Saved || A Jungkook fanfic

12.

Today, I decided I needed to learn how to let go.

Talking with Jin last night helped me sort through my tangled thoughts. Not entirely, but enough to understand that I needed to put some distance between myself and Taehyung. He couldn't rely on me forever, and as much as it hurt, I knew that stepping away was the only way he'd ever have a chance at healing.

I woke up earlier than usual in Jin's guest bedroom. Alone.

Much to Jungkook's disappointment, considering he had tried—unsuccessfully—to argue that "we've slept together before." A comment that not only turned my face ten shades of red but also sent Jin into an unprompted lecture about safe sex that lasted far longer than necessary.

I dragged myself out of bed, took a long shower, and let the warm water wash away the lingering weight of the previous night. It didn't work, but at least it gave me a moment to collect myself. After letting my hair air-dry, I applied light makeup using the cosmetics I had left from my last visit. I slipped into a pair of shorts and the oversized sweatshirt Jin had lent me before heading out to see if anyone else was awake at this hour.

The moment I opened the door, a sharp, acrid scent assaulted my nose.

Burning.

Jin never burns anything.

Panic surged through me, and I bolted down the hall at full speed.

"Shit, shit, shit—Jungkook, what the hell are you doing?!"

The sight before me was something out of a nightmare—or a bad comedy skit. Jungkook, clad in the white T-shirt he wore yesterday and what I could only assume were Jin's grey sweatpants, stood frozen in front of the stove, his dark hair tousled from sleep, his expression somewhere between panic and confusion. The way his shirt clung to his toned frame or how the morning light caught the sharp angles of his face might have stolen my breath, but right now, all I could focus on was the disaster unfolding in Jin's kitchen.

The table was already set—bowls of cereal neatly arranged, juice poured, an almost admirable attempt at breakfast. Except for one horrifying detail.

He had cracked eggs directly onto the burners of the flat-top stove.

My jaw dropped. "Are you—are you cooking eggs without a pan?!"

Jungkook's wide eyes snapped to mine, guilt and bewilderment flashing across his face as he sputtered, "I-I don't know what happened!"

I shoved past him and immediately shut off the burners, grabbing the nearest spatula to scrape the charred remains of what had once been eggs. Smoke curled upward, the acrid stench lingering in the air as I dumped the ruined mess into the trash.

"Well, for starters," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, "you didn't use something we call a pan."

Jungkook crossed his arms defensively, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "How was I supposed to know?" he muttered. "Gustave has always cooked for me."

I turned to face him slowly. "Gustave?"

"My chef, remember?" His voice was almost petulant, eyes flickering downward as if he already knew how ridiculous that sounded.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Ah, right. The personal chef... and yet you thought eggs go straight on the stove?"

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably. "It seemed logical at the time."

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I pressed my lips together to contain it. Sighing, I crouched to pull a frying pan from the cabinet. "Just go wake up Jin and sit down. I'll handle breakfast before you burn the whole place down."