#theyre actually soulmates | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alphabetboyluvr · 8 months

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A time before DB and JK meet officially where they crossed paths but don't remember or almost but missed each other by seconds. You know, typical kdrama missed meet cutes lol.

🪩 WORDCOUNT | 2.4k 🪩 NOTE FROM HOLLY | so... that thing about me and finding it impossible to write anything short.... yeah that. lmao. this is bd lore in the BEST possible way imo. something that neither of them remember and likely never will. this is set about four years before the events of BD. JK would have been 20-21, and B would have been 21-22 (give or take a year). thank you SO much for this request. i had so much fun with it!!

🪩 BD DRABBLES MASTERPOST 🪩

Jeon Jungkook looks devastatingly pretty with cherry-red lips. Smudged and a little faded, they leave the faintest mark on the end of his cigarette—a bad habit, he knows, but one that he picked up as an excuse to flirt with a girl whose lips are far more crimson than his.

Of course they are, though. How else would she stain him in evidence of her existence if they weren’t?

Even when he’s tarnished in her, there’s no evidence of him on her. Nothing to tell new acquaintances to stay away—and Hayun loves making new friends.

A bottle of Jack rests by his feet. Neat. A little lukewarm. Ass perched on the curb outside a house just off campus, he’s in no mood to get himself embroiled in the debauchery he knows his friends are partaking in. Just wants to clear his head.

Foolishly hopes she’ll do the same. That she’ll notice his absence. That her heart will ache like his currently is.

In their final year of studies, his friends are all letting loose for the final time before they have to cram for finals. It’s a night of celebration. Of last-chances. Of opportunities that won't present themselves again for a good few lunar orbits.

And so while he may not have the same restrictions, having started his studies a little later than scheduled, he’s been making the most of it with them.

Quiet kisses hidden from his friends are fun. He likes them. Loves them, even.

But to then watch her very publicly let a guy make moves on her? To make moves back?

Feels fuckin’ awful.

“Oh, you know what?” A voice echoes from the porch of the house behind him. “You can take her violin and shove it up your ass, you ostentatious, pseudo-intellectual prick.”

It’s a little twisted, but it brings Jungkook comfort to know he isn’t the only one with a shitty excuse for a love life. Knows he shouldn’t listen in—but fuck it.

“Where does she keep her violin, huh? In your trousers? ‘Cause that’s the only way that what I just saw and what you’re saying could even possibly correlate,” the girl continues, unrelenting in the way she dictates her speech. Barely lets her partner get a word in edge-ways. “No? She not a tiny violin specialist? The rooms aren’t that dark, dickhead.”

He thinks the tirade is over, but finds himself laughing when he hears, “And not to brag, but my last eye exam went exceptionally well, so don’t you dare try and tell me I was seeing shit. Twenty-twenty vision, baby.”

It’s easy to tell whoever is speaking is deliberating adding a little dramatic flare to their words. Is definitely drunk. Is also definitely not afraid of standing her ground.

Glancing over his shoulder as he stubs out his cigarette, he’s surprised to see the girl—you—on the phone instead of confronting someone in person.

In a pretty little party dress, you’re just the right combination of hot mess. Even from a fair distance away, he can notice the glitter all over your skin. Not really his type—so different from Hayun—but there’s something about you. Something that intrigues him. Makes it hard to look away.

“She could be fuckin’ Vivaldi for all I care!” You seethe into your phone. “Does it sound like I give a shit if she’s the best in her class? You want me to give her a gold medal or something? Don’t piss me off. Prick.”

Jungkook would argue that you’re already pissed off. With a tone of voice like that, you must be.

There’s a final curse, and then your phone is almost thrown across the front lawn. Almost. You know better. Know that you can’t afford to replace the screen if you shatter it. Instead, you have to grit your teeth and scream.

It’s only once you finish your venting of frustration that you notice a pair of starry eyes on you.

Raising your brows, you shake your head in his direction. “Can I help?”

And then he fucking laughs. Shrugs. Is pleased to see it makes you smile, too.

“Really hate violin, don’t you?”

Shaking your head, far kinder this time, you sigh. “Don’t have much of an opinion on them. Not unless it’s the strings in the intro of Untouched by The Veronicas. In that case, the violin is the greatest instrument known to man.”

“Untouched? The Veronicas?” he laughs, suddenly reminded of a song he hasn’t heard in years. “Didn’t realise it was still 2005.”

“Hey, don’t be judgy,” you say as you walk towards him, perching down on the curbside, too. “It’s a classic.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” he defends, reaching down for his bottle of Jack and offering it over to you. “Boyfriend trouble?”

Shaking your head, you decide that unloading your problems onto a stranger is exactly what this night calls for.

“Girl I’ve been seeing. Wasn’t that serious.” Nodding towards the bottle you add, “You first.”

“Seemed pretty serious,” he mumbles, before swigging down his whiskey. Jack is shit, in his opinion, but it’s cheap and it gets the job done. Clearing his throat with a small ‘ah’, he holds it back over for you to take. “Satisfied?”

You don’t vocalise a response—but you do take the bottle from him and ignore the burn as it races down your throat. Of everything you’d choose to drink, Jack Daniels would not be it. You like fruity things. Had been on vodka cranberry juice all night.

“Wasn’t serious," you double down, then shrug. "Can’t let people think they can get away with bad behaviour, though. Let them do it once, and they’ll do it again and again."

It’s something you’re adamant about. Something you’ll do well to remember.

“Anyway, you know why I’m out here like a miserable bitch,” you continue as you pass the bottle back. “What brings you here?”

“Something similar.”

It’s only now that you really take him in for all that he is.

Same age as you, you think, judging by his build. Though his shoulders are broad, he hasn’t properly filled out yet—he’s trying, though. You can see the definition in his arms. His shoulders. Clearly is trying to shape himself into a man. No longer a teenager, but not really an adult. With eyes like that, though, he’ll always look a little younger than he is. His dark hair waves around his features, so casually undone you know he must have put a lot of effort into it. It’s sweet.

He tries, and that’s more than can be said for most of the boys at the party.

“It doesn’t suit you,” you tell him.

“Hm?”

“The red lipstick,” you nod towards the sheen on his lips. There’s a little on his neck, too. His T-shirt is black, but you imagine there’s some there, as well. “You’d look better without it.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Guessed as much,” you softly smile. “So what, then? Your girlie pissed all over her territory? So no one else would approach you? Then decided she wanted to play elsewhere?”

“Something like that.”

“Girlfriend?”

Jungkook just shrugs. Tells the truth, even if it feels like a lie. “Just friends.”

“You kiss all your friends?”

“Just one.”

“Ouch,” you wince. Friends-with-benefits situations are dumb, you think. Wouldn’t ever wanna end up in one. Know they end in unbearable heartbreak. “That’s rough.”

He nods. Knows how it’ll end, too, even if he’s been trying to tell himself otherwise.

“Well, we’re friends, now,” you declare, definitely too drunk to be making good decisions. “You and me. Have bonded over terrible people doing terrible things.”

He wants to tell you that Hayun isn’t terrible.

Instead, he raises a brow at your fledgling—and fleeting—friendship.

“If she’s off making new friends, then maybe you should consider kissing your other friends,” you playfully shrug, knowing better than to get involved in a situation like this. “Y’know… make it even.”

And Jungkook is well aware he shouldn’t indulge in your flirt, but he’s hurting. Wants to feel wanted—and the way you’re looking at him? He can’t remember the last time Hayun looked at him like that.

The way you see it, you’ll never see this man again. You could both do with a little pick-me-up. Confirmation that life goes on, even if the people you date are awful.

A kiss is just a kiss.

Or at least, for now, it is. One day, you’ll develop a complex. Blame Seokjin.

But you’re yet to meet him. Yet to unlearn all your rules and make far feebler, more pathetic ones in their place.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute,” you whisper, edging closer ever so slightly.

“Kinda?” He tweaks a brow, eyes not on yours, but on your lips. There’s a little glitter in your gloss. Think maybe it’ll suit him better.

“Mhmm,” you hum, reaching up to lightly trace your thumb across his bottom lip, ridding him of a little bit of his very own red flag. “Kinda. Never kissed a guy with a lip piercing.”

Just a stud, he’s only had it a little while. Was trying to make himself look a little older. Sharper. Light from the house catches in it as your thumb pulls back - but Jungkook pulls closer. Nudges his nose against yours. Holds it there for a second.

“Maybe I should take one for the team,” he husks, lips brushing yours. “Just so you know what it’s like.”

Nodding, you let your nose stroke against his. “You’d be such a good friend if you did.”

Lips parted, the end of your sentence grants him permission to sink his lips between yours. Slow as he does so, Jungkook’s scared of fucking it up.

Hasn’t kissed anyone that isn’t Hayun for months, now. Isn’t even sure he knows how to.

And yet as soon as you press down into the kiss, his mind is void of her. Totally blank. Pitch black, until the faintest of stars begin to appear. Sparkle. Shine.

There’s a sweetness to you, even despite the whiskey. Maybe it’s the cranberry juice. Maybe it’s your lip gloss. Jungkook doesn’t have the mental capacity to decipher it, for he can feel your tongue stroking across his bottom lip—and then he’s granting permission. Inviting you into his mouth. Stroking his tongue against yours, as if he’s in the privacy of the party bathroom—not out front for everyone to see.

Shamelessly, he almost wants Hayun to see—but as quickly as a thought of her intrudes, it’s replaced by the way you feel. It makes him pull you closer. Gets him whining into your mouth. Makes you smile.

It’s confirmation that there’s nothing wrong with you; that the girl you were seeing really was just a dickhead.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you slowly push him away. Are reluctant to finish kissing him. In fact, even as you push him back, your body follows, until you force yourself to pull back.

“There,” you smile, a little infatuated with how sparkly his eyes appear. “Now you’re even.”

“We can make it odd, again, if you want,” Jungkook offers, far bolder than even he realises. Just doesn’t wanna stop kissing you. Maybe it’s just the whiskey. Yeah. He’ll blame it on that.

“That’s a bad decision waiting to happen,” you laugh, getting to your feet, because you don’t trust yourself to stay. “My purpose is served. Friends don’t fuck you over. Stop wasting your kisses on people who are gonna fuck you over.”

Your message is clear: she’s not your friend.

It’s a lesson he’ll learn far too late in life.

“But you’re ditching me?” He says as you begin to walk away. “That’s not friendly!”

For a girl who should really be wallowing in self-pity, you’re surprisingly chirpy. Jungkook envies it. Wishes he could stop caring in the way that he does —he just doesn’t realise your situationship really was as simple as they’re supposed to be. The feelings were yet to fully develop.

If love is a choice—which you think, to a degree, it is—then before it can develop, choices have to be made. Your partner is supposed to choose you. The girl you’d been seeing has just demonstrated that she wouldn’t choose you, and so why should you choose her?

Life was simpler before Seokjin; before you really knew what it was to love.

Or, to love, and to not be chosen.

To choose, even when you’re never chosen.

Sort of like how Jungkook is, now.

“I’m doing you a favour!” You call back, tipsy smile just as radiant as you seem to be. You're jovial in your tone, and the attitude rubs off on him. Gets him smiling, too. “Saving you from yourself. If I kiss you again, you’ll fall in love, baby. They always do!”

The way you jet off is spritely. Happy. Abundantly clear that you’re yet to know what heartbreak really feels like.

The girl getting a little too friendly with the star violinist will be long forgotten by the time you meet Jungkook once again, and so will he. In fact, the scar left by Seokjin manages to mangle just about all of your romantic memories prior to him.

You’ll become folklore; a girl Jungkook doesn’t know the name of, but who Hayun is pretty sure is legally named ‘Desperate Skank’. Someone they argue about on a few too many occasions. A memory he barely remembers, but in the heat of their drunken fight later that evening became a permanent sticking spot in their situationship.

‘Cause while Hayun was off making friends, that’s all she was doing. Getting numbers. Getting a little touchy-feely. Getting her ego stroked. Getting zero kisses, because she had been reserving them for him.

Why she was only making friends with six-foot-something muscle pigs with more protein powder in their system than common sense is another thing they’ll argue about—but he’s the one in the wrong this time, or so she makes sure to tell him.

He’ll think of you sometimes. The memory will be hazy. Blurry, like driving down a midnight highway with astigmatism.

He’ll think of you, and he’ll see stars.

And when he sees you again in the dark of Dionysus a few years later, with no recollection of who you are, his brain will scream at him. Beg him to remember.

He won’t.

But he will, inevitably, see stars once more.

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