Yoona was up before the sunrise, wreaking havoc in the kitchen before her father could, and perched on Jungkook’s doorstep by the time her father said goodbye and headed off for work. 

Daejung hadn’t asked her anything regarding last nights fiasco, and had barely looked at her during breakfast. But before he left, he had wrapped Yoona in a tight bear hug and muttered how much he loved her no matter what.

And that was it.

Her mother had begun monitoring her cell phone, drove her to and from school everyday, even resorting to demanding weekly progress reports from her teachers. Her step-father made her sit in the kitchen table night after night until she “felt ready to tell the truth” and attend church service every Sunday.

And that was before she told them about the ghosts.

Moving here had been her only decision, and consequently the best decision, regardless of various shortcomings. She only wished she hadn’t arrived with so much emotional baggage. The only bright side was having someone by her side, someone who actually believed her and could see what she saw.

Someone who could help her fight back.

“Be nice,” Yoona instructed herself firmly for the umpteenth time as she balanced the foil covered pan on one hand and used the other to stab at the doorbell.

Making sure her hood was yanked down enough to draw a shadow over her face (seriously, why was this doorbell the only clean thing owned by the Jeons?), Yoona paused after tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. This jacket belonged to the Satanic offspring of the patriarch of the Jeon household himself.

Sleeping in Jungkook’s jacket had been an accident, but it was far from an accident when she’d slipped it on after a delightfully long shower. Continuing to wear it wasn’t weird or anything – the jacket just turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.

The door opened. 

“Good morning,” she called warily when she was greeted by no one in return.

Jungkook’s figure was hidden behind the door, but his head popped out from the side to glare at her with barely open eyes. Scanning her figure for only second, he reached out to grab the dish from her hand and slammed the door shut.

Yoona stood in stunned silence for only a moment before she could glue back together her chipping mentality . “Open the door!” she barked and pounded a fist on the door, refusing to whimper when her bandaged wounds smarted in protest. 

Jungkook answered again, this time having rubbed whatever sleep he had left from his eyes. Where on God’s green earth was his t-shirt? “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he groused, patting down a section of gravity defying bedridden hair. 

Yoona resisted the urge to punch him, only because her hand already hurt too much, and she promised herself that she wouldn’t maim him. She was honouring Yugyeom’s request, and she was going to be nice.

No, seriously. She was.

“I came to give you that.” She pointed at the dish in Jungkook’s hand. 

He held it away with a grimace. “You poisoned it, didn’t you?”

“If I wanted to poison you, you would have been dead weeks ago. I made you breakfast and lunch all in the same pan,” she explained with as much patience as she could muster and tapped the foil. “It’s bulgogi. I remembered your whole war against red pepper paste, so I didn’t add too much of it.”

She couldn’t even if she wanted to. Daejung had walked in just as she was about to pour the whole bottle in, and quickly catching on to her sinister plan, thwarted it by wordlessly finishing the dish himself.

“Oh.” Jungkook held the pan by the sides when the heat became too much to hold from the bottom. Slightly surprised that she remembered such a trivial thing from back when they were kids, he nodded. “Thank you.”

An awkward silence hung in a lull between them.

Yoona her lips and glanced heavenward. “I… thought you went home without dinner last night. I guessed you would be crawling around and eating your floorboards for breakfast.”

“Cute. Not to worry, I’m not that pathetic,” Jungkook scoffed, leaning against the doorway. “Your dad gave me a lunchbox before I came home last.” Tipping his head to the side, he wiggled the dish in front of her face. “And you also don’t need a cover story to come see me.”

“It’s not me who wanted to see you,” she admitted. “It’s the cat.”

On cue, Eun yowled from inside her backpack. It had been a struggle to get her in there – Yoona had wanted to see Jungkook, but didn’t want to leave Eun at home – two protectors seemed better than having one. Ultimately, after a few claws to the face, Yoona decided that the injuries were worth it.

Jungkook’s lips tilted up to grace her with a barely-there smile before he stepped to the side. “Come inside. My dad’s asleep, so we have to keep the noise down.”

What exactly did Jungkook think they were going to do? Break out into a dance and song number?

Yoona nodded anyway, following him into the kitchen after closing the front door with a nudge of her foot. “I just realized that I haven’t seen your dad since I’ve been back.”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment as he set the dish down. “He works a lot. Coping mechanism.” A deep breath. “I try to stay out of his way.”

Yoona‘s eyes scanned the set of cupboards lining the pantry wall. She vaguely remembered Daejung joining Jungkook’s father to paint the cupboards a soft sea foam – Jungkook’s mother’s favourite colour. “You two don’t get along?” she probed gently. 

Jungkook caught her gaze and held on. “I look like my mother,” he said in a tone that was quite self-explanatory, in that he didn’t want to talk about it. “How did you sleep last night?”

“I didn’t,” she a