"I can't fucking breathe without you, Faye. You mean everything to me."
Why does this sound better than I love you? It took me this long to realize that he was serious. Now that I look at him, I understand. The never-ending saga between us and the h...
A/N: As I have already told you, this chapter will be a little crossover between Gold Dust and Bad Decisions by dappleddaisies. I know it may come up as weird since both female protagonists are involved with Jungkook, but I like to think that bd-jk and gd-jk are coming from different words, so I allowed myself to intertwine their paths.
**Yes, I used direct references from her first chapter.**
Once again, thank you so much Holly for accepting my idea! It means more than you can imagine and I can't properly describe how grateful I am. You have an incredible talent, and this is just a mere thank you for how much I value your work and effort! I think I speak for all of us when I say your stories are making our days better, and our nights spicier. Please, never give up on writing! Wish you all the best and send you lots of love!
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Faye
It's the loud cheers, continuous peals of laughter, and streams of blazing light coming from the bars that make 2 A.M. on an island look like a crowded 5 P.M. in a mall in Seoul. Time here recognizes no concept of day and night-only youth.
Raw, unfiltered, green juvenescence where getting too drunk and puking on the streets is fun. And, as a matter of fact, it is. Fun to watch. Not fun to carry that hangover the next day. They will learn all about it sooner or later.
Even the 40 years old bachelor who used a little too much gel for his hair will learn. Hovering over the trash bin, spitting his guts, got his slick hair too glossy, too greasy, the gravity making it look like a Sonic X cosplay, vomiting his bad decisions.
"There is still time to go back," Jungkook hooks his arm around my shoulders, dragging me closer to him, yet his steps don't halt.
His body relaxed, freshly fucked, a pair of black, tight jeans hugging his muscular legs, whereas a baggy t-shirt tries its best to hide his torso. The cold breeze of the sea has nothing on him when he, himself, is made of fire.
The same fire burning his skin but consuming mine, its smoke sinking deep down in my airways, making my blood course like lava. The same fire and the same smoke gripping my lungs like a satiny glove, metamorphosing my regular breaths in staccato moans.
Too bad I'm not like him.
For a winter kid, and even though I prefer the cold weather, the goosebumps on my skin betray my preferences. That's why Jungkook insisted on me wearing a hoodie. Because deciding to go out in bars while wearing a large hoodie is easily defining sexuality.
