FIFTY SHADES OF JEON || BOOK 2 JIKOOK ✅ (18*)

42

JIMIN POV

"Here you are, Jimin dear." Mrs. Jones interrupts my inner turmoil.

When I glance up at her, she hands me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, her eyes twinkling.

I haven't had one of these for years. I smile shyly and dig in.

When I finally crawl into bed, I curl up on Jungkook's side, dressed in his Tshirt.

Both his pillow and his T-shirt smell of him and as I drift off I silently wish him safe passage home and a good mood.

I wake with a start.

It's light and my head is aching, throbbing at my temples. Oh no.

I hope I don't have a hangover.

Cautiously, I open my eyes and notice the bedroom chair has moved and Jungkook is sitting
in it.

He's wearing his tux and the
end of his bowtie is peeping
out of the breast pocket.

I wonder if I'm dream-ing.

His left arm is draped over the chair, and in his hand he holds
a cut glass tumbler of amber liquid.

Brandy? Whiskey?

I have no idea.

One long leg is crossed at the ankle over his knee.

He's wearing black socks and dress shoes.

His right elbow rests on the arm of the chair, his hand up to his chin and he's slowly running his index finger rhythmically back and forth over his lower lip.

In the early morning light, his eyes burn with grave intensity but his general expression is completely unreadable.

My heart almost stops.

He's here.

How did he get here? He must have left New York last night.

How long has he been here watching me sleep?

"Hi." I whisper.

He regards me coolly and my heart stutters once more.

Oh no.

He moves his long fingers away from his mouth, tosses back the remainder of his drink and places the glass on the bedside table.

I half expect him to kiss me
but he doesn't.

He sits back, continuing to regard me, his expression impassive.

"Hello." he says finally, his
voice hushed and I know he's still mad. Really mad.

"You're back."

"It would appear so."

Slowly I pull myself up into a sitting position, not taking
my eyes off him.

My mouth is dry.

"How long have you been sitting there watching me sleep?"

"Long enough."

"You're still mad."

I can hardly speak the words.

He gazes at me, as if
considering his response.

"Mad." he says as if testing
the word, weighing up its nuances, its meaning.

"No, Jimin."

"I am way, way beyond mad."

Holy crap. I try to swallow
but it's hard with a dry mouth.

"Far beyond mad . . . that doesn't sound good."