced. But when you unlock the door and rip it open with your lips curled upwards, you find leaning against the frame... someone entirely else.

Instinctively, your hand descends to the hem of your shirt, covering at least a mere inch of your bare thighs as you stare into Jungkook's amused face. He cocks an eyebrow at you, and your heart leaps; you act as if you don't notice that he's checking you out from head to toe.

You know he lives nearby – but you're still surprised that he remembered where you live, too.

"What are you doing here?" you question, lowering your voice, focusing intently on keeping your voice steady. For now, you might want to stay very still – you know you'll stammer if you don't.

"I wanted to come by and say hi."

"Are you... are you drunk?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes, leaning in closer as he regards you with a firm gaze and asks, "Do I look drunk to you?"

He makes sure to speak close to your face, and when you take in the scent of his minty breath, devoid of any hint of inebriation, you let your jaw fall shut. You were close to the climax of your book – in fact, you had planned to finish it to start the movie adaptation of it this Friday night.

You were entirely prepared for it: your hair arranged in a messy, cosy bun, your favourite long shirt draped over your body – or at least your torso – with the taste of your favourite ice cream flavour still lingering on your tongue.

You didn't expect an interruption in the form of... him. But the way he stands there, confident but quiet, smiling at you in a way that should be illegalised and written into every book of law...

What was your novel about again?

"May I come in?" Jungkook asks, peering past you, and you blink once – twice.

Manners have always been your strongest trait, but it seems that Jungkook has turned your brain upside down and replaced coherent thoughts with ones of a clapping monkey toy. You gulp, and then step aside, apologising under your breath.

"No need to be sorry," he says as he looks around, hands in the pockets of his joggers – oh god, he's wearing joggers – and his voice low.

There's a kind of groan in his words, one that usually accompanies his conversational tone; he must not realise what effect it has on people. Or maybe he does. You wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Why're you really here?" you ask again, attempting to sound as polite as possible and not as though you're scheming to throw him out again. Anytime soon.

"I was thinking of you."

How is this so easy for him?

He's leaning down to inspect a vase of yours, for crying out loud – how can he say such things so casually and expect from you to remain relaxed and collected with a steady heartbeat and a mind that doesn't go into a frenzy and–

"Really?" you question, feigning calmness, hiding that the lower part of your body has entirely different plans.

You step further into the room and watch him scour his pockets as if they're miles deep, and when he plummets onto your couch/make-shift bed, he's holding a small plastic canister in his palm. He stretches his arm towards you and you take the object with questions etched between your eyebrows.