You slide your ID badge through the time clock as the morning sun burns your heavy eyes, shifting your gaze to nothing in particular. Your mind fixates on continuing the passionate love affair you have with your bed. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you take out your phone and see a text.
Mom
How’s your week going? I miss you. Call me.
You stare at it a moment before sliding the phone back into your pocket.
Pulling into your apartment complex, you can’t quite remember the drive home, but the chill in the late spring air is enough to ward off the ever-thickening fog in your mind. You drag yourself up the three flights of stairs to your one bedroom hobbit-hole. It’s a decent place to call “home,” but there’s certainly room for upward mobility. Besides, your parents are close by, and family is what gives life meaning. You tear off your scrubs, pull on a gray sweatsuit, and crash-land in your bed before sleep overtakes you.
• • •
Your eyes crack open as the soft glow of the evening sun seeps through the window and check your phone.
Five missed calls from your mom.
Sitting up in bed, your mind races as your heartbeat matches pace. You call her back. The ringing echoes in your ear and jumbles inside your head.
“Hello?” your mom answers.
“Hey, you called me five times. Is something wrong? Are you okay?” you ask.
“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I just missed you and wanted to catch up. How’s your week been?”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“You called me five times because you were wondering how my week’s been? I thought someone died.”
“Honey, I didn’t mean to scare you. I got worried when you didn’t reply to the text I sent this morning.”
“You know I work night shift, Mom.”
“I missed you and thought I could catch you before you fell asleep,” she explained. “I’m sorry.”
Her voice sounds strained. You press your palm to your forehead. “It’s okay,” you say on an exhale. “My week’s been fine. Working. The usual.”
“We’ll have to get dinner some time this week,” she says brightly.
“Yeah, sure,” you say as you inwardly groan. “How’s your week been?”
“Good. Nothing too exciting. I’m going to let you go now. I’ve got dinner plans with Mark.”
“Okay?”
“Talk to you soon! Love you.”
“Love you, too.” You place your phone back on the nightstand and lie back in bed. What the fuck. I thought we were past this. Replaying conversations, you analyze what was left unsaid. Maybe you didn’t use the right words. Maybe there was a miscommunication. Defeated, you sling your arm across your eyes. Your phone rattles on the nightstand.
What the hell does she want now? You reach over to check your phone and see a Weverse notification that Jungkook started a live. After watching their AMA performance a month ago, you downloaded the app and haven’t looked back. Excitement blooms as you open the app and watch the live.
“Hello,” he says with a little wave. His shiny, dark hair falls over his warm brown eyes, and he’s dressed in a casual white T shirt. You’re taken aback by his effortless masculinity and feel heat touch your cheeks. You wave back and immediately regret it. “I’ve missed you, ARMY,” he says as his eyes scan the chat. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see an opportunity.
Do you like noonas?
You press enter, stifling a giggle. His eyes continue to stare at the chat until his brow furrows. “Do I like noonas?” he asks. You gasp as your face turns from pink to dark red.
No fucking way.
Frozen, you watch him contemplate your question. He breaks out into a smile saying, “That’s for me to know.” He throws a finger heart with a wink, and you bury a scream into your pillow.
He clears his throat and says, “ARMY, thank you for all your support and love. I came on here to remind you that tickets for the Love Yourself tour go on sale May 5th.” He points a finger and stares intensely into the camera. “I’d better see you there.”
Tomorrow.