My You | JJK

58| Dimple

"Why're you partying on a school night?"

Iseul smiled at her father's question that reverberated through her phone speaker into her ears. She had the volume super high, almost to the point of ear damage, so she could hear him over the dodgy club's raucous music.

"My classes don't start until after twelve in the afternoon for tomorrow, Dad." She chuckled, hearing a grumpy 'hmmph' on the other side of the line. "Hey! Let a girl enjoy a November Thursday night!"

"I'm just teasing, baby girl." Her father cooed. "But you let Jimin know I'm mad that he hasn't spoken to me even once since he started out in uni."

Her gaze panned to that of her cheeky brother on the dance floor, aggressively banging his head to the hip hop tune playing, the drink in his hand sploshing everywhere.

"I'll let him know when he's sober enough." Iseul waved at Hoseok when her eyes met his, pointing to her phone when he gestured for her to join him and their friends. "When are you coming to visit us?"

"Business is a little tight right now, there's a recession going on." His tone was regretful, apologetic. "I don't know if I can make it there for Christmas. I'm so sorry. I will try to be there for your birthday, though."

"It's okay, Dad." Iseul smiled, reassuring him. "It's just a birthday, please don't stress. It's pretty late for you now, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's 2 a.m." The man answered with a yawn. "Hope your brother doesn't pass out. Get home safe. Eat healthy. Call me and send me voice notes, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dad. Bye, I love you."

"I love you too, baby girl."

Sighing to diffuse her pleasant smile, she put her phone in her back pocket.

She couldn't believe it was November already. It seemed like it was only yesterday that she had set foot into Yonsei's campus. The phrase 'time flies' came to her mind.

She was distracted from her internal reverie when a male slid onto the barstool next to her.

"Bourbon. Neat, please."

Iseul recognized that voice without even having to look at him. She gasped dramatically, manicured hand coming to rest on her chest.

"What?" The boy scoffed, looking at her through the corner of his eye.

She was facing the crowd bouncing about on the dancefloor, her elbows resting on the bar's counter as she leaned back against it; her relaxed eyes and slow speech telling him she was not drunk, but not sober either, just the right combination of each to help her profess a devil-may-care attitude.

But Jungkook thought that; in the navy blue slitted dress, wrapped in velvet, hair perfectly curled, nails matching the crimson of her blood-soaked lips that were curled tauntingly at the corners; she looked like the devil herself.

"Didn't know you were one for manners, Jeon." She sipped on her drink that was unsurprisingly red. A Manhattan. He only knew because he'd heard her order it one too many times on night outs like this. "What a shocker."

Thanking the bartender that slid him his drink, Jungkook sneered, "It's because my mama raised me right, Señorita. Unlike the two that you have."

It had become a habit, a ruse almost, for Iseul and Jungkook to bicker to the ends of earth, flame one another in an attempt to make them feel shame and remorse respectively.

It never worked.

They'd start with petty things, like the colour of one's clothes or the hair of the other, and then flow into much sensitive topics. Neither of them took anything they said to heart because they both knew what had become of it when one of them had last done so.