The Last Summer

Year 1997

The bells of the University of Bologna tolled noon, deep and dignified, echoing off the centuries-old archways that crowned the grand courtyard. The summer sun, unapologetically bright, spilled gold onto every weathered brick and laughing graduate, bathing the moment in a warmth that felt older than time. It was a day for endings, yes — but more than that, it was a day for becoming.

Jungkook, a twenty three year old boy stood just offstage, under the soft shadow of the grand columns, his fingers curled loosely around the edge of his outfit, heart steady but full.

He wore a red gown — not burgundy, not maroon, but the kind of red that dared the sun to compete. Sharp-cut, minimal, yet unmistakably bold. It clung to his tall and curvy frame with the confidence of someone who had grown into his own skin, the boyish softness of years past replaced by the elegant poise of a man who had weathered the journey and chosen to bloom anyway.

He looked out into the crowd. The rows of white chairs fanned out across the cobbled courtyard like a gathering of stars waiting for a sun to rise. And in the front row, right where his eyes always found comfort, sat his family.

Suga — his father — was easy to spot. He wore a soft grey blazer, sleeves gently wrinkled, camera poised and ready in his lap. His dark hair was streaked faintly at the temples now, but his eyes were sharp, glinting with something that looked suspiciously like emotion. He was the kind of man who spoke more through glances and silences, but today, his gaze alone said everything.

Next to him, Jungkook’s mother, Jin sat holding a bouquet of blush peonies, fingers nervously picking at the ribbon as he whispered something to his husband and smiled toward the stage.

A few seats over, Jungkook’s younger sister, Nabi leaned forward and gave him a subtle thumbs-up, grinning ear to ear. Don’t trip, she mouthed dramatically.

And then — the moment arrived.

The dean adjusted the microphone, her voice smooth and ceremonious as it rang across the courtyard:

“Min Jungkook.”

The syllables echoed through the archways, a clear chime that seemed to freeze time for one sacred second.

Cheers erupted — polite but enthusiastic. Somewhere in the back rows, a friend whooped shamelessly. But Jungkook only heard the soft click of the camera.

Because in that exact moment, Suga raised it — steady, practiced — and just as Jungkook turned his head, a smile bloomed across his face like a secret slipping out.

Click.

Captured.

His name still hung in the air like perfume. His smile — wide, warm, and unguarded — beamed straight toward his father’s lens, toward the history being written.

He stepped forward, each footfall echoing softly under the sun, up the short steps to receive his scroll. The red of his gown flashed like a flag of victory against the cream stone backdrop. He bowed, one hand steady at his side, the other clasping the certificate now etched with his name — one that had traveled far from childhood to arrive here.

Turning again, he glanced back at his family. Jin's eyes were glossy now, fingers pressed to his lips. His younger sister looked slightly awestruck. And Suga…

Suga just smiled.

The rare kind — soft, real, the kind that made Jungkook’s throat tighten without warning.

Here he stood. Min Jungkook. Graduate of the University of Bologna.

Dressed in red, kissed by sun, and carved by every dream and detour that had brought him here.

And he had never looked more alive.

"Congratulations, Koo!"

Jungkook had barely taken two steps down from the stage when a small blur of movement rushed toward him. Nabi, hair fluttering, eyes sparkling, flung her arms around his waist before he could even react. Her grip was tight, the kind that spoke of missed moments and deep-rooted pride.

Jungkook let out a quiet laugh, soft and breathy, as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and gave a gentle nod, eyes twinkling beneath the golden sunlight.

"You did a great job. I could never be more proud of you," came Suga’s voice, steady and warm.

Jungkook turned just in time to be pulled into his father’s embrace — arms firm around his shoulders, drawing him in close. Jungkook let his head rest against Suga’s chest, just for a second.

The beat of his father's heart, once the soundtrack of his childhood, still felt like home. He might have grown taller now, but in that moment, nestled in Suga’s arms, he was still the same little one who used to fall asleep on the studio couch waiting for his dad to finish sketching another masterpiece.

"My baby looks beautiful," Jin chimed in from beside them, his voice theatrical and proud in the way only Jin could be. He reached out, giving Jungkook’s hand a light squeeze, his smile warm and crinkled at the corners. "Red really suits you."

Jungkook chuckled, cheeks flushing. “You always makes me wear that, mom.”

Jin chuckled, that true. It's either red or pink for Jungkook, always.

"Okay, okay," Suga said, breaking the moment with a grin, "Let’s click a family picture before someone steals you for another dozen photographs."

He handed his camera — the old black Leica he always carried for special occasions — to one of the nearby students who had just come off the stage. “Just press gently,” he said, ever the careful photographer. “One photo. We’ll take the rest at home.”

The family moved together instinctively, forming a loose arc. Jungkook stood in the middle, still holding his scroll, flanked by his mother, Jin on one side and his sister clung to his other arm like a badge of honor. Suga stepped up beside them, hands reaching out to fix the tilt of Jungkook’s cap. It had slipped a little in all the excitement.

“There,” Suga said quietly, smoothing the tassel. “Perfect.”

Jungkook smiled again, this time a little softer, a little fuller — a moment caught between laughter and love.

Click.

The shutter snapped, immortalizing the sight of Min Jungkook, standing tall in crimson and gold, surrounded by the people who had shaped him, lifted him, loved him.

Just theirs.

And in that frame, they weren’t just capturing a graduation.

They were capturing everything that made the journey worth it.

Soon after the ceremony faded into photographs and warm farewells, the family of four made their way toward the parking lot nestled behind the university’s main square. The city of Bologna, with its sun-warmed stones and murmuring breezes, watched them leave like a proud family waving goodbye.

Suga unlocked the car with a soft click.

It was his prized possession — a deep navy Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud, its chrome details gleaming beneath the Italian sun. The vintage model, lovingly preserved, purred with a dignified elegance that mirrored Suga himself. It wasn’t flashy, but it commanded respect, a piece of quiet legacy rolling down every street it touched.

Jin slid into the passenger seat, adjusting the bouquet of flowers that had been handed to them at the ceremony. “I still can’t believe it’s over,” he murmured, eyes sweeping back toward the campus as the car slowly pulled out of the lot.

In the back seat, Jungkook leaned his head lightly against the window, his red gown now slightly wrinkled, the cap resting on his lap.

Nabi had kicked off her shoes beside him, one leg curled up beneath her as she scrolled through the photos on the camera, grinning every time she found a particularly candid one.

“We’ll have a small party this evening,” Suga announced as he steered the car down the tree-lined road, the scent of summer lilacs drifting in through the open windows. “Just us and our closest friends.”

“Yes,” Jin added, voice touched with fondness. “It’s a moment of celebration. I still remember the day he moved into his dorm.”

Jungkook smiled, glancing up at the rearview mirror to meet his mother's gaze. “I still remember you crying in the hallway.”

“I was not crying. I had something in my eye,” Jin defended dramatically, which earned him a laugh from the back seat — light and easy, the kind of laugh that only came when the road ahead was clear and the past sat warm in the rearview.

“I didn’t know how eight years went by so fast,” Jin added more quietly this time, voice tinged with something softer, deeper — not quite sadness, but the ache of time spent.

Suga nodded silently, one hands on the wheel and the other resting on Jin's hand on the lap. He didn’t say much — he rarely did — but his fingers tapped gently along the polished rim of the steering wheel, a quiet rhythm only he knew. The kind of rhythm you fell into after years of raising a child, watching him stumble, rise, and finally soar.

They drove past the wide green fields and the rustic bakeries of the old town, the houses growing more spaced out as they neared the countryside, where their home stood — nestled behind olive trees, with wide balconies and a garden Jungkook had fallen asleep in many times.

As the car curved around the final bend, the early golden hour spilled across the windshield, catching the edges of Jungkook’s red gown and setting it aflame with warmth.

In the silence, only broken by the low hum of the engine and the chirping cicadas, there was something deeply peaceful.

A sense that maybe, just maybe, everything was exactly as it was meant to be.

"Home"

Jungkook took a deep breath as he stepped through the familiar threshold of home, the heavy oak doors closing softly behind him. The cool air inside greeted him with the scent of sandalwood, faint traces of cologne.

The marble floors echoed faintly with footsteps as the staff moved efficiently, almost like they had rehearsed this moment. One of the maids hurried forward to collect the bouquet from Jin’s hands with a polite bow, while another made her way outside toward the Rolls, already reaching for the luggage in the trunk.

Jin loosened the scarf from his hair as he stretched. “Let’s have lunch, then,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen. “We’ll need the energy. It’s going to be a long night.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, his gaze drifting upward.

There — just beside the tall staircase, above the sideboard that held framed family photos and a few antique knickknacks — stood Suga, still in his driving blazer.

With quiet precision, he was hanging Jungkook’s graduation certificate. It now sat proudly beside his own framed achievements: an honorary doctorate, a lifetime award in painting, a dusty photograph from his old days.

Jungkook paused at the base of the staircase, caught off guard by the sight. There was a tenderness to the way Suga smoothed the corner of the frame, as though he wasn’t just hanging paper — he was enshrining a journey.

And on his face, that rare, unreadable pride glimmered beneath the usual calm.

Before Jungkook could speak, a voice chirped behind him, light and teasing.

“So… will you miss your university?”

His trance broke. He turned to see Nabi, leaning against the staircase railing, hair pinned up loosely, a slight smudge of lipstick on her lower lip from all the ceremony photographs.

He shook his head and began ascending the grand staircase, one hand brushing along the polished banister. “No,” he said simply.

She gasped in mock horror. “Seriously? Eight years and not even a single tear?”

He gave a soft smile. “The tears were all used up. There is no more left.”

Nabi rolled her eyes, trailing behind him. “You know, I was basically living like a princess while you were gone. Mom and Dad’s entire universe revolved around me. Do you have any idea how many things I got away with because you weren’t here to compete?”

Jungkook laughed — a light sound, rich with affection. “I believe it.”

And at the top of the stairs, he paused. “I’ll change and come down. Just want a quick shower.”

“Already?” Nabi pouted, following him a few more steps. “Can’t we sit and talk a bit? I missed you… really.”

His eyes softened, and he turned slightly to look at her.

“I missed you too,” he said sincerely. “Just give me sometime. I still feel like I’m wearing the ceremony.”

Nabi sighed but nodded. “Fine. But don’t take more than an hour. I’m timing you.”

Jungkook chuckled as he walked toward his room, the familiar creak of the door opening sounding like music to his ears.

Jungkook entered the room and let the door click shut behind him with a muted thud. The golden light filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting long, blurred shadows over the wooden floor.

His room was just as he’d left it — clean, orderly, untouched. The shelves still held his old sketchbooks, a dusty row of books, novels, a hand-scribbled letter Suga had once left on his desk. He placed his graduation cap gently on the side table.

He was home.

And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel heavy.

Jungkook moved silently, fingers working at the buttons of his crimson gown, one by one, until the fabric slid off his shoulders and dropped to the floor like silk falling in surrender.

Piece by piece, he shed the garments of the day — the celebration, the applause, the expectations — until only skin remained, bare and unguarded.

He stepped into the bathroom, the cool tiles grounding him beneath his feet. Steam curled upward from the waiting shower, but before stepping in, he paused.

His gaze found the mirror.

There he stood, surrounded by soft light and the faint hum of silence, facing his reflection not with vanity, but with something closer to awe — and maybe just a touch of grief.

He was not that sixteen-year-old boy anymore.

Not the nervous teenager who had left home eight years ago with a suitcase full of accusations and silent tears. Not the boy who used to second-guess his every step, who hid his shaking hands in his hoodie sleeves, who called home and cried on nights when the pressure of becoming something felt too heavy.

No.

He had grown broader and beautiful— not just in body, but in soul. His shoulders had widened, his jaw more defined, his collarbones sharp beneath golden skin, his every curves have craved like a fine artist poetry. He had grown strong with time, with challenge, with experience. A quiet strength that couldn’t be taught, only earned.

His fingers moved, almost unconsciously, tracing the lines of his br..st, the curves of his arms, the subtle dips and ridges of muscle earned through long years of discipline. And then they paused — resting gently over his heart.

He exhaled deeply.

And that’s when it came — soft and soundless.

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his cheek like a memory unwilling to be forgotten.

He didn’t wipe it away.

It wasn’t a tear of sadness.

It was something else — a release. A farewell to the boy he once was. A quiet honoring of the journey that had brought him here. Of the nights he stayed awake, the mornings he almost gave up, the people who loved him.

Another breath.

And then he stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade down his skin, washing away the dust of the past, the applause of the present, and the weight of every unspoken word that lived in the space between.

Tomorrow, the world would expect something new of him again.

But for now, he allowed himself this moment — raw, real, and entirely his.

After a long, grounding shower, Jungkook stepped back into his room and let the warmth of home wrap around him. He dressed simply — a soft white ruffle nightie clung loosely to his frame, still damp at the neck from his wet hair. No ceremony now, no red gown. Just him.

The scent of home-cooked food drifted through the air — garlic and sesame oil, the faint sweetness of braised vegetables, and the comforting aroma of rice just off the stove. It was the smell of belonging.

But Jungkook didn’t budge. He walked to the bed and lay curled under the blanket, his face buried deep into the pillow as if it could muffle the noise of the world, or at least the distant clatter of plates and Jin’s cheerful voice calling everyone to lunch.

He had heard the footsteps outside his door, the soft knock, the gentle coaxing—

“Lunch is ready, Koo.”

—but he didn’t respond.

It wasn’t hunger clawing at him. It wasn’t even the aroma of home-cooked food drifting through the hallway that could pull him out of the hollow he was sinking into. What he craved wasn’t a plate of warm rice or laughter at the table.

It was silence.

Stillness.

Oblivion.

His mind felt too loud, thoughts tumbling over one another like waves refusing to crash. His heart was heavy with something he couldn’t name—something between exhaustion and ache. Every muscle in his body begged for release, for pause, for a moment where he didn’t have to be anything or anyone.

He needed to shut it all out.

Just for a little while.

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a slow, shaky breath. The light seeping through the curtains felt like an invasion, so he turned away from it, drawing the blanket over his head. Maybe, if he pretended hard enough, the world would leave him alone.

Sleep was the only escape he trusted right now. Not food. Not conversation.

Just sleep. So he did that.

Hours later,

Jungkook didn’t know how long he had been asleep.

Time had slipped through his fingers like sand in a dream, dissolving into silence. He hadn’t stirred when Nabi had quietly pushed the door open earlier, her soft knock barely registering in the haze he’d sunk into. Even Jin, who had gone the extra mile to arrange his favorite dishes—spicy pork belly, rolled omelet, and warm soup—had turned away at the door, reluctant to disturb him.

The world had moved on outside, but inside that dim, quiet room, Jungkook had remained untouched.

Until now.

His eyes fluttered open slowly to the hushed glow of night filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. He lay there for a moment, disoriented, blinking into the dusk as he tried to make sense of the silence. The air was still. The scent of food had long faded, replaced by the faint fragrance of lilies from the vase near the window.

With a quiet sigh, he sat up, his blanket slipping from his shoulders. His body felt heavy, like he was peeling himself out of a dream he hadn’t wanted to return from.

His gaze shifted, landing on the shopping bag at the foot of the bed—a crisp paper bag with elegant gold handles. He leaned forward and pulled it closer, peeking inside. Nestled within delicate tissue paper was an emerald green gown. Satin. Off-shoulder. Elegantly folded like a secret waiting to be discovered.

His brows furrowed slightly. His mother must’ve picked it out for the party.

Dragging himself out of bed, Jungkook padded barefoot across the room to the mirror. He stretched his arms above his head with a quiet yawn, shoulders rolling back as he tried to shake off the stiffness in his bones. He slipped into the gown, the fabric cool against his skin, gliding down his frame like a whisper.

In front of the vanity, he sat down and reached for the brush. His long, waist-length blonde hair cascaded like a waterfall over his shoulders. With practiced ease, his fingers began weaving it upward, tying it into a voluminous, sweeping updo—high and regal, a beauty queen’s crown of silk and strands. He applied his makeup in silence, each stroke purposeful, each shade painting composure over fatigue.

But as he lined his eyes, his gaze drifted—caught by something almost forgotten.

There, on the top shelf, pushed to the very edge, sat a book. Dust had settled along its spine like time itself had placed a hand on it.

He reached out and pulled it down.

Unmasked by the Marquess

He held it in both hands, the worn edges of the paperback soft under his fingertips. His heart gave a faint, reluctant thump. Slowly, he flipped through the pages, each one familiar, yet distant—like revisiting a street he once walked in a dream.

Page 167.

He didn’t mean to stop there, but his fingers did, just beneath the paragraph.

“He wanted to memorize every inch of her, every curve and angle, the strong length of her thigh and the delicate bones of her wrist, storing up memories against a bleak and empty tomorrow. But that wasn’t how love worked. Love wasn’t a sum safely invested in the five percents. One couldn’t prevent future sorrow by capitalizing on present bliss. All he could do was have this moment, wring all the joy out of it, and then somehow continue after it was over.”

It's not the paragraph that pulled Jungkook's attention, it was the name written beneath it with a pencil.

Taehyung.

The letters had faded a little, but not enough to hide them.

He stared at it for a long time. His fingers hovered over the name, brushing across it delicately, like it might wake if he touched it too hard. There was a faint sting behind his eyes—but he blinked it away.

The moment passed.

He closed the book gently and returned it to its place on the shelf, tucking it neatly into the corner where it had slept for years.

“Koo?”

A soft voice broke the stillness. He turned his head to see Nabi standing in the doorway, dressed in a royal blue frock that sparkled faintly under the chandelier light from the hall.

“Mom’s asking for you,” she said, stepping in, her eyes scanning him briefly. “You look… nice.”

Jungkook nodded silently, giving her a small smile. He took one final glance at the mirror—at the carefully constructed image staring back at him—before rising to his feet.

It was time to face the night.

Even if a part of his heart still lingered somewhere between page 167…

and a name he hadn’t spoken aloud in a very long time.

..to be continued..