It’s past midnight, again. You should be dreaming of pink glitter and lace-trimmed clouds, but instead, you’re wide awake in bed, glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended you.

Your scrapbook lies open on your lap, untouched. The “Best Friends” page you were working on? Abandoned. Your fuzzy socks? Missing their usual warmth.

You’re still mad. Jungkook was an idiot. Skipping school again, lying to your face about it, and then snapping when you called him out. “You’re not my mom.” Yeah. That one hit a nerve.

You scoff under your breath, hugging your pillow like it’s the only one who gets you.

Then—knock knock. No. Not on the door. On the window.

Your eye twitches.

You pull back the curtain with the grace of a gremlin and—of course—it’s Jungkook. Hood up, eyes wide and sheepish, holding something against the glass.

A white envelope. Covered in… is that glitter? Of course it is. The little menace used your craft supplies.

You open the window but don’t say a word.

He slips the envelope inside with both hands like it’s a peace offering from the gods.

“It’s not a bomb,” he mumbles. “Promise.”

You narrow your eyes but open it anyway.

Inside: a crooked card made of pink scrapbook paper, the edges duct-taped. In Jungkook’s chaotic handwriting:

“Dear Miss Sassypants, I’m a Grade-A jerk. You’re always there for me and I suck at showing I don’t deserve it. I was mad at myself, not you. Please don’t replace me with a cuter best friend. I would cry. Ugly cry. Kim-Kardashian-tears cry.

P.S. I brought Oreos.”