When I got home, Yoongi's photographs were already sitting in my mailbox. To be honest, I was emotionally exhausted and uninspired to even think of a design but I knew how important the election meant to him, so I surfed through some of my drafts and worked on them, all the while willing myself to just hang on a little bit.

The panic attack had shaken me to my core. It had come at the most unexpected time and it was worse that it happened in front of Namjoon who walked around like he had no care in the world but shed a tear when he saw me fighting for air.

I didn't think I would get them anymore. I thought I'd phased out of them. After my dad left, every certainty of stability and safety left me. I was filled with anxiety and paranoia.

I'd go to bed at night with my heart sank to the pit of my stomach afraid that someone or something was going to creep up and snatch me away and no one would know. My mum would be too sad to notice and my dad would be long gone to save me. The fear would cause me to have difficulty breathing, I'd scream in my bed or in the closet—wherever I found myself—crumbled to the floor, shaking like I was having a terrible fever.

It took a while for my mum to notice. I wasn't sure how she'd not heard me scream the previous times but I never blamed her for it. I knew she was dealing with his betrayal in her silent way. After that, I saw a therapist for three years, who had advised me to write my feelings in a note and not suppress them because apparently doing that could drive me nuts.

To an extent, it worked. The panic attacks stopped—for most of the time—because I believe I had moved on from my anger towards my dad. I convinced myself I could live normally without thinking of him or getting affected by his disappearance.

But I had wrong. So damn wrong, and now everything was coming back to me in one big monstrous wave, and I had nothing—no armour, no shield—to keep me safe.

Until yesterday.

Jungkook's appearance in my life was fated. I'm a Christian and don't know how else to put it. The previous times I'd had the attacks, I had had Hoseok by my side to hold me and talk me out of it.

Right now, I didn't have Hoseok anymore to do that. I couldn't call him when I was afraid or cry to him that the ache was unbearable. I had felt alone for a brief moment yesterday until Jungkook appeared by my side and made it better. He made me feel better.

Without thinking twice, I pushed myself out from my reading desk, grabbing my phone and wallet from where I'd tossed it on the bed barely thirty minutes ago, before snatching a jacket from my closet and running out of the house.

It was just six p.m, but dark clouds rolled in the sky. The biting wind warned me of an impending storm but I didn't care, I walked on. I didn't want to be at home, alone. I didn't want to give any room to entertain the overly imposing thoughts in my head.

What I needed was an escape—a distraction—before I further lost my mind. What happened this morning had just been a tip of the ice berg. My panic attacks were usually worse than that. I didn't want to remember how bad they got or relive it. Hence, the reason I was literally brewing the storm in an attempt to hide from it.

By the time I was standing at Jungkook's door, I was already drenched to my skin. I'd walked, taken a bus and then ran in the rain, until I was standing in front of the familiar apartment complex he'd brought me to two days ago.

I was cold, shivering as I brought my hand up to knock the door. I was standing there, waiting for someone I barely knew to answer the door because he brought me more comfort than everyone I knew. It was funny, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh or smile about it.

It was about a minute later before the white door opened, Jungkook appeared in the frame dressed in a white long-sleeved cotton shirt that was way too transparent for my good, and a checkered pyjama bottom. Even in baggy clothes, he was still the sexiest person I'd ever seen.

Everything about him in that moment captivated me, stealing my breath away. In that instant, I forgit why I was there, what I was running from and just stared at his face, his rosy lips that wet from, probably, licking or biting them. Whichever it was, I remembered how they'd tasted, how they'd felt against mine, how my heart had hammered in my chest like a drum. It was all I could do to pry my eyes off before meeting his gaze which was looking back at me with concern.

He looked shocked to see me there, on my own accord, drenched. I understood perfectly how weird this must have looked to him. So, I said, "I'm so sorry to intrude."

He stepped out of the way, silently ushering me inside. I entered, letting the warmth from the actual fireplace envelope me. "You should change out of those," he said.

His apartment was dim. The chandeliers were turned off, allowing the yellowy hue from a few electric candles cast the room into a cosy atmosphere. Even the view of the evening cityscape was breathtaking in the rain. Everything about Jungkook's place made me feel at home, which scared me even more.

I wanted to hate this place. I wanted a reason to not come back. A reason to have my senses knocked back into place. I didn't want to brew the storm for anyone. I didn't want to risk the possibility of falling sick just so I could be around anyone. I wanted to go back to normal, to feeling normal.

But I couldn't because Jungkook was staring at me, a million questions swimming in his eyes, and all I wanted was for him to hold me and tell me I'll be okay. Because somehow, somehow I knew if those words left his lips, I'd believe them.

"Come with me," he said, his voice calm. He led me up the stairs, past the paintings of naked Renaissance women and men, through a dim hallway and into a large room.

Unlike his living room, this one was dark. Grey walls, a king-sized bed with dark sheets and dark pillows. A chocolate brown drawer sat in a corner next to dark brown table, where a black MacBook and a graphite iPhone lay. Stacks of papers, jotters and pencils were also neatly arranged on one corner of the desk.

Even the drapes were grey. It was a complete contrast to his living room. It seemed strange like I'd stepped into a completely different world. It made me wonder if this truly was Jungkook and the initial white was just a throw-off.

But then again, I was an overthinker and was reading too much meaning to his contrasting style.

"I kind of like my sleeping area a bit dark. When I was getting work done here, I thought, 'white, light.' And just told the interior designer to make it as dark as possible," Jungkook explained, making me wonder if I'd aired my thoughts out loud, if he was a mind reader or if he could just tell it was a likely thing to cross my mind.

"I think it's nice," I said, because that was the only word that came to mind at that time and because I didn't really come here to talk.

He wasn't seeing it. I was not as straight forward as Jungkook or Namjoon or even Taehyung, who knew how to go for what they wanted. I was the type to wait and hope the other person saw it and acted on it.

Until yesterday when I kissed Jungkook firt, and all that had changed. I changed.

"I want you," I blurted out, the words heavy on my lips, my heart going a mile a minute. "The reason I came out in the pouring rain is because I want you." My voice shook but I'd said it.

I was taking his own advice which had seemed like an easy thing to do when he'd said it. But it was one of the hardest thing I'd had to do; to admit to someone that I wanted them. I hadn't even been able to say it to Hoseok, someone I have loved for five years.

Yet I'd met Jungkook barely four days ago and there I was stripped of every sense of dignity in my body as I confessed to him.

Despite that, he said nothing. Jungkook stayed quiet, and I couldn't bring myself to look at him to see the expression on his face. My heart pounded and my hands sweated all of a sudden, forgetting I was supposed to be cold.

Was it too much? Had my presence and admittance been too much? Too sudden? Should I have just changed into the clothes he'd laid out on the bed for me and waited until he made a move?

My head spiraled with a lot of questions I had no answers to. Questions I wasn't sure I was ready to know the answers.

I shook my head, my eyes meeting my feet. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" But my words ceased when I felt him close the gap between us in long, hasty strides. Soon, he was swooping me in his arms, his mouth covering mine in a feverish kiss that had my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

My stomach had never buzzed the way it did in that moment. My insides filled with butterfly with every movement of his mouth. His tongue grazed against mine, making me weak in the knees. It was insane how easily I was caving for Jungkook, how crazy I hated that I wanted him, hated that he was the escape I sought.

His fingers dug in my hair, gently tugging my head to the side. He attacked my neck with kisses, sucking lightly then hard causing a moan to leave my lips. I bit my lip to trap the embarrassing sounds.

"Don't do that," he whispered, running his finger across my lips. I looked at him, not sure of what he meant, not sure of what I'd done wrong. "Don't bite your lips," he said, more clearly before pressing his lips into mine.

His taste, his scent, his touch, the soft groans that occasionally escaped his throat—everything that he was or did clouded my senses and made me fall deeper into the moment than I thought I ever could.

"My mum will kill me," I said, eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, my head resting on Jungkook's naked legs. He was sat up on his bed, his back pressed against his head board, a cigarette between his fingers, filling the air with the smell of nicotine.

"I could go with you and explain things to her."

"What could you possibly explain to her that makes you believe you would leave my house alive?" I asked.

I saw him shrug. He put the cigarette to his mouth and took a drag, held it for a few seconds before exhaling. "I'll tell her I'm your older lover who's ready to take responsibility."

I winced at his cringe words. "Take responsibility for what?" Then I shook my head because I had to address something else. "Older lover? You don't even look old."

"I'm older than you."

I turned on my stomach and looked up at him, fascinated by how much he was enjoying his cigarette. I didn't understand how people enjoyed the act. I didn't mind the taste in his mouth or the smell on his breath, but to actually do it?

"How old are you?" I asked, seriously curious. Jungkook looked mature but at the same time, he didn't look much older than I was. He was probably someone who'd hit it big at a young age or he was living on his father's money. "It's fine. I'm adult."

He chuckled. "22. Also, your friend already told me you were 18. Otherwise, I wouldn't have invited you to my house yesterday or let you kiss me."

"Why? You're not a pedo?" I teased, wriggling my brows at him. Jungkook just stared at me, brown eyes piercing into mine, making me suddenly self-conscious.

I looked away, but he leaned down and kissed me, holding my face in his hand, his thumb brushing my jaw. I could taste the smoke. I was intoxicated. Not by the smoke because how could I be, I wasn't even smoking. I was intoxicated by him, Jungkook.

Then he pulled away. "It's late," he said, climbing out of the bed. He grabbed his clothes from the floor and threw it on, covering the tattoos I couldn't stop staring at. "I'll drop you."

"You don't have to," I said, climbing out as well. I snatched the clothes he'd brought me earlier from where it was stuck between the headboard and the mattress. Mine was discarded on the floor as well, still damp.

"Let's go," he said, making his way out of the room. I followed him. He grabbed his car key from the glass coffee table in his living room.

"You really don't have to drop me."

"It's eleven and it's raining. I'm taking you home," he stated.

The drive home was peaceful. I gave Jungkook my address and watched him input it into the GPS. Honestly, I didn't want the ride to come to an end, or to be away from him. I loved being with him and around him.

"Did something happen today?" He asked, breaking the silence after a few minutes of driving. "It seemed like something was bothering you, when you arrived."

"I get this crazy panic attacks," I admitted.

"What triggered it today?" He asked, eyes briefly leaving the road to look at me. "Your dad?"

"And my crush possibly in a relationship with someone else," I said, shocking myself at how easy it was to open up to him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Seems like you had a rough day. Also, I'm sorry because I'm having a totally selfish thought." He pursed his lips and his eyes darted to mine sharply in guilt. "I'm happy it didn't work out with your crush. Then we wouldn't be here."

"That is selfish," I said, laughing at how he's just able to say whatever he wanted. How?! I was liking it more and more.

"I know. I'm sorry," he laughed. "It's just seeing you at my door today, and then having you tell me that you wanted me, I want it again. A lot."

I swallowed, pulling my hands unto my laps.

He bit his lower lip, trapping his grin. I wanted to tell him the exact thing he'd told me, "Don't do that." Because his smile, his grin, his laugh— everything that made him seem happy was pleasing to look at.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He stretched it out towards me. "Call your number," he said, and it wasn't a request. "What happened with the panic attack, with your crush, with everything and even the situation with your dad, I want you to be able to call me and tell me about all of it. You don't have to torture yourself and wait until it almost chokes you before you come to me."

Oh God...

"Anytime of the day, any second, whenever you need an escape, just pick up your phone and reach out to me, I'll come to you. I don't want you to have any more panic attacks."

Shit. My heart raced hard.

"Also, forget your crush and crush on me, instead. I promise I'll crush back."

I was screwed.