I'm on the run with you, my sweet love

Chapter 9 | Nights were mainly made for saying things

This is not how Jungkook pictured this night at all.

I mean... yeah, ok, sure. Although he's pretty slow when it comes to people's emotions and social cues, he isn't completely clueless about how human beings work in certain situations (aka, dealing with the aftermath of a quarrel).

When he dashed into his car, ignoring Yoongi's disillusioned text that read: "I give up, do what you want. You're gonna hurt yourselves " (sounding like a father too damn tired to complain over his own son's questionable choices) after telling to his friends he wanted to meet you, he didn't anticipate you to jump for joy the moment he'd appear at the pub; nor he didn't expect you to fling yourself into his arms, flashing him this bright: " Thank you for coming to my rescue, Kookoo " stare, while sinking in the ocean of sparks floating in your pretty eyes

None of that ever crossed his mind, as he was scorching down the road to get to you.

Jungkook isn't that stupid.

But... with his heart flickering in its cage of bones, and the impatience brewing in every inch of his tensed body while waiting at a red light, various scenarios sprouted in the back of his mind -like a Morning Glory's corolla untwirling and opening at the first touch of dawn; and in all of them, despite the myriad of different details sprinkled here and there, you were happy.

Just this, you were happy .

And your happiness , to Jungkook, is what counts the most right now.

He imagined your mouth, stretched in a thin line, only to unfurl in a dazzling smile -hanging on your face for the whole night; your big, round eyes shaped in confusion, slowly morphing into two tender half-moons for the gratitude pulling at the corner; your lips, soft and tempting, brushing against his own in a feather-like caress -a sweet, intimate greeting between two lovers separated for very long; your head, laying upon his shoulder and your breath fanning over the sensitive flesh every time you'd turn to him to pepper an imperceptible kiss on his neck; your hand finding home on his thigh and your fingers meandering on the jeans fabric in circular, sluggish doodles (his back arching in the slightest for the thousands shivers travelling down his spine, for the warmth spreading between his spread legs; his hand gently buried in your hair cascading along your nape, fingers pinching at the soft muscles; his hand, finding comfort in touching your, fingers twiddling and fighting with one another before intertwining under the table).

He imagined the blissfulness embroidered onto your face when your stare would trail to his own; and he'd enjoy the relief swelling up into his chest while the awarenness that he was doing the right thing dawned on him -you know... that dreamy sensation you feel when you look at someone and you're suddenly catapulted in another dimension where everything is beautiful and better and, fuck , you don't want to leave that place for anything in the world.

But reality hit him like a bucket of icy water in the exact instant he spotted your figure amidst an ocean of people, and all the fantasies that accompanied him all the way, infusing him with courage, flew away like dandelions blowing in the wind. Hesitation wrapped around his heart like barbed wire, mangling it, to the point that his whole body naturally angled toward the door -filled with a sudden surge of anxiety for him to walk away and disappear from there.

From you .

From the billion good things you could do together. From the certainty that this whole chaos ( crappy bullshit , as Yoongi persistently called it) could be the master plan of destiny for the pair of you to be truly together -as friends; as lovers; he doesn't give a damn about labels (not when he risks stumbling on a swaying thread that could cost you ).