𝐒𝐘. @97linelover - Tumblr Blog

Blind Date with an idol - Jeon jungkook part II

Summary: Your best friends sets you up to an Blind date. What you don´t know is that your date is none other than Jeon Jungkook.

A/N: I hope you like it 🙂‍↔️🫶🏼 I love them, but they’re both idiots kinda.

Word count: coming tomorrow.

Part one

The VIP lounge is a blur of neon purple and expensive champagne, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the leather booth. To anyone watching, Jungkook looks like he’s having the time of his life. He’s been taking shots with Jimin, laughing at Jin’s jokes, and even stood up to dance for a minute but the moment Minho slides back into the seat next to him and tosses his phone onto the table, the mask slips.

Jungkook watches the phone for a second, his dark eyes clouded with a mixture of guilt and exhaustion.

"Was that her?" Jungkook asks, his voice low, cutting through the noise of the party.

Minho nods, grabbing a drink. "Yeah. She sounded... quiet, man. She didn't even know we were out. Did you really not tell her?"

Jungkook lets out a long, heavy sigh that seems to deflate his entire chest. He leans back, his head hitting the headrest of the booth as he stares up at the dim ceiling. He looks less like a celebrating star and more like a man drowning in his own head.

"Ten days," Jungkook mutters, rubbing his face with his tattooed hands. "It’s been ten days since I’ve said a word to her."

"Ten days? JK, what are you doing?" Minho looks at him, bewildered. "After that morning at your place, I thought you were finally all-in."

"I am all-in," Jungkook snaps, a flash of frustration crossing his face before it fades back into sadness. "That’s the problem. Those practice sessions... they weren't just long, they were brutal. I’d get home at 4:00 AM, stare at my phone, and I’d start to type a message. But then I’d look at the time and think, She's sleeping. Then I'd wake up and think, She's at work, she doesn't want to hear from a guy who’s barely alive."

He grabs his glass, swilling the amber liquid around. "The longer I waited, the harder it got to send the first text. I started feeling like a failure. How do I explain that I’ve been so deep in my own head about the tour, about the pressure that I just... shut down?"

He looks over at the dance floor where the others are laughing, but his heart clearly isn't there.

"I saw her texts," he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. "I read them every night. They were so sweet, so patient. And every time I read them, I felt like I didn't deserve her. So I waited one more day. And then another. I thought if I just finished this choreo block, I could go to her and be 'the perfect Jungkook' again."

He looks at Minho’s phone, realization dawning on him like a cold bucket of water.

"She thinks I’m just out here having fun, doesn't she? She thinks I forgot about her." He lets out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I’m an idiot. I’ve probably lost her because I was too scared to be vulnerable when things got hard."

He stands up abruptly, ignoring the protest from Jimin across the table. He doesn't want the champagne anymore. He doesn't want the music. He realizes that while he was trying to be perfect for her, he ended up being the very thing she feared most: someone who could walk away without a word.

The morning sun hits the penthouse floor with a brightness that feels aggressive compared to the heavy, stagnant silence inside. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of his bed, the luxury of the room feeling more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary. His head is pounding from the night before, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the sinking dread in his stomach when his phone vibrates.

He sees your name. His heart hammers against his ribs a mix of desperate hope and terrifying guilt. He expects anger. He expects you to scream at him through a screen, to call him every name he deserves for disappearing. But as he scrolls through the long, carefully written paragraphs, his breath hitches.

There is no anger. There is only a quiet, devastating grace that hurts a thousand times worse.

He reads your words where you tell him that the time you spent together was the most beautiful dream you’ve ever had. You thank him for the "Superstar" moments and the quiet ones, especially the morning with Bam. But then, he reaches the part where you explain your own silence. You tell him that it was somewhat clear that a man like him would eventually lose interest in someone like you. You write that you’ve spent the last ten days looking in the mirror, wondering what you did wrong if you were too quiet, too inexperienced, or simply too much.

His eyes sting as he reads your conclusion: that it must have been your fault, because why else would someone share something so intimate, so vulnerable, and then simply vanish? Even as you say goodbye, you don't blame him once. You wish him luck on his tour and tell him you'll always be his biggest fan, even from a distance.

He stares at the screen until the words blur. He realize that while he was protecting his pride, he was systematically destroying yours. He realizes that by trying to be "perfect," he became the villain in a story where you were the only one being real.

The Text Message:

"Jungkook, I’ve spent a long time staring at this screen, trying to find the right way to say this without sounding like I’m asking for something I don't deserve. I guess I just wanted to say thank you. The time we spent together.. Date Five, the morning in your kitchen, the way you looked at me when we were just us, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. For a moment, I actually believed I belonged in your world.

But the last ten days have been a very loud wake-up call. I think, deep down, I always knew this was coming. It was always clear that someone like you, who has the whole world at his feet, would eventually lose interest in someone as ordinary as me. I’m not angry, truly. I’m just... sad that I wasn't enough to make you want to stay.

I’ve spent every night since we last spoke wondering what I did to drive you away. I keep replaying that night in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. I keep thinking that it must be me, that I was too much, or perhaps not enough, because I can’t find any other reason why someone would be that intimate with another person and then disappear without a single word. I must have made it too easy for you to leave.

Please don't feel guilty. I don't blame you for any of this. You have a massive life and a beautiful career, and I was just a small part of a season. I’m grateful for the shirt, the laughs, and the way Bam made me feel like I was home for a second. I’ll be cheering for you from the sidelines, just like everyone else. I hope you find exactly what you’re looking for, even if it wasn't me. Goodbye, Jungkook."

The silence in the penthouse is suddenly broken by the sound of a phone hitting the hardwood floor. Jungkook stands up, his chest heaving, the air in the room feeling too thin to breathe. He stares at the device as if it’s a weapon. Your words the way you took all the weight of his failure and placed it on your own shoulders, are tearing him apart from the inside out.

"Not enough?" he whispers to the empty room, his voice cracking. "You think you weren't enough?"

He starts pacing, his hands tugging at his hair. He thinks of you sitting in your apartment, looking at the door and wondering why it stayed shut. He thinks of you feeling ordinary when, to him, you were the only thing that felt real in a life made of strobe lights and scripted answers.

He grabs a shirt, the first one he finds and his keys. He doesn’t call a driver. He doesn't check the mirrors for paparazzi. He doesn't even put on a mask. He just runs.

He's halfway to the elevator when he realizes he’s still in his pajama pants, but he doesn't care. He gets into his car, his hands shaking so hard he can barely grip the steering wheel. The drive to your apartment is a blur of red lights he barely sees and a mounting sense of panic. Every second he spends in traffic feels like another second you’re slipping further away, another second you’re convincing yourself that his silence was your fault.

When he finally reaches your building, he doesn't take the elevator. He runs up the stairs, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. He reaches your door and stops, his hand poised to knock, but he freezes.

What can he even say? How can he explain that he was a coward? How can he fix the fact that he let ten days go by while you were breaking?

He leans his forehead against the cool wood of your door, closing his eyes. Inside, he hears a faint sound, the clink of a mug, or maybe just the television and it kills him. You’re in there. You’re alive, and you’re hurting, and it’s because of him.

Finally, he knocks. It’s not a superstar’s knock. It’s hesitant, quiet, and pleading.

"Y/N?" he calls out, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. "Please... please open the door. I’m an idiot. I’m a coward. But please... just let me look at you for one second. Please don't believe a word of that text."

He waits, his heart hammering against his ribs, listening for the sound of your footsteps on the other side. He knows he doesn't deserve for you to open it, but he stays there, grounded by the sheer weight of his regret, waiting for the only person who ever made him feel like he didn't have to be perfect.

You pull the door open slowly, the heavy fabric of your plush bathrobe wrapped tightly around you as if it could serve as armor. Your eyes are red-rimmed, and your hair is a mess, but the moment you see him standing there, the world seems to tilt.

He looks nothing like the polished idol from the celebration videos. He’s disheveled, breathless, and his eyes are filled with a raw, agonizing desperation that stops your heart.

"Jungkook?" you whisper, your voice cracking. You're so shocked to see him on your doorstep especially like this, that for a second, you think you’re hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

He doesn't wait for you to invite him in. He takes a step forward, the space between you vanishing, but he doesn't touch you yet. It’s as if he’s afraid he might bruise you further.

"I’m an idiot," he chokes out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush of shame. "Y/N, I am a complete and utter idiot. I’m a coward who got scared because things felt too real, and I let my own head get in the way of the only good thing I've had in years."

He reaches out, his hand hovering near your cheek before he pulls it back, his knuckles white.

"I read your message," he says, his voice breaking completely. "Every word felt like a knife. The thought of you sitting in here thinking that you weren't enough... that it was your fault... it destroyed me. It was never you. It was me being too weak to show you that I was struggling. I’m an idiot who destroys everything good just because I don't know how to handle being happy."

He looks at you then, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears, searching your face for any sign of the girl who smiled at him in his kitchen.

"Please," he whispers, his voice dropping to a plea. "Please tell me it’s not too late. Please tell me I haven't ruined us before we even started."

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, your mind struggling to catch up with the reality of him being in front of you. The confusion is like a thick fog, how can he be saying these things now, after ten days of silence? After the videos of him laughing? You had already started the painful process of closing the door on him in your heart, convincing yourself that you were just a fleeting thought to a man like Jeon Jungkook.

"I don't understand," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I saw you... I saw you were okay. I thought you had just realized I wasn't worth the trouble."

But Jungkook doesn't let you spiral back into those thoughts. Before you can say another word, he moves. He reaches out, his large hands cupping your face with a sudden, desperate intensity, and pulls you toward him.

The kiss isn't like the ones before. It’s not slow or playful; it’s frantic and apologetic, tasting of salt and regret. It’s a silent plea for forgiveness, his lips pressing against yours as if he’s trying to breathe his own life back into you. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything he was too cowardly to put into a text message.

When he finally pulls back just an inch, his forehead remains pressed against yours. You can feel his shaky breath on your skin.

"I was never okay," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours, refusing to let you look away. "I was hiding. I was being a child because I didn't know how to tell you that I'm exhausted and stressed and terrified of failing you. But I am never letting ten days go by again. Never."

He slides his hands down to your waist, pulling your bathrobe-clad body firmly against his chest, grounding you both.

"I want to know everything about you," he says, his voice now a steady, determined vow. "I want to know how you like your tea in the morning, what movies make you cry, and why you ever thought for a second that I could lose interest in you. I want to keep doing this. No more rules, no more disappearing. Just let me in, Y/N. Please."

The wall you built up over the last week starts to crumble. Looking at his messy hair and his tear-streaked face, you realize that the superstar is gone again, and the man standing in your hallway is someone who is just as scared and human as you are.

The moment the words leave his lips, the last of your resistance dissolves. The tension that has been building for ten agonizing days snaps like a taut wire. Before you can even breathe a response, Jungkook’s hands slide from your waist to your thighs, and with a sudden, powerful surge of energy, he hooks his arms under you and hoists you up.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the soft fabric of your bathrobe bunching up as he presses you hard against the wall of your entryway. The thud of your back hitting the surface is muffled by his body, but the impact of his mouth back on yours is anything but soft.

This isn't the gentle, hesitant Jungkook from ten minutes ago. This is a man possessed by the fear of almost losing you. The kiss is deep, hungry, and desperate, his tongue seeking yours with a feverish intensity that makes your head spin.

Your fingers tangle in his messy hair, pulling him closer, your nails grazing his scalp as you mirror his desperation. You want to crawl inside his skin, to erase the last ten days with the sheer heat of your bodies. Every time he groans into your mouth, a low, vibration that starts in his chest and ends in your soul, you feel your knees weaken even more.

His hands aren't still for a second. One is buried in your hair, holding your head at the perfect angle to deepen the kiss, while the other is wandering, gripping your hip through the thick robe, his thumb digging into your skin with a possessiveness that makes you shiver.

"I'm sorry," he gasps against your lips, barely breaking the contact for air. "God, Y/N... I missed you so much it was making me sick."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He attacks your neck, his kisses hot and bruising, marking you as his in the dim light of your hallway. The world outsidethe fans, the managers, the "Superstar" title doesn't exist. There is only the sound of your combined, ragged breathing and the frantic beat of two hearts finally finding their rhythm again. He carries you toward the bedroom without ever letting your feet touch the floor, his eyes dark with a fire that promises he isn't going anywhere tonight.

The transition from the frantic energy of the hallway to the soft, dim light of your bedroom feels like stepping into a different world. It’s quiet here, smelling of your favorite candles and the familiar comfort of home. Jungkook lowers you onto the duvet with surprising tenderness, his large hands lingering on your waist as you sink into the pillows.

The contrast is overwhelming. Just an hour ago, you were ready to delete his number, and now, the most famous man in the world is hovering over you, his chest heaving, his eyes never leaving yours.

"So," you whisper, your voice small but steady, "Jeon Jungkook actually wants to get to know me?"

Jungkook freezes for a second, a small, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks down at his hands, then back at you, the intensity in his gaze softening into something so sweet it almost hurts.

He slowly crawls onto the bed, bracing himself on his elbows so he can loom over you without pinning you down. He reaches out, his thumb gently stroking your reddened cheek, tracing the warmth of your blush.

"More than anything," he says, his voice a low, gravelly vow. "I don't just want the highlights, Y/N. I want the boring stuff. I want to know why you chose this apartment. I want to know what you’re thinking when you look out the window. I want to know every single thing that makes you you."

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose.

"I know I messed up. I know I have to earn back your trust," he murmurs against your skin. "But if you'll let me... I want to spend every spare second I have proving to you that I'm not just some dream that's going to end. I'm just a guy who’s incredibly lucky that you opened that door today."

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression playful but sincere. "And for the record? You look incredible when you're flustered."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, the tension finally leaving your body as you sink deeper into the mattress. "You’re such a dork," you whisper, though your heart is racing. "You show up here looking like a mess, give me a heart attack, and then start flirting?"

Jungkook chuckles, a genuine, warm sound that fills the cozy space of your room. He shifts, lying down on his side next to you and propping his head up on his hand. He uses his free hand to catch yours, interlacing his fingers with yours and resting them on the pillow between you.

"I'm serious, though," he says, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "No more walls. If I'm tired, I'll tell you. If I'm stressed, I'll call you. Even if it's 3:00 AM and I only have two minutes. I won't let the silence happen again."

He looks around your room, taking in the small details the books on your nightstand, the framed photos, the cozy clutter that makes this place yours. It’s a world away from his cold, minimalist luxury, and you can see him soaking it in, memorizing the environment that shaped you.

"So," he murmurs, his eyes drifting back to yours. "Since we're starting over... tell me something. Something nobody else knows. What's your favorite way to spend a rainy Sunday when the world is turned off?"

The question is so simple, so human, that it makes the lump in your throat return but this time, it’s not from sadness. It’s from the realization that he’s actually listening.

You spend the next hour just talking. The heavy, frantic desire from the hallway settles into a deep, comfortable intimacy. You tell him about your childhood, your secret habits, and the things that make you laugh until you cry. And in return, he tells you about the pressure of the stage, how much he actually misses Busan, and how Bam ended up being the only one he could talk to for a long time.

At some point, the sun shifts, casting a warm orange glow across the bed. Jungkook pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

"I have to go to the studio in a couple of hours," he says softly, his breath stirring your hair. "And this time, I'm going to text you the second I walk through those doors. And the second I leave. You’re going to be so sick of my notifications, you’ll wish I stayed silent."

You smile against his chest, closing your eyes and listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. "I highly doubt that, Jungkook."

"Good," he whispers, tightening his grip. "Because I’m not planning on letting you go again."

Jungkook pulls you into his arms, shifting until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. He wraps his heavy, tattooed arm around your waist, pulling you so close that there isn't a single inch of space left between you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a long, shaky sigh of relief that seems to vibrate through your whole body.

"I missed this," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin. "I missed the way you smell. I missed how quiet my brain gets when I'm near you."

You reach back, running your fingers through his hair, untangling the mess from his frantic morning. Every time you move, he tightens his grip just a little bit, as if he’s still making sure you’re actually there and not a figment of his imagination.

You spend the time in a comfortable, drifting silence. Sometimes you whisper small, meaningless things, and other times he just presses soft, lazy kisses to your shoulder or the back of your neck. It’s the kind of cuddling that feels like a conversation in itself—a way of healing the rift the last ten days created without needing any more words.

His breathing eventually slows down, becoming deep and rhythmic. You can feel the tension finally leaving his muscles. In your cozy room, he’s just a man who worked too hard and almost lost the girl he cared about.

"Y/N?" he whispers after a long time, his voice thick with a mix of sleepiness and affection.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let me go, okay? Even if I get stupid and quiet again... just remind me that this is where I’m supposed to be."

You turn in his arms then, facing him. His eyes are soft, his guard completely down. You reach up, cupping his face and tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jungkook. Just stay."

He grins, that lopsided, boyish smile that always makes your heart melt, and pulls the duvet up over both of your heads, creating a little cocoon where the rest of the world can't find you. For the first time in ten days, the silence between you isn't empty—it's full of everything you’ve both been waiting to say.

The atmosphere in the practice studio is thick with the scent of floor wax and sweat. The music has finally stopped after a grueling six-hour session, and the members of BTS are sprawled across the floor, panting and reaching for water bottles.

Jungkook is leaning against the mirrored wall, staring at his phone with a small, private smile that he hasn't been able to shake all day.

"What is up with him?" Jimin pants, nudging Hoseok. "He’s been smiling at that screen for hours. Usually, after this choreo, he’s ready to fight the air."

Namjoon looks over, wiping his forehead. "He looks... suspiciously happy. Did he find a new gaming setup or something?"

Jungkook looks up, realizing he’s been caught. He tries to quickly lock his phone, but Jin is already leaning over his shoulder, squinting at the screen.

"Wait... that's not a game," Jin says, his eyes widening. "Is that a girl? Jungkook-ah! Are you hiding something from your hyungs?"

The room goes dead silent for a heartbeat before erupting into chaos. The members scramble to their feet, surrounding the maknae like a pack of curious wolves.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jungkook laughs, his face turning bright red as he tucks his phone into his pocket. "It's nothing... I mean, it's not nothing. I just... I met someone."

"You met someone?" Taehyung's jaw drops. "When? How? We've been in this building for eighteen hours a day!"

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, looking shyly at the floor. "You remember Minho? The friend I’ve mentioned a few times? He set me up on a blind date a while ago. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to jinx it. I thought... I thought it might just be one dinner."

"A blind date?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow, a rare, supportive smirk on his face. "And? Did the 'Golden Maknae' actually manage to survive a social interaction without us?"

"We've been on five dates," Jungkook admits softly, a genuine glow in his eyes. "Well, six, actually. It’s... it’s different, hyung. She doesn't care about any of the idol stuff. She just... she sees me. Even when I’m being an idiot."

The members go quiet for a second, seeing the look on his face. They know Jungkook,they know how much he struggles with the pressure of being perfect and how lonely his world can get.

"Finally!" Hoseok cheers, pulling Jungkook into a suffocating hug. "Our maknae is growing up! No wonder you've been dancing like a madman lately. You have someone to impress!"

"I’m just happy for you, Kook," Namjoon says, patting him on the shoulder. "If she makes you look that happy after a six-hour practice, she must be something special. When do we get to meet her?"

Jungkook laughs, his ears turning deep pink. "Not yet! I just got her back after being a coward for ten days. I'm not letting you guys scare her off with your 'big brother' interrogation yet."

He looks back at his phone, feeling a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the workout. For the first time, his personal life feels just as bright as the stage lights.

You’re curled up on your sofa with a book when your phone lights up with a FaceTime request. You answer, and Jungkook’s face fills the screen. He’s back at the penthouse, looking showered and relaxed in a simple white tee, though his damp hair is still a bit messy.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft and intimate through the speaker. "I promised I'd call the second I got home."

"You did," you smile, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. "How was the rest of practice?"

Jungkook chuckles, leaning his phone against something so he can sit back. "Actually, practice was... interesting. I ended up spilling the beans."

You tilt your head, confused. "Spilling the beans? About what?"

"About us," he says, a playful, slightly nervous grin spreading across his face. "The hyungs caught me smiling at my phone like a fool. I couldn't hide it anymore. I told them everything about Minho setting us up, the blind date, the fact that we've been on six dates now."

Suddenly, your heart skips a beat, but not in the way it usually does. A wave of heat rushes to your face, and you feel your stomach do a nervous flip. "You... you told them? All of them? Like, Namjoon and Jin and... everyone?"

"Yeah," Jungkook says, oblivious for a moment to your changing expression. "Hobi was practically screaming, and Jin hyung was already making jokes about when he gets to meet you. They're actually really happy for me, Y/N. They said I haven't looked this energized in—"

He stops mid-sentence when he notices you’ve pulled your blanket up to cover the lower half of your face, your eyes wide and your forehead practically glowing red.

"Wait, are you... are you blushing?" he teases, leaning closer to his camera.

"Jungkook!" you groan, your voice muffled by the blanket. "I’m mortified! They’re literally global icons! The thought of them sitting around a practice room talking about me... I think I want to disappear into the floor."

"Why?" he laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction. "You're the girl who handled a Doberman and a 'Superstar' in one morning. I think you can handle a few dorky hyungs."

"It’s not the same!" you squeak. "Now they know I exist. Now I’m not just a secret, I’m a... a topic. What if they think I’m boring? Or what if they think you could do better?"

Jungkook’s expression shifts instantly. The teasing look fades, replaced by that intense, grounded gaze that always makes you feel like the only person in the world.

"Hey," he says, his voice dropping into a serious, low register. "Look at me."

You slowly lower the blanket, feeling incredibly shy.

"They think I’m lucky," he says firmly. "Because they’ve seen how I’ve been the last week, and they saw how I walked into the studio today. I told them you’re the only person who makes me feel like I can just breathe. So don't be embarrassed. To them, you're already the person who saved their maknae from himself."

He winks at the camera, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, Jin already asked if you can cook. I told him you make better eggs than me, so you're already his favorite."

"Oh my god," you whisper, burying your face in your hands again. "I'm never leaving my house."

You take a deep breath, trying to push the image of the world's biggest boy band discussing your existence out of your head. You shift on the sofa, tucking your legs under you, and try to bring the conversation back to something grounded.

"Okay, okay, I'll try to process that later," you say with a small, shy smile. "But how was the actual work? How was the rehearsal? You sounded like they were really putting you through it today."

Jungkook leans his head back against the headboard of his bed, and for a split second, the exhaustion he’s been masking flickers across his face. He runs a hand through his damp hair, his muscles visibly tense even through the screen.

"It’s... it’s a lot, Y/N," he admits, his voice dropping an octave. "This comeback... it’s going to be absolutely crazy. The scale of everything the choreo, the transitions, the stage production it’s bigger than anything we’ve attempted in a long time. It’s ambitious. But man, it’s draining."

He shifts his camera slightly, and you can see the faint bruises on his knees from the floor work they’ve been doing.

"Every bone in my body aches," he says with a tired, honest laugh. "The perfectionists weren't kidding. We spent four hours today just on one thirty-second dance break because the synchronization wasn't 'surgical' enough. It’s the kind of tired that gets into your soul, you know? Like, you're so focused on the counts and the breathing and the angles that you forget how to just be a person."

He looks back at the camera, his gaze softening as it lands on you.

"That’s why I was so desperate to see you today. It’s the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He reaches out as if to touch your face through the screen, his thumb tracing the glass where your cheek is.

"I'm sorry if I sound like I'm complaining. I love it, I really do. I want it to be perfect for the fans. But sometimes... I just wish I could teleport back to your sofa and let you tell me about your day until I fall asleep."

You nod slowly, watching the weariness in his eyes and feeling a wave of genuine empathy.

"I get it, Jungkook," you say softly, leaning your chin on your hand. "At the end of the day, it’s your job. And everyone gets frustrated or exhausted by their work, no matter how much they love it. It’s okay to be tired. You don’t have to be the 'Golden Maknae' with me, remember? You're allowed to just be a guy who’s had a rough shift."

He watches you, his expression relaxing as he lets out a breath he seemed to be holding. It’s clear he doesn’t get told that often.

"But," you continue with a small, playful smirk, "if it makes you feel any better, or maybe worse the pressure is definitely real out here. One of my colleagues at work literally has a digital countdown clock on her desktop for the Arirang Comeback. Every time I walk past her desk, she’s checking the seconds. The world is ready, even if your knees aren't."

Jungkook freezes for a second, then a slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face. It’s that specific look half-proud, half-mischievous that makes him look like the boy you first met on that blind date.

"A countdown, huh?" he asks, his voice dropping into a playful, teasing hum. "So... does that mean you have a countdown too? Are you secretly counting the seconds until you see me on stage?"

He leans closer to the camera, his dark eyes sparkling with a challenge. "Or are you only counting the seconds until our next date?"

As the weight of his gaze hits you through the screen, that familiar heat flares up in your cheeks again. You look away, tucked into your hoodie, but you know it's too late you're glowing bright red under the soft light of your living room.

"I... I don't have a clock," you stammer, looking everywhere but at his face. "I just... I have a calendar. That's different."

Jungkook lets out a low, delighted laugh, the sound rich and warm. "You're blushing again. God, Y/N, you’re so easy to tease. It’s a good thing I’m all the way over here, or I’d never let you hide that face."

You try to hide your face behind your hand, but his laughter makes you smile despite the embarrassment. You clear your throat, trying to regain a bit of your composure as you look back at the screen.

"Okay, okay, stop teasing me," you say, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since you’re so full of energy now, tell me when is Date Seven? You mentioned you were already planning it when we were in the kitchen, but the last ten days kind of... interrupted the schedule."

Jungkook leans back, a mysterious, cat-like grin spreading across his lips. Instead of giving you a date or a time, he simply shrugs his shoulders, his expression incredibly smug.

"That," he says, popping the 'p' and looking away as if he’s thinking about something wonderful, "is for me to know and for you to find out. I told you I’m planning something where I have you all to myself. No distractions."

"Not even a hint?" you plead, leaning closer to the phone. "Is it outdoors? Do I need to dress up? Or is it another 'sweatpants and movies' kind of night?"

"Nope. Not a single word," he replies, shaking his head. He looks so satisfied with himself that it’s almost frustrating. "I want you to be completely surprised. All I’ll tell you is that I’ve already cleared a window in my schedule, and I’ve made sure the crew won't be able to find me."

He winks at you, his voice softening into that low, intimate tone that always makes your stomach flip.

"Just be ready. When the car shows up at your door, don't ask questions. Just trust me, okay?"

You sigh, leaning back against your sofa cushions. "I’m terrible with surprises, Jungkook. You’re going to give me anxiety until then."

"It’ll be worth it," he promises, his gaze lingering on your face as if he’s trying to reach through the screen and touch you. "I owe you a perfect night after everything. Now, go to sleep. You have work in the morning, and I have to go dream about how I’m going to impress you on Date Seven."

The elevator ride down feels like it takes an eternity. Your head is throbbing from back-to-back meetings, a mountain of passive-aggressive emails, and a boss who seemingly forgot you were a human being today. All you want to do is crawl into bed, order the greasiest takeout possible, and vanish into the darkness.

As the lobby doors slide open, you step out into the evening air, shivering slightly. Your shoulders are hunched, your eyes tired, and your mood is hovering somewhere near rock bottom.

And then you see it.

Idling quietly at the curb is a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows. Before you can even process if it’s for you, the back door swings open, and a familiar figure steps out well, as familiar as someone can be when they are wearing an oversized black hoodie, a mask, and a bucket hat pulled low.

Even without seeing his full face, you recognize the way he stands one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the door frame.

"Rough day?"

Jungkook’s voice is muffled by the mask, but the warmth in it is unmistakable. He steps toward you, ignoring the few passersby, and reaches out to take your work bag from your hand.

"How did you—?" you start to ask, your voice sounding small and exhausted.

"I have my ways," he says softly. He pulls his mask down just enough to show you a sympathetic, knowing smile. He reaches out with his free hand and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your temple. "You look like you've been fighting a war. Get in. The world ends at that car door, I promise."

He ushers you into the back seat, which smells faintly of his cologne and expensive leather. As he slides in next to you and shuts the door, the chaos of the city is instantly replaced by a heavy, luxurious silence.

Jungkook doesn't ask you what happened. He doesn't ask you to be "on." Instead, he just pulls your head down onto his shoulder and takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

"Don't think about work," he whispers, his voice vibrating through your side. "Date Seven officially starts now, and the first rule is that nobody is allowed to be stressed. We're going somewhere where the only thing you have to do is breathe."

As the car pulls away from the curb, you feel the weight of the "fucking horrible" workday start to lift, replaced by the steady, grounding presence of the man who actually showed up when you needed him most.

The car moves smoothly through the evening traffic, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. Jungkook doesn't try to force a conversation. He seems to sense that your brain is fried, so he just keeps his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles over your knuckles.

"Hungry?" he asks quietly after a few minutes.

"Starving," you admit, your voice a little scratchy. "I think I lived on three cups of coffee and half a protein bar today."

He tsked under his breath, shaking his head. "That’s not allowed on my watch. Lean back, we’re almost there."

You expect a fancy restaurant or maybe a return to his penthouse, but the car eventually pulls into a quiet, private parking area near the Han River, far away from the usual tourist spots. When the door opens, the air is cool and smells like rain.

He leads you toward a small, unassuming building a private rental studio that looks like a converted loft. Inside, it’s stripped back: exposed brick, a massive projector screen on one wall, and a floor covered in thick, oversized cushions and blankets. There’s no staff, no cameras just a small table in the corner stacked with takeout containers from that specific 24-hour place you once mentioned you liked.

"I figured you wouldn't want to sit in a stiff chair at a restaurant," Jungkook says, pulling off his bucket hat and tossing it onto a cushion. He looks at you, his eyes searching your face. "And I know when I have a bad day, the last thing I want is people looking at me."

He walks over to the containers and starts opening them spicy rice cakes, fried chicken, and a massive bowl of jjajangmyeon.

"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the pile of blankets. "Eat first. Vent second. Or don't talk at all. We can just watch a movie and pretend the rest of Seoul doesn't exist for a few hours."

You sink onto the cushions, the sheer comfort of the setup making your eyes sting for a second. It wasn't a grand, cinematic gesture; it was exactly what you needed.

"Thank you, Jungkook," you say, finally feeling your shoulders drop from your ears. "Seriously."

He sits down cross-legged across from you, handing you a pair of chopsticks. "Don't thank me yet. I picked a really long movie. You’re trapped here until at least midnight."

He gives you a small, crooked grin the kind that isn't for the cameras, just for you. For the first time all day, the knot in your stomach finally begins to untie.

As you start digging into the spicy rice cakes and fried chicken, the dam finally breaks. Maybe it’s the comfort of the food or just the way Jungkook is sitting there, looking at you with complete focus, but all the frustration from the last nine hours comes pouring out.

"I honestly can’t take it anymore," you say, waving a chopstick in the air for emphasis as your voice rises. "My manager is a total nightmare. She waited until 4:55 PM to drop a complete project redesign on my desk and then had the nerve to ask if I could 'quickly' finish it before I left. Like, do I look like a magician to her?"

Jungkook leans back on his elbows, nodding along, his eyes locked on you. He doesn't interrupt; he just lets you ride the wave of your anger.

"And the emails!" you continue, your face getting redder as you get into it. "The passive-aggressive 'per my last email' comments from the accounting department... it’s like everyone in that building woke up today with the sole purpose of making my life a living hell. I’m doing the work of three people, and for what? To be treated like a piece of office furniture?"

You take a aggressive bite of chicken, chewing as if you're trying to vent your anger through your jaw. "I swear, if I have to hear the word 'synergy' or 'deadline' one more time this week, I’m going to throw my laptop out the window. It’s just so disrespectful of my time, Jungkook. It’s exhausting."

Jungkook reaches out, grabbing a napkin and gently wiping a stray bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth. He doesn't look overwhelmed by your outburst; if anything, he looks like he’s enjoying seeing this fiery side of you.

"Get it all out," he says with a low, supportive chuckle. "Throw the laptop. I'll buy you a new one. Tell me more about the manager what else did she do?"

"She had the audacity to tell me I looked 'tired'!" you vent, throwing your hands up. "Of course I look tired! I’ve been carrying her department for six months!"

Jungkook shakes his head, his expression shifting into a mock-serious frown. "That’s it. We’re blacklisting her. No concert tickets for her, ever."

His comment is so ridiculous that it finally cracks your shell, making you huff out a laugh despite yourself. You lean back against the cushions, the heat of your anger finally starting to dissipate into the quiet room.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, looking down at your plate, feeling a bit shy now that the storm has passed. "I probably sound like a crazy person. You have actual, world-level problems, and here I am crying about emails."

"Don't do that," he says firmly, reaching over to nudge your knee with his. "Your stress is real, Y/N. Just because I dance in stadiums doesn't mean your bad day isn't heavy. I like hearing you get fired up. It means you’re human. And honestly? It’s kind of hot when you’re angry."

He winks at you, effectively ending your rant and making you blush for the hundredth time that week.

You roll your eyes, though a smile is tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Oh, shut up," you laugh, reaching out to give him a playful, firm punch to his bicep. "I'm having a legitimate crisis over here and you're using it to flirt?"

Jungkook doesn't even flinch at the punch; instead, he lets out a soft, delighted chuckle, catching your hand before you can pull it back. He uses it to tug you toward him, closing the small gap between you on the floor.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs, his thumb grazing your knuckles. "I like that you're not polite with me. I like that you tell me when things are bullshit."

Before you can come up with a witty comeback, he leans in. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts with that same teasing grin you can literally feel him smiling against your mouth but it quickly deepens into something warmer and more grounding.

It’s the perfect antidote to your day. The taste of him, the quiet of the room, and the way his hand slides up to cup the back of your neck makes the memory of your manager and those annoying emails feel like they happened a lifetime ago.

When he finally pulls back, just a few inches, his dark eyes are shining with mischief. "Better?" he whispers.

"A little," you admit, your heart doing that familiar backflip.

"Good," he says, grabbing a piece of chicken and offering it to you. "Because I have a whole list of things to distract you with tonight, and work isn't on it."

The projector hums quietly in the background, casting large, flickering shadows against the brick walls. The movie is some long, beautifully shot film, but you’re barely paying attention to the subtitles. You’re tucked firmly into Jungkook’s side, his arm draped heavily over your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest.

It feels incredibly domestic. For a moment, you forget that he’s a man who sells out stadiums; here, in the dim light, he’s just a guy who keeps sharing his blanket and subconsciously rubbing his thumb against your arm. The atmosphere is so thick with quiet romance that you want to bottle it up.

You reach for your phone, wanting to capture the mood. You start by taking a few shots the half-eaten takeout containers, the way the light from the screen hits the edge of his tattoos, and the cozy pile of blankets at your feet.

"What are you doing?" he whispers, his voice vibrating against your temple.

"Documenting Date Seven," you murmur, snapping a photo of your interlaced hands. "So I can prove to myself tomorrow that this wasn't just a fever dream caused by work stress."

Jungkook chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. He doesn't pull away; instead, he shifts, leaning his head down until his cheek is resting against yours. "Well, if you're going to take pictures, at least put me in them. I didn't fix my hair for nothing."

You laugh, turning the camera around to selfie mode. The screen shows the two of you, you, looking soft and relaxed for the first time all day, and Jungkook, looking completely at peace, his dark eyes fixed on you instead of the lens.

"Ready?" you ask.

Just as you press the shutter, Jungkook doesn't just smile. He turns his head and presses a lingering, sweet kiss to your temple, his eyes closing. The camera clicks, capturing a moment that is so raw and intimate it makes your heart ache.

You look at the photo on the screen the way he’s holding you, the genuine Contentment on his face and you feel a rush of affection so strong it almost rivals your earlier anger.

"I look like a mess," you whisper, staring at your tired eyes in the photo.

"You look like mine," he corrects softly, taking the phone from your hand and setting it aside so he can pull you even closer. "Now, stop looking at the screen and look at me."

The movie continues to flicker on the wall, but the sound has faded into a distant hum as you turn in his arms to face him. The dim light catches the silver of his lip ring, and when he leans in to close the distance, the metal is a sharp, cold contrast against the startling heat of his mouth.

It’s a sensation that sends a shiver straight down your spine. You’re completely under his spell the way he smells, the weight of his body, and the intense, focused way he looks at you as if nothing else exists. The kiss deepens, becoming hungrier and more urgent, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands begin to wander.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, a sound of pure wanting that vibrates against your lips. He shifts, moving you until you’re lying back against the pile of soft cushions, his body hovering over yours. His hand slides down from your waist, moving beneath the hem of your clothes, his warm palm grazing the skin of your stomach and making your breath hitch.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he whispers against your skin, his voice dropped to a gravelly, dangerous pitch. "While I was at practice, while I was sitting in that car... all I wanted was to have you like this."

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, slipping beneath the lace with a slow, agonizing deliberate edge. You gasp as he finds you, his touch incredibly gentle at first, circling and teasing until you’re arching up against him. He watches your face, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, tracking every hitch in your breath and every flush of color on your skin.

Then, he slides a finger inside you. He’s skilled and patient, his movements rhythmic and deep, mimicking the pace of his tongue as he kisses you again. The sensation is overwhelming.

"You're so soft," he murmurs into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. He adds a second finger, stretching you gently, his thumb finding exactly the right spot to send waves of electricity through your nerves. "Do you like that, Y/N? Tell me."

You can barely find your voice, your head lolling back as you grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie. You’re completely lost in him, the stress of the day fully incinerated by the fire he’s started. He picks up the pace, his hand moving with a blurring intensity that pushes you closer and closer to the edge, until the world outside the room truly ceases to exist.

The sounds of the movie are nothing more than a blurred static in the background, completely drowned out by the sound of your own jagged breathing and the heavy, rhythmic friction of your bodies. Jungkook is focused entirely on you, his movements precise and demanding, driving you further into the cushions with every deep, pulsing stroke of his fingers.

He watches your eyes glaze over, his own expression a mask of raw intensity. He’s not the shy boy from the phone call anymore; he’s a man who knows exactly how to take what he wants. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up further, his thumb never leaving that sensitive peak as his fingers slide in and out of you, slick and relentless.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a dark, rough velvet. When you meet his gaze, you see the hunger there the absolute need to be the one who makes you lose control. "That's it... just for me, Y/N."

He picks up the pace, his hand moving with a blurring speed that makes your hips buck instinctively against him. You’re wound so tight, your entire body trembling as the tension coils in your lower stomach. You cry out his name, your voice breaking, and he captures the sound with his mouth, swallowing your moans as he pushes you over the edge.

The climax hits you in violent, white-hot waves, your muscles clenching around his fingers as you shatter. Jungkook holds you through it, his forehead pressed against yours, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he feels the aftershocks of your release. He doesn't pull away immediately; he lingers, his touch softening into something slow and grounding, letting you drift back down to reality.

He eventually withdraws, the silver of his lip ring catching the flickering light as he kisses your forehead, your nose, and finally your swollen lips. He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucking you into his chest as your breathing finally begins to level out.

"Date Seven," he whispers into the crown of your head, his voice still thick and low. "Definitely worth the wait."

You lean into him, completely spent and finally at peace, the memory of your horrible day nothing more than a shadow in the wake of him.

You’re still breathless, your body humming with the aftershocks of what he just did to you. As your head clears, you shift against the cushions, reaching out to tug at the waistband of his joggers. Your eyes are dark with a new kind of intent; you want to return the favor, to see him lose that cool, controlled composure he’s been holding onto all night.

But before you can move, Jungkook’s hand gently but firmly catches your wrist.

He shakes his head slowly, a soft, lopsided smile playing on his lips. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are still heavy with heat, but he pulls your hand up and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles instead.

"No," he whispers, his voice still a bit gravelly. "Not tonight."

"Jungkook," you protest, your voice a small, sleepy whine. "That's not fair. Let me—"

"Hey," he murmurs, shifting so he can tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He pulls the duvet up higher, cocooning you against his chest. "I told you when I picked you up today was about the world ending at the car door. You had a hell of a day. You were stressed, exhausted, and ready to quit everything."

He settles back into the pillows, pulling you firmly into the crook of his arm so your head rests right over his heart. You can feel the steady, powerful thud of it beneath his ribs.

"Tonight was about making you forget all of that," he says, his chin resting on the top of your head. "It was about making sure you felt... taken care of. I don't need a trade. Seeing you look like that, seeing you finally relax that was enough for me."

He gives you a playful little squeeze, his tone lightening just a bit. "Besides, I’m a marathon runner, remember? I can wait for Date Eight. Tonight, you just stay right here and let me hold you."

You let out a long, contented sigh, finally giving in to the sheer comfort of his embrace.

You sink into the warmth of his side, the steady beat of his heart acting like a metronome that finally stills your racing mind. The flickering light from the projector starts to feel heavy on your eyelids, and the plush blankets are like a soft sanctuary against the rest of the world.

Jungkook doesn't say much more, sensing that you're drifting off. He reaches over and grabs the remote, turning the volume of the movie down to a mere whisper until it’s just ambient noise. He stays perfectly still, acting as your human pillow, his hand resting protectively on your waist.

"Sleep, Y/N," he mumbles, his voice vibrating through your ear. "I’ve got you."

You don't even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you feel a gentle shift hours later. The room is darker now, the movie has finished, and the screen is glowing with a soft, static blue. Jungkook is carefully untangling himself from you, moving with the kind of grace that only a dancer has to avoid waking you up.

"Where are you going?" you whisper, your voice thick with sleep.

He freezes, then leans back down to press a kiss to your temple. "Just getting some water. And checking with the driver. It's late, but if you want to stay here, we can stay. I rented the place until noon tomorrow."

You sit up squinting, feeling the cool air hit your skin where his body heat used to be. The realization hits you he didn't just plan a date; he planned an escape. No managers knocking on the door, no early wake-up calls, just a quiet loft in the middle of a sleeping city.

"You don't have practice tomorrow?" you ask, rubbing your eyes.

Jungkook grins, that mischievous glint back in his eyes as he hands you a bottle of water he just opened. "I told Namjoon hyung that if I didn't get one full morning of peace, I was going to 'accidentally' leak the bridge of the new single. He told me to take the morning off."

He crawls back onto the cushions, pulling you back down with him. "So, no alarms. No emails. Just us and maybe some breakfast whenever we actually wake up."

As you settle back into his arms, you realize that for the first time in months, you aren't dreading the next day. You turn your face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, and finally let the last of the world fade away.

You look up at him, the dim blue light of the studio reflecting in your eyes. While this loft is peaceful, you find yourself craving the one place that truly feels like his sanctuary. You want the familiar scent of his pillows, the heavy duvet, and the quiet comfort of his actual home.

"Jungkook?" you whisper, your voice still a bit husky from sleep.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

"Can we go back to your place? I want to sleep in your bed. Your actual bed." You pause, a small smile tugging at your lips as you think of a certain four-legged friend. "And I really miss Bam. I bet he’s wondering where I am."

Jungkook’s expression softens instantly. A low, warm chuckle vibrates in his chest as he pulls you closer for a second. "You want to go home, huh? And here I thought you only liked me for my movie taste."

He leans down and nips playfully at your earlobe before pulling back. "Bam definitely misses you. He’s probably sitting by the door right now. He’s obsessed with you honestly, I think he likes you more than he likes me at this point."

He starts gathering his things, helping you up from the pile of cushions with a steady hand. "If that's what you want, that's where we're going. My bed is way more comfortable than these cushions anyway, and there’s no one there to bother us."

He pulls his mask and bucket hat back on, but before he leads you out to the waiting car, he stops. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"I like that you call it 'home,'" he says quietly, his eyes searching yours. "Let's go. Bam is waiting for his favorite person."

The drive back to his place is quiet, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows in streaks of neon and gold. Your head is back on his shoulder, and his hand is firmly anchored on your thigh, a silent promise that the peace of the evening isn't over yet.

As soon as the elevator dings at his penthouse and the doors slide open, a frantic clicking of paws on the polished floor echoes through the hall.

"Bam-ah!" Jungkook calls out, his voice instantly dropping into that high-pitched, "dog-dad" tone.

The massive Doberman skids around the corner, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half wiggles. He ignores Jungkook entirely, heading straight for you and nearly knocking you over with a giant, wet lick to your hand. He whines low in his throat, nudging his head against your hip as if demanding to know where you’ve been for the last ten days.

"See?" Jungkook grumbles playfully, tossing his keys on the marble counter. "I’m just the guy who pays the bills. You’re the one he’s been waiting for."

You laugh, kneeling down to ruffle Bam’s soft ears. "I missed you too, buddy."

Jungkook watches the two of you for a moment, a look of pure, unshielded contentment on his face. He walks over, placing a hand on the small of your back and guiding you toward the master bedroom. The apartment is quiet, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the Han River, but tonight, the view doesn't matter.

Inside his room, the air is cool and smells faintly of his signature woodsy scent. He doesn't bother turning on the main lights, leaving the space in a soft, amber glow.

"Go get comfortable," he says, nodding toward his dresser. "Take whatever you want. I’m going to let Bam out for a minute and grab us some water."

By the time you’ve changed into one of his oversized black hoodies which smells exactly like him and reaches halfway down your thighs Jungkook returns. He’s stripped down to just his sweatpants, his tattoos on full display in the dim light.

He pulls back the heavy, dark duvet, inviting you in. As you slide into the massive bed, the high-thread-count sheets feel like heaven against your skin. Bam follows suit, jumping onto his designated spot at the foot of the bed with a heavy thump, letting out a satisfied huff as he settles in.

Jungkook climbs in beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He positions you so your back is against his chest, his large frame acting like a shield against the rest of the world.

"Finally," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with the beginning of sleep. "This is exactly how I wanted Date Seven to end."

"In bed with your dog?" you tease softly.

"In bed with my two favorite people," he corrects, tightening his grip on you.

As you close your eyes, the stress of the workday feels like a distant, blurry memory.

The silence of the room is heavy and sweet, broken only by the low, rhythmic thud of Bam’s tail hitting the mattress a few times before he finally drifts off. The city lights outside the window look like fallen stars, but the only thing you’re focused on is the heat of Jungkook’s skin against your back.

"You're still awake," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that you feel more than hear. He nuzzles his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck, his lips grazing your skin. "Still thinking about those emails?"

"No," you whisper, turning slightly in his arms so you can see his face. "Those feel a hundred years away now."

He looks incredibly young in the shadows, the sharp lines of his jaw softened by the pillow. He reaches out, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip.

He pulls you a little closer, his gaze becoming intense. "Having you here, in my actual life... not just at a restaurant or a studio, but here... it makes the 'Idol' part of me feel smaller. In a good way. Like I have a place to land."

He leans in, pressing a soft, slow kiss to your lips.

"I do have to be at the stadium early tomorrow for soundcheck," he whispers against your mouth, "but I want you to stay here. Sleep in. Use the rain shower. Eat whatever you want from the fridge. I’ll have the driver take you wherever you need to go when you're ready."

"Jungkook, I have to work tomorrow too," you remind him with a small laugh, though the idea of staying in this bed forever is tempting.

"Right. Work," he sighs, dramatically hiding his face in your neck. "I’m going to personally write a letter to your manager telling her you’re busy being the Muse of the Year. She’ll understand."

You giggle, running your hand over the ink on his arm, tracing the intricate designs. "I don't think that's how corporate Korea works, JK."

"A guy can dream," he mutters, finally settling down and pulling the duvet up to your chins. He kisses your forehead one last time, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Stay anyway. Just for the morning. I want to know you're here when the sun comes up."

You’re standing in the kitchen, wearing one of Jungkook’s oversized t-shirts and some leggings, hair tied up in a messy bun. The smell of the stew you’re simmering fills the apartment, and Bam is currently flopping around your feet, exhausted and happy from your long walk.

Then, the front door lock beeps.

You expect it to be just Jungkook maybe he finished rehearsals early. But the hallway suddenly erupts with a chaotic mix of voices, laughter, and the heavy thud of multiple pairs of boots.

"I’m telling you, the bridge needs that extra ad-lib!"

"I'm just here for the free food JK promised..."

Your heart stops. You look toward the entryway just as a sea of familiar faces rounds the corner. It’s not just Jungkook. It’s all of them. RM, Jin, Suga, J-Hope, Jimin, and V are spilling into the living room, shedding jackets and talking over each other.

The room goes dead silent the moment they spot you standing there with a wooden spoon in your hand.

Jungkook is at the back of the group, frozen mid-sentence. His eyes go wide as he realizes the collision course he’s just steered his entire life into. He looks at you, then at his six "brothers" who are now staring at you like you’re a rare museum exhibit.

"Uh..." Namjoon is the first to speak, blinking rapidly. "Hi?"

Jin’s nose sniffs the air. "Is that... Kimchi Jjigae? Jungkook, you didn't say you hired a chef. Or... wait."

Your face is probably ten different shades of red. Meeting the six people who are essentially his family, all at once, in your loungewear, was not the plan.

You look at Jungkook, your eyes screaming 'Help me,' while Bam happily trots over to Tae, who is the only one not frozen, already kneeling down to greet the dog.

Jungkook finally clears his throat, stepping forward and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He looks at you with an apologetic, "I-totally-forgot-I-invited-them" expression.

"Everyone," Jungkook says, his voice a bit higher than usual. "This is Y/N. Y/N... these are the hyungs. All of them. At once. Sorry."

Jimin is the first to break the tension, a huge, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "So this is why you've been disappearing the second practice ends? Jungkook-ah, you have a lot of explaining to do."

You grip the handle of the spoon so hard your knuckles turn white. You wanted to be elegant, prepared, and "girlfriend material" when meeting his circle. Instead, you're standing here in his laundry, smelling like onions.

You stand there, frozen, the wooden spoon still held like a makeshift shield. Your heart is hammering against your ribs so hard you’re sure they can hear it. You look down at your messy bun, then at Jungkook’s oversized shirt, and finally at the six legends standing in the living room.

"I... uh..." you stammer, your voice coming out a little breathless and incredibly shy. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking anywhere but directly into their curious eyes. "It looks like... I’m going to need to cook a lot more than I thought."

The silence breaks instantly.

"Yes! I like her already!" Jin exclaims, clapping his hands together and heading straight for the kitchen island. "Jungkook, she has the right priorities! Food first, introductions later!"

Jungkook finally moves, rushing to your side and sliding an arm around your waist. He leans down, whispering quickly into your ear, "I am so sorry, they practically forced their way into the car. I'll help you. We have more stuff in the fridge, right?"

"Wait, wait," Jimin says, leaning over the counter with a playful, narrow-eyed look. "You've been hiding her for how long? And she’s already at the stage where she’s walking the dog and cooking dinner?" He nudges Jungkook’s shoulder. "You're moving fast, JK!"

You turn back to the stove, your face feeling like it’s literally on fire. "I’ll just... I’ll start some more rice," you mumble, focusing intently on the pot of stew to hide your blushing.

"Don't be nervous!" Hoseok says, giving you a bright, heart-shaped smile from across the room. "We’ve heard... well, we haven't heard much because he’s been keeping you a secret, but we know he’s been a lot happier lately. Thank you for the meal!"

Taehyung, who is still on the floor with Bam, looks up and tilts his head. "She smells like Jungkook’s fabric softener," he notes out loud, making the others laugh and making you want to melt into the floorboards.

Jungkook groans, hiding his face in your shoulder for a second. "Okay, everyone out! Go to the living room! Give her some space!"

He turns back to you, his eyes softening as he takes the spoon from your hand. "You're doing great," he whispers so only you can hear. "They already love you. Just... maybe don't let Jin help, or we'll be here until midnight."

You’re trying to keep it together for the sake of hospitality, but as you pull another bag of rice from the pantry, the reality of the situation starts to grate on your nerves. You aren’t "officially" anything yet, no titles, no "boyfriend/girlfriend" talk and yet here you are, looking like a housewife in his clothes, about to serve a three-course meal to the biggest stars on the planet.

As the guys retreat to the living room, their loud laughter and Bam’s excited barking filling the space, Jungkook stays behind to help you. He reaches for a bowl, but you shoulder him out of the way a bit more forcefully than necessary.

"Hey," he whispers, catching the tension in your movements. "Are you okay?"

You turn to him, keeping your voice low so the others don't hear, but your eyes are flashing. "Jungkook, this is a lot," you hiss, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "I’m standing here in your laundry, I haven't even brushed my hair properly since the walk, and suddenly the entire group is in your living room?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry—"

"No, seriously," you interrupt, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of shyness and genuine annoyance. "We haven't even had the talk about what we are, and now I’m being introduced to your 'family' like this? You overstepped. I wanted to be prepared. I wanted to... I don't know, have my own clothes on?"

Jungkook flinches slightly, the playful grin disappearing from his face. He realizes he messed up. He was so excited to have his worlds collide that he completely forgot to check if you were ready for the impact.

"Y/N, I really didn't plan it," he says softly, his hands hovering near your waist but not touching, sensing your anger. "They were teasing me about where I was going, and Jin-hyung said he was hungry, and before I knew it, they were all in the elevator. I should have called. I should have told them 'no'."

He looks toward the living room, then back at you, his expression clouding with guilt. "Do you want them to leave? I'll make up an excuse. I’ll tell them I have a private meeting. I’ll kick them out right now if it makes you feel better."

"No," you sigh, your anger deflating into a heavy weight of social anxiety. "Don't kick them out. That would be ten times more awkward. Just... give me a second to breathe, okay? And go get them some drinks so they stay out of the kitchen."

"Okay," he breathes, looking relieved but still cautious. He leans in, quickly kissing your forehead. "I'm an idiot. I'll make it up to you. Date Eight is going to be whatever you want, I promise."

You manage to pull together enough food to feed a small army, moving with a focused, silent efficiency that Jungkook clearly interprets as "danger zone." He stays out of your way, playing the perfect host by setting the table and herding the guys toward the dining area.

"Dinner's ready," you say quietly, keeping your eyes on the plates as you set the last bowl of steaming stew in the center of the table.

The guys practically swarm the table, their eyes widening at the spread. "Wah, it looks amazing!" Jimin says, looking at you with a warm, appreciative smile. "Thank you so much, Y/N-ssi."

"Yeah, seriously," Namjoon adds, pulling out a chair. "We're sorry for just barging in like this."

You give them a small, stiff nod polite but clearly overwhelmed. "Please, enjoy. I’ll be right back."

You don't wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head straight for the master bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft but firm click.

Finally, silence.

You lean against the cool marble of the vanity and let out a long, shaky breath. Your hands are actually trembling. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and nearly groan. You’re wearing Jungkook’s shirt which is so big it’s falling off one shoulder and your hair is a bird's nest of loose strands and flyaways from the windy walk with Bam.

"Great first impression, Y/N," you whisper to your reflection. "Just great."

You quickly pull the hair tie out, shaking your hair loose. You grab a brush from the counter knowing it’s Jungkook’s and vigorously work through the tangles. You splash some cold water on your face to kill the lingering heat in your cheeks and try to smooth out the oversized shirt so it looks at least intentionally casual rather than "just rolled out of bed."

As you're re-tying your hair into a much neater, sleek ponytail, there’s a soft, hesitant knock on the bathroom door.

"Y/N?" It’s Jungkook. His voice is muffled and low. "The guys are already halfway through the chicken and they won't stop talking about how good it is. Are you... are you coming back out?„

You stare at the door, your irritation still simmering but softened by the slight tremor of nerves in his voice. He’s clearly terrified that he’s ruined everything.

"I'm coming out," you call back, taking one last look at yourself and straightening your shoulders. "Just... give me thirty seconds to stop wanting to crawl into a hole."

You take one last deep breath, check your reflection, and open the door. When you walk back into the dining area, the atmosphere is loud and chaotic exactly what you’d expect from seven men who have lived together for a decade.

Jin is currently mid-sentence, gesturing wildly with a piece of chicken, explaining a "dad joke" that has Namjoon facepalming and Hoseok doubled over laughing. Jungkook’s eyes immediately find yours as you enter, and he pulls out the chair next to him, his expression a mix of relief and intense "thank you."

"There she is!" J-Hope beams, his energy practically lighting up the room. "Come, sit! Eat before Jin-hyung finishes the entire pot of stew."

"Hey!" Jin protests, though his mouth is full. "I am savoring the craftsmanship!"

You sit down, feeling the initial wave of shyness start to melt under their sheer friendliness. It’s hard to stay mad or stiff when Jimin is leaning over to show you a funny video of Bam he just took, or when Taehyung is asking you very serious questions about your favorite flavor of ice cream as if it's the most important data point in the world.

"So, Y/N," Yoongi says, leaning back and looking at you with a calm, observant smile. He hasn't said much, but his vibe is surprisingly grounding. "How did a sensible person like you end up dealing with this brat?" He jerks a thumb toward Jungkook.

"Hey!" Jungkook pouts, but you actually find yourself laughing.

"Honestly?" you say, finally feeling your posture relax. "It started with a blind date where he was so nervous I thought he was going to vibrate out of his chair."

The table erupts.

"No way!" Jimin shrieks, clapping his hands. „JK was shaking? Tell us everything!"

As you start to recount a few details of your first meeting, you realize that your earlier anger has completely vanished. They aren't treating you like a stranger or a "secret"; they’re treating you like a new friend they’ve been dying to meet.

Jungkook settles back, his hand finding yours under the table and squeezing it firmly. He leans in close, whispering under the cover of the others' laughter, "You're doing amazing. See? I told you they’d love you."

You nudge him back with your shoulder, a genuine smile finally reaching your eyes. "You're still an idiot for not calling first, JK. But... the company isn't so bad."

"I'll take it," he grins, finally digging into his own food, looking like the happiest man in Seoul.

The table goes a little quiet as the guys exchange looks, and it’s Jimin who leans forward, his eyes twinkling with an idea. "You know, Y/N, we’re doing a full run-through of the choreography at the stadium tomorrow. You should come by. It’s way more impressive than watching it on a tiny screen."

Your heart skips a beat, and that familiar heat rushes back into your cheeks. You look down at your plate, suddenly feeling very small again.

"Oh, I... I don't know," you stammer, glancing at Jungkook. "I'd love to, but... doesn't the management have rules? They don't even know I exist. I don't want to cause a scandal or get anyone in trouble just because I showed up."

Namjoon, ever the voice of reason, shakes his head with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about the 'official' stuff. We’re allowed to have friends visit the set. As far as the staff is concerned, you're just a close friend of the group. We have people stop by all the time, producers, family, stylists' friends."

"Exactly!" Taehyung adds, popping a piece of kimchi into his mouth. "And besides, if anyone asks, you're Bam's personal consultant. You have a very important job."

You bite your lip, still feeling hesitant. "Are you sure? I don't want to be a distraction."

Jungkook, who has been watching you with a hopeful expression, leans in and bumps his shoulder against yours. "You wouldn't be a distraction. Honestly, having you there might actually make me work harder. I’d have someone to impress."

"He’s already showing off for you and you aren't even there yet," Suga mutters with a smirk, making the others howl with laughter.

"Seriously though," Jin says, his tone surprisingly sincere for a moment. "It’s a different world when the lights are on and the music is loud. We’d like you to see what we do. It makes us feel more... human, having someone we care about in the seats."

The word "care" hangs in the air, warm and heavy. You look at Jungkook, and he gives your hand another squeeze under the table.

"Okay," you say softly, a small, brave smile forming on your face. "If you're sure it's okay... I’d love to come."

The cheer that goes up around the table is so loud it makes Bam bark in excitement. You still feel a bit like you're dreaming two days ago you were crying over emails, and tomorrow you'll be watching a private stadium rehearsal.

"Great!" J-Hope claps his hands. "It's settled. Jungkook, make sure she gets a VIP pass. And don't forget to tell the kitchen to make the good snacks!"

The last of the guys finally filters out, their laughter echoing down the hallway until the elevator dings and silence settles over the penthouse. You stand in the kitchen, staring at the mountain of plates and empty bowls, and instinctively reach for a sponge. You’re still a bit buzzed from the adrenaline of the evening, you actually survived meeting all six of them.

"Y/N, stop," Jungkook says, his voice much lower and closer than before.

He’s standing right behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you away from the sink. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"Leave it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "The cleaning crew comes in the morning. I didn't get them out of here so you could spend the rest of the night doing dishes."

"But it's such a mess, JK," you protest weakly, though you’re already leaning back into his strength. "I feel bad leaving it like this."

"Don't," he says firmly. He turns you around in his arms, his dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. The playful "little brother" vibe he had with the guys is completely gone, replaced by the man who has been waiting all night to have you to himself again.

He cups your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "You were incredible tonight. I know I overwhelmed you, and I'm sorry again, but seeing you laugh with them... it meant everything to me."

He leans down, his forehead resting against yours. "But now, I'm tired of sharing you. No more hyungs, no more Bam, no more talk about work or choreography."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He hooks his arms under your knees and lifts you up in one smooth motion, making you let out a small gasp of surprise as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

"Jungkook!" you laugh, breathless.

"I'm taking you to bed," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous, gravelly pitch that sends a shiver straight to your core. "And this time, I’m not letting you fall asleep until I’ve properly thanked you for being so patient with me."

As he carries you toward the bedroom, the mess in the kitchen and the stress of the day disappear. The only thing that exists is the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, and the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The bedroom is bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamps as Jungkook lowers you onto the cool silk sheets. He doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath, his body hovering over yours as he rains kisses down your neck, his hands sliding up under the hem of his shirt that you're still wearing.

"I've been watching you all night," he groans against your skin, his voice thick with a hunger he’d been forced to suppress in front of his friends. "Seeing you in my clothes, taking care of everyone... it drove me crazy."

He pulls the shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth moves lower, trailing fire across your stomach. He moves with a focused, primal intent, parting your legs and kneeling between them. When his tongue first makes contact, the sensation is so sharp and perfect that you arch off the bed, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. He’s relentless, his silver lip ring adding a chilling, electric edge to the wet heat of his mouth as he drinks in your moans.

The pleasure is building too fast, a dizzying climb that makes you crave the feel of him just as much. You reach down, tugging at his shoulders. "Jungkook... wait," you gasp, your voice breaking.

He looks up, his eyes dark and blown out, his lips glistening. Before he can ask what’s wrong, you shift, maneuvering your body with a sudden burst of confidence. You spin around, swinging your legs over his shoulders until you’re positioned over him, your center hovering just inches from his face while your own gaze settles on him.

A low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he realizes what you’re doing. He reaches up, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as you lower yourself back onto him, while simultaneously taking him into your mouth.

The 69 position is a chaotic, beautiful blur of sensory overload. The contrast is staggering, the deep, rhythmic pull of his mouth on you while you taste the salt and heat of his skin. Every time he swirls his tongue or applies pressure, you find yourself reacting against him, your own movements becoming more urgent.

Jungkook is losing his mind beneath you; you can feel the tension in his thighs and the way his fingers dig into your skin, anchoring you. He’s never been more vulnerable or more powerful at the same time. The room is silent except for the sounds of wet friction and the ragged, synchronized gasps for air.

As the tension reaches a breaking point, he begins to use his thumbs to tease you alongside his tongue, driving you toward a cliff you know you're about to fall off. You’re both shaking, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch until the world finally shatters into a thousand pieces of white light, leaving you both collapsed against each other in a tangled, breathless heap of limbs and racing hearts.

You roll off him, your skin flushed and slick, and collapse onto the pillows beside him. Your chest is heaving as you try to pull enough air into your lungs, the room still spinning slightly from the intensity of it all. The silence that follows is heavy and sweet, filled only with the sound of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again.

Jungkook doesn't move for a moment, just lies there with his arm flung over his eyes, his own breath coming in jagged hitches. Then, he slowly turns his head toward you.

A slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face, the kind of look that’s equal parts pride, adoration, and lingering heat. His hair is a chaotic mess against the dark sheets, and his eyes are still dark, tracking the way your pulse is thrumming in your neck.

"Wow," he breathes out, the word vibrating with a low, raspy chuckle. "Okay. Note taken. You are definitely not as shy as you look in the kitchen."

He reaches over, his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. He pulls you closer until your heads are resting on the same pillow, his grin softening into something more intimate.

"You okay?" he whispers, his voice dropping to that tender, private register. "I think you might have actually killed me for a second there."

You let out a soft, tired laugh, nudging your head against his. "You're the one who started it by acting like a gentleman in front of your hyungs."

"I had to," he says, pulling the duvet over both of your tangled bodies. "If I let them see how much I’m actually falling for you, they’d never let me hear the end of it. But here?" He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Here, it’s just us. And I think I like 'just us' best."

He tucks you firmly into his side, his large hand resting on your waist, and for the first time all day, the world feels completely still.

The shrill, persistent buzz of your phone cuts through the quiet of the bedroom at 6:30 AM. You grope blindly for the nightstand, silencing the alarm before the first bar of the melody can even finish. Beside you, Jungkook doesn't even stir; he’s buried deep under the duvet, one arm flung over the spot where you were just lying, his breathing deep and steady.

You slip out of bed as quietly as a ghost. Because this has become a frequent "happy accident" over the past few weeks, you’ve claimed a small corner of his massive walk-in closet. Seeing your structured blazers and crisp office slacks hanging next to his sea of oversized black hoodies and leather jackets always gives you a secret thrill of domesticity.

You grab your work bag and your clothes, heading into the en-suite bathroom. You keep the shower steam low and the water pressure soft, trying not to let the clink of your toiletries wake him. There’s something peaceful about getting ready in his space—using his expensive shampoo and seeing your toothbrush standing next to his.

Once you're dressed and your hair is pinned back into a professional, manager-ready style, you sneak out to the kitchen.

The penthouse is breathtaking in the early morning light, the sun just starting to hit the Han River through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bam trots over to you, stretching his long legs with a sleepy yawn, and follows you into the kitchen.

"Morning, buddy," you whisper, scratching him behind the ears.

You move with practiced ease, clicking on the high-end espresso machine. The rich, bitter aroma of the coffee begins to fill the air, grounding you for the day ahead. You pop two slices of bread into the toaster and lean against the marble counter, sipping your coffee while you wait.

For a moment, standing there in your office attire while the rest of the world and the superstar in the next room is still asleep, you feel a strange sense of balance. The corporate chaos of yesterday feels manageable when you know you have this quiet sanctuary to return to.

You’re just buttering your toast when you hear the soft thud-thud of bare feet on the floor. You turn around to see Jungkook standing in the doorway, his hair a wild, sleep-mussed nest and his eyes barely open, looking like a completely different person from the man who commanded the room last night.

"Going already?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep as he wanders toward you like a moth to a flame.

You nod, taking another sip of your coffee as you watch him lean sleepily against the kitchen island.

"Yeah, I have to," you say softly, offering him a sympathetic smile. "I have a really important meeting this morning that I can't push back. The corporate world doesn't wait for anyone, even if I'd much rather stay here in bed."

Jungkook lets out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing his face with his hands before stepping closer to wrap his arms loosely around your waist. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, his skin still warm from sleep. "I hate that meeting already," he grumbles into your shirt.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours with a hopeful glint. "Are you still coming to the stadium later? For the rehearsal?"

You check your watch, mentally calculating your schedule and the mountain of files waiting on your desk. "I really want to," you promise, reaching up to smooth down a particularly stubborn stray hair on the top of his head. "If I can get through my tasks on time and make it out of the office, I'll definitely be there. I’ll text you as soon as I’m in the car."

"You better," he murmurs, leaning down to catch your lips in a slow, sweet morning kiss that tastes faintly of coffee. "The guys will be disappointed if you don't show up..but I'll be the one pouting the most."

"I'll do my best, JK," you laugh, grabbing your toast. "Now go back to sleep for another hour. You have a long day ahead of you too."

At the office, you are a complete machine. You tear through your tasks with a level of focus that leaves your colleagues trailing behind. Your meeting is a success, you’re sharp, articulate, and efficient, fueled by the quiet confidence of the morning you spent in the penthouse. Every email you send and every decision you make is executed with surgical precision.

Meanwhile, your phone stays mostly silent. You know Jungkook is likely in the middle of a grueling rehearsal schedule; he’s someone who pours every ounce of his energy into his craft, barely glancing at his phone when he’s in the zone.

As the clock hits late afternoon, you finally clear the last of your priority files. You grab your bag, head down to the street, and hail a taxi.

"Seoul Olympic Stadium, please," you tell the driver.

As the car weaves through the heavy Seoul traffic, you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This morning you were a corporate professional, but now you’re heading into a completely different world. You check your reflection in the window, smoothing your hair and straightening your blazer. You’re about to see the man who was pouting over coffee this morning turn into the powerhouse you saw on stage—and this time, you have a front-row seat.

You walk through the stadium corridors with a confidence that mirrors your performance at the office. The sharp click-clike of your high heels echoes against the concrete floors, drawing eyes from staff and security alike. You look incredible a perfect blend of professional power and effortless beauty but you keep a warm, polite smile for everyone you pass.

Eventually, you run into Sejin, the group's long-time manager. He looks a bit surprised to see a stranger navigating the restricted area so confidently.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" he asks politely, though his eyes are curious.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," you introduce yourself with a graceful nod. "I'm a close friend of the group. They invited me to watch the rehearsal today." You notice a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, so you add smoothly, "I believe Minho-ssi mentioned I might be coming by?"

The mention of Minho’s name acts like a magic key. Sejin’s expression softens immediately, and he offers a small, respectful bow. "Ah, I see. Yes, they did mention a guest. Please, follow me. They just started."

He leads you through the final set of heavy double doors that open into the massive arena. The air inside is cooler, vibrating with the heavy, rhythmic bass of a track you recognize instantly: "Hooligan."

The stage is flooded with harsh, white rehearsal lights. In the center of the chaos, you see him.

Jungkook is a force of nature. He’s wearing a loose, sweat-drenched tank top that shows off every muscle in his arms and the intricate ink of his sleeve. His movements are sharp, aggressive, and perfectly synchronized with the dancers around him. There’s no trace of the sleepy man who was pouting in his kitchen this morning; this is the Artist.

Your gaze locks onto him, and a sudden wave of heat washes over you. You watch the way he commands the space, the intensity in his eyes, and the sheer physicality of his performance.

As you stand there in the shadows of the sound booth, watching him move, the reality of your "arrangement" hits you hard. Jungkook had said it was okay to just be "friends" in public, but looking at him now—knowing how he felt against you last night, knowing the taste of his skin—you realize that playing the role of a platonic friend is going to be much harder than you ever imagined.

The track reaches its peak, the bass vibrating through your chest, and just as the choreography shifts into a brief transition, Jimin’s head turns. Even from a distance, you can see the moment his eyes land on you. His entire face transforms, a massive, mischievous grin breaking through his professional concentration. He doesn't miss a single step, but he catches the eye of a few other members, nudging toward where you’re standing with Sejin.

You feel the weight of several world-famous gazes landing on you at once. Your confident corporate shell cracks just a little, and you raise your hand, giving them a small, shy wave.

Jimin winks at you—bold and playful—before spinning back into the formation.

A split second later, Jungkook follows Jimin’s lead. He pivots for a high-intensity move, his eyes scanning the sound booth area, and then he sees you. The transformation is instantaneous. He doesn't stop dancing—he’s too much of a professional for that—but his energy shifts. There’s a sudden, sharp flick of his head, a little more power in his kick, and a smirk that is meant for nobody else in the stadium but you.

He looks dangerous in the best way possible.

"They're almost done with this set," Sejin whispers beside you, looking impressed by the sudden spike in the group's performance. "I'll take you down to the floor when they take a break."

As the final notes of "Hooligan" echo through the cavernous stadium, Jungkook stands at the center, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples. He doesn't even reach for a water bottle first. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on yours, unbothered by the staff or the cameras, his gaze intense and heavy with a silent message: I'm glad you made it.

"Y/N-ssi!" J-Hope shouts from the stage, waving both arms frantically like a lighthouse. "You really came! Did you see that? Was I cool?"

The tension breaks as the other members start laughing and teasing Hobi, but Jungkook just starts walking toward the edge of the stage, his eyes never leaving you, looking like he’s about to jump the barrier just to get to you faster.

You walk toward the edge of the stage, the clicking of your heels now muffled by the heavy floor mats. Up close, the members look even more impressive,flushed, breathing hard, and glowing under the stadium lights.

Hobi is practically vibrating with energy as you reach the barrier. You give him a bright, genuine smile. "Hobi, you were incredible," you say, making sure your voice carries. "Seriously, your stage presence is on a completely different level. You were so cool!"

Hoseok beams, doing a little celebratory dance move. "See? I told you she has great taste!"

Jungkook finally reaches the edge, leaning his elbows on the stage floor to look down at you. He’s drenched in sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead, and he’s looking at you with that intense, "look-at-me" gaze. He expects a compliment, a lingering look, maybe even a secret wink.

Instead, you tilt your head and look over at Hobi again, then back at Jungkook with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"You know, Jungkook," you say, pitching your voice just loud enough for the others to hear. "Watching that just now... I think I finally understand the hype. Hobi-ssi definitely has some serious bias potential. I might have to rethink my rankings."

The reaction is instantaneous.

Jimin lets out a high-pitched cackle, doubling over and slapping his knee. "Oh, she got you! She got you good, JK!"

Jin starts "windshield-wiper" laughing from the back. "Aigoo, our Golden Maknae is being replaced! Hoba, you're the favorite now!"

Jungkook’s jaw practically drops. He stands up straight, his hands going to his hips, looking at you with an expression of pure, betrayed disbelief. "Bias potential? Ranking?" he repeats, his voice a mix of a pout and a challenge. "I'm standing right here! I just did the hardest choreo in the set, and you're talking about Hobi-hyung?"

He looks at Hobi, who is preening and blowing kisses at you, then back to you. Jungkook narrows his eyes, a playful, competitive smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay, I see how it is," he murmurs, leaning over the edge again so he’s closer to your face. "I guess I’ll just have to go twice as hard for the next song. Don't go changing your lockscreen just yet, Y/N."

As the music blasts through the speakers again, you step back to give them space, leaning against a flight case near the soundboard. For the next two hours, you watch them work with a focus that is almost intimidating. Even though you teased him, your eyes never truly leave Jungkook.

He is undeniable.

Every time he hits a move, you can see the sheer power in his legs and the precision in his hands. During the harder sequences of "ON" and "Black Swan," he looks like he’s possessed by the rhythm. He’s pushing himself harder now probably because of your little comment, and every time he catches your eye during a transition, he gives you a sharp, intense look that says, “Try finding a new bias after this.”

You find yourself holding your breath more than once. The way he moves, the way he commands the stage even in a simple tank top and sweatpants, is breathtaking. Hobi is a master of dance, no doubt, but Jungkook has this raw, magnetic energy that pulls you in like a vacuum. To you, he isn't just a performer; he’s the man who held you last night, and seeing those two worlds collide makes your heart race.

When they finally call for a long break, the guys are completely spent. They collapse into chairs near the stage, staff rushing over with towels and portable fans.

Jungkook doesn't even sit down. He grabs two water bottles, heads straight for you, and hops off the stage with a heavy thud of his boots. He’s panting, his skin glistening with sweat, looking incredibly attractive in his exhaustion.

"So," he says, his voice low and raspy as he hands you one of the waters. He leans in close, ignoring the staff moving around you, his scent—a mix of his fabric softener and hard work, enveloping you. "Still thinking about that 'Hobi bias' thing, or did I successfully defend my title?"

You look up at him, your heart softening at the sight of his damp hair and the expectant, slightly vulnerable look in his eyes. You reach out, your fingers briefly brushing against his hot, tattooed forearm.

"You're an idiot," you whisper, smiling up at him. "You know you're the only one I'm looking at. You were... incredible, JK."

He grins, that triumphant, boyish look returning to his face. "Good," he murmurs, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice dropping so the others can't hear. "Because I was doing every single one of those jumps just for you."

You look up at him, and for a moment, the massive stadium feels like it shrinks down until it's just the two of you. The adrenaline from the performance is still radiating off him in waves, and the way his eyes are softened, focusing only on your face, makes your stomach do backflips.

"You have no idea," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the crew resetting the stage. You step a fraction closer, just enough that the heat from his body warms your skin. "It’s actually torture standing here like this. It is so incredibly hard not to just lean in and kiss you right now."

You glance around there are stylists bustling with racks of clothes, cameramen checking lenses, and Sejin watching from a distance. The friends mask is heavy.

"I have to just stand here and be 'polite' while you look like that," you add with a frustrated little smile, gesturing to his sweat-drenched hair and the way his tank top clings to him.

Jungkook’s expression shifts. The triumphant smirk vanishes, replaced by a dark, intense look of longing. He clenches his jaw, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat before snapping back to your eyes. He shifts his weight, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out and pull you behind one of the massive speakers.

"You think it's hard for you?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that dangerous, private growl. "I’ve been watching you stand there in those heels all afternoon. Every time I turned around, all I could think about was the fact that I can't even touch your hand."

He takes a slow, steadying breath, trying to regain his professional composure. "Stay close, okay? We have one more run-through, and then I'm getting us out of here. I don't care who's watching when we get to the car."

He gives you a look that promises exactly how he plans to make up for the public distance, then turns back toward the stage, his walk a little more determined than before.

As the final note of the last track echoes into the rafters and the house lights come up slightly, the silence of the massive stadium feels heavy and expectant. The seven of them are standing in their finishing positions, chests heaving, sweat dripping onto the stage floor.

You stand up from your seat by the soundboard and begin to clap, the sound sharp and clear in the cavernous space.

"That was incredible!" you call out, your voice filled with genuine awe. You walk toward the stage as they break formation, some of them collapsing onto their knees in exhaustion. "Seriously, guys. I know you've done this a thousand times, but seeing it like this... the energy is different. I just know this tour is going to be a massive breakthrough. You're going to blow everyone away."

Namjoon looks up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, a tired but grateful smile on his face. "Thanks, Y/N. That actually means a lot. Sometimes when we're in the middle of it, we lose perspective."

"Yeah," Jin adds, breathless as he grabs a towel. "If the Bias-Changer says it’s good, it must be true!"

Jungkook is the last to move. He’s standing center-stage, staring down at his boots, trying to catch his breath. When he hears your voice, he looks up, and the intensity in his eyes hasn't faded. He watches you praise his brothers, a flicker of pride in his expression, but he stays back for a moment, just watching you exist in his professional world.

He finally hops down from the stage, his movements a bit slower now that the adrenaline is dipping. He walks straight to you, ignoring the staff members holding out water and towels.

"You really think so?" he asks, his voice low and raspy. He’s looking for your honest opinion, the one he trusts more than any critic. "You think we're ready?"

"Better than ready, JK," you say, looking him straight in the eyes, your professional mask slipping just enough for him to see the adoration underneath. "You were perfect."

He bites his lip, a small, private smile breaking through his exhaustion. "Good. Because I'm exhausted, I’m starving, and I really just want to get out of these clothes." He glances at the exit, then back to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's go home."

The atmosphere in the stadium is a whirlwind of activity as the rehearsal officially wraps up. The guys are true professionals, despite being completely drained, they take the time to bow and shout "Thank you!" to the sound engineers, lighting techs, and stagehands. You watch Jungkook do the same, his politeness never wavering even when he’s practically vibrating with exhaustion.

You follow closely behind him as he makes his way through the familiar maze of the backstage area. The staff gives you respectful nods as you pass, though you can feel the curious eyes on your back.

Once you reach the underground parking garage, the cool air hits you. Jungkook heads straight for his sleek, black Mercedes. He unlocks it, and the headlights cut through the dimness of the concrete structure.

The moment the heavy doors thud shut, sealing you both inside the quiet, leather-scented interior, the tension of the day finally snaps. Jungkook doesn't start the engine immediately. He just sits there in the driver's seat for a beat, his hands resting on the steering wheel, his head tilted back against the headrest.

He lets out a long, ragged exhale that seems to carry all the pressure of the rehearsal with it.

Then, he turns his head toward you. The dim cabin lights catch the sharp line of his jaw and the damp curls of his hair. Without a word, he reaches across the center console, his large, warm hand finding the back of your neck. He pulls you toward him, his thumb tracing the line of your ear.

"Finally," he murmurs, his voice low and vibrating in the small space. "I thought that rehearsal would never end."

His gaze is heavy, drifting from your eyes down to your lips, the frustration of having to keep his distance all afternoon finally boiling over. The Mercedes feels like a private sanctuary, miles away from the managers, the cameras, and the choreography.

"Come here," he whispers, leaning in to bridge the gap between you.

The silence of the car is instantly replaced by the sound of heavy breathing and the soft rustle of clothes as he pulls you across the center console. The kiss is frantic, a desperate release of all the tension that had been building since you first saw him on that stage.

Jungkook isn’t being gentle. His hand is tangled deep in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, while his other hand grips your waist so tightly you can feel his heat through your blazer. He tastes like the water he was drinking and feels like pure fire.

"You have no idea," he groans against your lips, his voice a ragged mess. "Watching you watch me all day... I almost messed up the choreo three times just looking at you."

You pull him closer, your hands sliding over the damp cotton of his tank top, feeling the hard muscle of his chest heaving underneath. Every time he moans into your mouth, the sound vibrates through your entire body. He moves his mouth to your neck, his silver lip ring catching against your skin, sending sharp jolts of electricity down your spine.

"JK, wait—" you gasp, your head falling back against the seat as he finds a sensitive spot just below your ear.

"I can't wait," he mutters, his breath hot and demanding. "I want you so bad it hurts."

He shifts, trying to get even closer to you in the cramped space of the driver's seat, his hands roaming over your curves with an urgency that tells you exactly how much your Hobi bias tease had actually affected him. The windows of the Mercedes are already starting to fog up from the heat radiating off the two of you.

He pulls back for a second, his eyes dark, blown-out pools of desire, his lips swollen and wet. He looks like he’s losing his mind, and honestly, you are too.

"We need to get home," he rasps, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to find the strength to pull away. "Now. Before I do something here that’ll give Sejin a heart attack on the security cameras."

You lean back against the passenger seat, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your face is burning, and you can feel the heat radiating off your skin in waves. Your hair, which was so perfectly pinned back for the office earlier, is now a mess of loose strands from his fingers tangling through it.

"God, it’s so hot in here," you whisper, fanning yourself with your hand, though you know it's not the car's climate control that's the problem. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your pulse is still racing from the feel of his mouth on your neck.

Jungkook looks over at you, his own breathing still ragged. Seeing you so flustered, your lips swollen and your eyes slightly glazed with lingering desire, only makes him smirk. It’s that dark, satisfied look of a man who knows exactly what he’s done to you.

"You look beautiful like this," he rasps, reaching out one last time to trace his thumb over your lower lip. "All messed up and red."

He finally forced himself to turn the key. The engine of the Mercedes roars to life, a low, powerful hum that vibrates through the floorboards. He cranks the air conditioning to the max, the blast of cold air hitting your face and making you shiver, though the heat deep in your core doesn't budge.

He shifts the car into gear and peels out of the parking spot, his hand immediately returning to yours, gripping it tightly on the center console. He drives with a focused intensity, weaving through the late-night Seoul traffic with a single-minded goal.

"Don't look at me like that, Y/N," he mutters, his eyes fixed on the road but his grip on your hand tightening. "Or we’re not going to make it all the way back to the apartment."

The cold air from the vents does nothing to cool the atmosphere as you turn in your seat, fixing him with a look that is anything but innocent. You see his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel, his jaw tight when your hand slowly, deliberately slides down his thigh and disappears beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Y/N," he growls, a warning and a plea wrapped into one. "I'm driving."

"I know," you whisper, your voice smooth and teasing. "Just keep your eyes on the road, JK. I've got this."

As you wrap your fingers around him, he lets out a sharp, choked-off hiss through his teeth. The car swerves slightly before he corrects it, his breathing becoming a series of ragged, shallow hitches. You move with a slow, agonizing rhythm at first, watching the way his pulse thrums in his neck and the way his eyes flutter shut for a split second before he forces them back to the traffic.

The power dynamic shifts instantly. The superstar who was just commanding a stadium is now completely at your mercy, trapped by the laws of the road and his own desire. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates in his chest, as you increase the speed.

"You're... you're going to get us killed," he rasps, though his hips are instinctively arching into your hand.

You don't stop. Instead, you lean over the center console, the cramped space only adding to the friction. You replace your hand with your mouth, swirling your tongue around him with a focus that makes his head snap back against the headrest.

The sounds in the car are intense the low hum of the engine, the rush of the wind outside, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of you taking him deep. Jungkook is losing it; his left hand is white-knuckled on the wheel while his right hand finds the back of your head, his fingers digging into your hair as he tries to maintain some semblance of control.

As he reaches his limit, his breath hitches into a broken "Oh, god," and he stiffens, his entire body vibrating with the force of it. You don't pull away, staying with him through every pulse, meeting his intensity until you swallow every bit of him, leaving him completely spent.

He lets out a long, shaky exhale, his body going limp against the seat as he finally pulls the Mercedes into his private garage. The engine cuts out, and the sudden silence is deafening.

Jungkook sits there for a moment, chest heaving, his eyes blown wide and glazed as he stares at the concrete wall in front of him. He slowly turns his head to look at you, his expression one of pure, stunned adoration.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to walk up to the apartment," he whispers, his voice completely wrecked. He reaches out, cupping your face with a shaking hand and kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. "You are going to be the death of me."

The heavy thud of the car door closing echoes through the silent, dimly lit garage. You smooth down your skirt and step out, the sharp clack of your heels against the concrete sounding like a victory march. Despite what just happened in that car, you carry yourself with the poise of the high-level professional you were this morning—only the slight flush on your cheeks gives you away.

You don't look back to see if he's coming; you already know he is.

You walk toward the private elevator, your hips swaying just enough to keep his eyes glued to you. As the sensors recognize your presence and the doors slide open, you turn around.

Jungkook is trailing a few paces behind, looking completely dazed. His hair is a mess, his shirt is rumpled, and his eyes are dark with a mixture of shock and absolute devotion. He looks less like the "Global Pop Star" and more like a man who has just had his entire world tilted on its axis. He’s following you with a primal, single minded focus, his gaze never leaving yours.

You lean against the back wall of the elevator, your heels making you stand tall and commanding. As he steps inside, the air in the small space immediately thickens again.

"Going up?" you ask innocently, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Jungkook doesn't even answer. He just stares at you, his chest still heaving slightly. He looks completely smitten, utterly whipped, and like he’d follow you off a cliff if you asked him to. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he presses the button for the penthouse, but he doesn't pull his arm back. Instead, he traps you against the wall, leaning in until his nose brushes yours.

"You're dangerous," he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of awe and hunger. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me? I can't even think straight."

He’s completely under your spell, and as the elevator begins its silent ascent, you realize he isn't just attracted to you anymore he’s absolutely obsessed.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and you step out into the hallway of the penthouse, your heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor. You haven't even taken two steps before a familiar, excited skittering sound greets you.

Bam comes charging around the corner, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half wiggles. He’s been waiting patiently for his favorite people to return, and he immediately circles your legs, letting out a happy, low woof.

"Hey, Bam! Did you miss me?" you say, your voice softening instantly. You lean down, ignoring the fact that your designer skirt is riding up slightly, and give him a vigorous scratch behind his ears. The dog leans into your touch, panting happily, oblivious to the high-voltage tension currently vibrating between the two humans in the room.

Jungkook stands just behind you, watching the scene. The sight of you, still looking like a powerful, hot executive but melting into a puddle of affection for his dog, seems to be the final blow to his composure.

"Traitor," Jungkook mutters playfully at Bam, though his eyes are fixed entirely on you. "I'm the one who pays for the premium treats, but you greet her like she’s the one who saved your life."

You stand back up, smoothing your hair, and catch Jungkook’s gaze. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an expression that is so purely, helplessly smitten it’s almost overwhelming. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore.

"Well, maybe I just have a way with him," you tease, walking past him toward the kitchen to put your bag down.

Jungkook doesn't say a word. He just watches you walk, his eyes tracking every movement of your heels. He whistles low for Bam, gesturing for the dog to go to his bed in the corner. Once the dog is settled, Jungkook turns back to you, the playful banter dying out to be replaced by that heavy, hungry silence from the car.

"Bam is settled," he says, his voice dropping into that low, vibrating register as he starts walking toward you. "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by my own front door?"

Just as Jungkook reaches for you, his hand inches from your waist, the sharp, insistent ring of his phone cuts through the tension like a blade. He freezes, letting out a frustrated groan that sounds more like a growl.

He pulls the phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen. The name "Sejin-hyung" flashes in bright letters.

"Damn it," he mutters, looking at you with an apologetic, pained expression. "I have to take this. If he’s calling this late after a rehearsal, it’s either a schedule change or something urgent."

"It's okay," you say, breathless and a little relieved for the chance to cool down. You reach up, patting his cheek playfully. "Duty calls, Superstar. I'm going to wash the stadium and the car off me."

He catches your hand, kissing your palm fervently before he answers the call with a clipped, professional "Yeoboseyo?"

You head into the master bathroom, clicking the door shut behind you. The space is a marble sanctuary, smelling faintly of his expensive cologne and clean linen. You strip off your work clothes,the blazer and skirt that felt like a suit of armor today, and step into the massive walk-in shower.

As the steaming water hits your shoulders, you lean your forehead against the cool tile, letting out a long sigh. The heat from the water mingles with the lingering warmth in your body. Every time you close your eyes, you see the way he looked on that stage, the way his eyes followed you to the elevator, and the raw intensity of the drive home.

You take your time, lathering up with his sandalwood-scented body wash, feeling the tension of the long workday and the high-octane evening finally begin to melt away. Through the heavy glass door, you can hear the faint, muffled sound of his voice in the bedroom, his tone is serious, rhythmic, the sound of a man back in his professional element.

By the time you turn off the water and wrap yourself in one of his oversized, plush white towels, you feel like a human being again. You wipe the fog from the mirror, looking at your flushed reflection, wondering just how much longer that phone call is going to last.

The conversation in the other room is still going, and it doesn't sound like it's wrapping up anytime soon. Through the door, you can hear the low, persistent rumble of Jungkook’s voice, not angry, but firm, the tone he gets when he's advocating for himself or the team. It sounds like a complex logistics nightmare or a last-minute schedule change for the tour.

The adrenaline from earlier has finally started to dip, replaced by the heavy, comfortable weight of exhaustion. You’ve had a massive day, from being a machine at the office to the high-intensity atmosphere of the stadium, not to mention the workout in the car.

You leave the bathroom, the steam trailing behind you, and head over to the massive king-sized bed. The sheets are cool and crisp against your skin.

You slide under the heavy duvet, the scent of Jungkook’s laundry detergent something clean and familiar, enveloping you like a hug.

You prop yourself up on the pillows for a moment, watching the city lights of Seoul through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but your eyelids feel like lead. The muffled sound of his voice in the living room acts like white noise, lulling you deeper into the mattress.

"Yeah, hyung, I understand, but we need to ensure the dancers have enough recovery time..." you hear him say faintly.

You smile to yourself, thinking about how hard he works, how much he cares. Your body feels soft and warm, and the bed is far too comfortable to fight. Within minutes, the rhythm of his voice fades into the background, and you drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep, finally reclaiming the rest you've earned.

You are deep in sleep when the mattress finally shifts. The door to the balcony or the living room must have clicked shut, because the low drone of his voice has finally ceased.

Jungkook moves with practiced quietness, trying not to disturb the peace he finds you in. You feel a soft draft of cool air as he lifts the edge of the duvet, followed by the dip of the bed as he slides in beside you. He’s showered, too, smelling of fresh soap and that hint of mint from his toothpaste.

He doesn't stay on his side for long. He maneuvers himself closer until his chest is flush against your back, his large, warm hand sliding over your waist to pull you firmly against him. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, heavy sigh of relief that brushes against your skin.

"Mmm... you're already asleep," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly, tired whisper.

He sounds exhausted, the weight of the long call and the grueling rehearsal finally catching up to him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his grip on you tightening just a fraction, as if he’s making sure you’re actually there and not part of some fever dream from earlier.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as he matches his breathing to yours. "The tour... it's a lot. But this? This is the only part of the day that makes sense."

Even in your half-conscious state, you instinctively reach back, your fingers finding his arm and squeezing gently. He lets out a content hum, nuzzling deeper into you. Within minutes, his breathing slows into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. The "Golden Maknae" is gone, and in his place is just a man who finally feels at home, holding onto the person who makes the chaos of his world disappear.

The next day, you meet up with Naemi at a bustling Korean BBQ spot. The air is thick with the savory scent of sizzling bulgogi and the rhythmic clinking of soju glasses. As you flip the meat on the grill with practiced ease, the conversation shifts from work gossip to more personal matters.

"So," Naemi says, pouring you a drink while giving you a knowing look. "Your birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. What’s the plan? Are we doing a big dinner, or is the 'International Superstar' whisking you away somewhere private?"

You take a sip of your drink and shake your head, a small, slightly sheepish smile on your face.

"Honestly? Nothing is planned," you admit. "With the stadium rehearsals and the tour prep getting so intense, everything has been a bit of a whirlwind."

Naemi raises an eyebrow, pausing with her chopsticks mid-air. "Nothing? Not even a tiny hint to Jungkook? He seems like the type who would want to rent out an entire amusement park or something for you."

"That’s exactly why I haven't mentioned it," you laugh, though there's a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. "He’s under so much pressure right now with the breakthrough of this tour. The last thing I want to do is add 'organizing a birthday' to his to-do list. I haven't told him a single word about the date."

"Y/N, you're too selfless," Naemi sighs, leaning back in her chair. "It’s your birthday! You’re allowed to be a little high-maintenance. If he finds out later that he missed it, he’s going to be absolutely devastated. You know how he is, he’ll probably go into a full-on guilt spiral."

"I'll tell him eventually," you murmur, turning your attention back to the sizzling meat on the grill. "But for now, I just want him to focus on the stage. I'm perfectly fine with a quiet night in... or maybe just a normal day at the office."

Naemi doesn't look convinced, but she lets it drop for now, though you can tell by the look in her eyes that she thinks you're playing a dangerous game with a man who is as observant, and as smitten as Jungkook.

You lean across the table, lowering your voice so the surrounding diners can’t hear over the sizzle of the grill. "Naemi... I think I’ve actually fallen for him. Like, really fallen."

Naemi’s eyes go wide, and she lets out a muffled squeal of pure joy, throwing her hands up. "I knew it! I freaking knew it!"

"Shhh! Quiet!" you hiss, half-laughing and half-panicked as you pull out your phone. You swipe through your gallery and show her a few candid photos. There’s one of him sleeping with Bam, and another, a blurry, beautiful selfie of the two of you in the back of his car, eyes glowing with that specific kind of late-night happiness.

"Look at him," Naemi whispers, her expression softening. "He’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. It’s so obvious, Y/N."

She takes a big sip of her drink, then leans back and fixes you with a more serious look. "But wait... have you guys made it official? Are you actually in a relationship now? Did he ask the question?"

The smile on your face wavers just a little. You poke at a piece of kimchi on your plate, suddenly feeling a bit uncertain.

"Honestly? I don't know," you admit quietly. "I mean, we live together... mostly. We act like a couple. The chemistry is... well, you saw the photos. But he hasn't actually asked me to be his girlfriend. There hasn't been a 'talk' or a label."

You look up at her, a shrug of your shoulders showing your inner conflict. "With his life, everything is so unconventional anyway. Sometimes I feel like we’re in our own little bubble where labels don't matter, but then I realize I don't actually know what to call him if someone asks. He hasn't asked, and I'm too scared to bring it up and ruin the 'magic' we have right now."

Naemi frowns slightly. "He’s smitten, that’s for sure. But men can be dense, even the ones who perform for millions. Especially if he's as stressed as you say. But Y/N, you deserve to know where you stand, especially before this birthday rolls around."

You lean in even closer, your voice dropping to a barely audible whisper as you swirl the remaining soju in your glass. "And... there’s something else. We haven’t actually had sex yet."

Naemi freezes. Her chopsticks actually clatter onto the table, and she stares at you with her mouth hanging open, completely speechless. The silence between you lasts for a long, heavy beat before she finally finds her voice.

"Wait, what?" she gasps, leaning so far over the table she’s practically in the grill. "You live with the Jeon Jungkook. You show me pictures where the sexual tension is literally steaming off the screen. You tell me you’re in love... and you’re telling me you guys haven't gone all the way?"

"I know, I know," you say, feeling a flush creep up your neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "It’s not that I don’t want to… God, I want to. And I trust him completely. It’s just... I don’t know. Between his insane rehearsal schedule, him coming home exhausted, and us just finding our rhythm... the timing hasn't been right. Or maybe he’s waiting for something? I can't explain it, but it just hasn't happened yet."

Naemi sinks back into her chair, looking genuinely baffled. "Is he a saint? Because if I were him, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you for more than five minutes. Especially after that car story you hinted at."

"We've done... other things," you murmur, biting your lip as you think back to the garage. "But the final step? No. It makes everything feel so much more significant, you know? It's like we're building this foundation first, but at the same time, it makes me wonder if he’s holding back for a reason."

"Maybe he wants it to be perfect," Naemi suggests, her shock turning into a look of pure intrigue. "Or maybe he's waiting for a special occasion. Like, I don't know... a birthday?"

You shake your head, laughing nervously. "Don't start. I just want us to be us first. But yeah... it's definitely a strange situation to be in."

The atmosphere in the penthouse is stifling. The heavy, sweet scent of the candles you lit earlier feels cloying now, clashing with the sharp, icy silence radiating from Jungkook. He’s been home for an hour, but he hasn't looked at you once. He’s just staring at his laptop, his jaw set in a hard line, radiating a restless, dark energy that makes the entire room feel small.

"Jungkook, I made dinner. Are you actually going to eat, or are you just going to sit there radiating heat?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level.

He doesn't even turn around. "I'm not hungry. I told you, the rehearsal was a mess. I don't have the headspace for this right now."

"For 'this'?" You feel a sting of indignation. "By 'this,' do you mean me? Because I’ve been waiting here all evening while you ignore me like I’m part of the furniture."

He finally snaps his laptop shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room. He turns, his eyes tired and unusually cold. "Look, I’m stressed. I have a hundred people depending on me, and I come home and feel like I have to perform here, too. I just don't have the energy for you tonight, Y/N."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stare at him, waiting for the "I'm sorry" or the softening of his expression, but it doesn't come.

"Wow," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "Fine. If you have so little 'energy' for me today, you should have just said so. I wouldn't have bothered coming over."

"Maybe you're right," he says, his voice flat and unapologetic. "Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't."

The silence that follows is deafening. You feel a lump form in your throat, but you refuse to let him see you cry. Without another word, you stand up, grabbing your bag from the kitchen counter. You don't look back at him. You don't check to see if he's watching you.

You head straight for the door, the click of your heels on the floor sounding hollow and lonely. As you pull the heavy front door open, you pause for just a second, hoping,praying,he’ll call your name.

He doesn't.

You step out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind you with a final, heavy thud. The elevator ride down to the garage feels like an eternity, and as the cool night air hits your face, the weight of the argument,and the coldness in his eyes,finally sinks in. You get into your own car, your hands shaking as you start the engine, leaving the penthouse behind.

The drive back to your apartment is a blur of streetlights and stinging eyes. The silence in your own car feels heavy, a stark contrast to the electric tension that usually fills the space when he’s sitting next to you. You keep replaying his words in your head “I just don't have the energy for you tonight” and each time, it feels like a fresh bruise.

When you finally pull into your parking spot, you don't even bother turning on the lights in your flat. You kick off your heels in the hallway, letting them fall where they land, and drop your bag on the floor.

The apartment feels cold and far too quiet.

You don't get a glass of water, you don't check your phone, and you certainly don't look at the photos Naemi was gushing over just hours ago. You walk straight to your bedroom, stripping off your clothes and leaving them in a heap. You slide into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin and curling into a ball.

Your own sheets don't smell like his laundry detergent. They don't smell like him.

You feel a wave of exhaustion hit you, not the good kind that comes after a long day of work, but the hollow, aching kind that follows a fight with the person you love. You close your eyes tightly, forcing your brain to shut down before the "what ifs" and the hurt can spiral any further.

Within minutes, the emotional drain wins out, and you fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep, leaving the penthouse and Jungkook’s coldness miles away.

The next morning, the fluorescent lights of the office feel far too bright for your mood. You’re fueled by nothing but black coffee and a lingering sense of hurt, trying to bury yourself in spreadsheets so you don't have to think about the hollow silence of your phone.

Unfortunately, your workplace is a minefield. Two of your colleagues, Sarah and Min-hee, are sitting at the desk cluster next to yours, and they are deep in "Army" mode. They have no idea about your private life, which makes their excitement feel like salt in a wound.

"Did you see the schedule for today?" Min-hee squeals, leaning over her monitor. "They have that big global radio interview at noon, and then the rumor is a Weverse Live tonight to talk about the tour prep!"

"I saw the teaser photos from the rehearsal," Sarah adds, her voice full of awe. "Jungkook looked so intense. Like, he looked a bit tired, but his energy was just... dark? In a hot way? I don't know how he does it with that schedule."

You keep your head down, typing furiously. Every word they say is a reminder of the man who told you he didn't have the energy for you, but clearly has enough to charm the entire world.

"I hope he's eating well," Min-hee sighs, looking at a fansite photo on her phone. "He looked a little stressed in the last clip. I wish I could just tell him to take a break."

You tried, you think bitterly, the memory of the untouched dinner in the penthouse flashing through your mind. It didn't go well.

"Y/N, you're quiet today," Sarah says, turning toward you. "Are you watching the Live later? It’s supposed to be right after they finish their final stadium run-through. We’re all going to stay late at the office just to stream it on the big screen in the breakroom."

You force a tight, professional smile. "I've got a lot of reports to finish, guys. I might just catch the highlights later."

"Highlights? For a JK live?" Min-hee looks at you like you’ve suggested committing a crime. "He always does something chaotic. You have to watch!"

You turn back to your screen, your heart heavy. You wonder if he’s even realized you haven't texted him. As the clock ticks toward noon, the anticipation in the office builds, leaving you trapped in a building where everyone is screaming for the man you're currently trying to forget.

By the time the afternoon sun begins to dip, the office is still buzzing. Sarah and Min-hee have been dissecting every second of the interview, gushing over how "professional yet charming" he was. You watched it, too, hidden behind a mountain of tabs on your second monitor.

He looked incredible, but you noticed the slight tension in his shoulders that only someone who knows him would see. He was "on," giving the fans exactly what they wanted, while you were still feeling the sting of the door closing behind you last night.

Finally, you can't help yourself. The anger has cooled into a dull ache, and despite everything, you’re still his biggest supporter. You pull out your phone and pull up your chat with him. The last message is still your "I'm heading out" from the night before, which he never replied to.

You type out a short, neutral message, keeping it professional to protect your own heart.

To: JK

I saw the interview today. You did a great job,you sounded really grounded and clear. The breakthrough everyone is talking about is definitely happening.

You hit send and immediately flip your phone face-down on the desk, your heart thudding. You don't expect a reply. You know he’s probably already back at the stadium, buried in the final rehearsals before the tour officially kicks off.

Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.

You’re about to pack up your things when your phone buzzes against the wood. Your breath hitches. You pick it up, half-expecting a short "Thanks," but the notification on the screen makes your stomach flip.

JK:

Are you still at the office?

Before you can even type a response, another bubble pops up.

JK:

I’m sorry about last night. I was a jerk. I’m tired, but that’s no excuse to take it out on you. Please don’t be mad.

You stare at the screen for a moment, the tension in your shoulders finally beginning to give way. Even though the sting hasn't completely vanished, seeing him apologize so quickly,and so genuinely,softens the edge of your hurt.

You tap out a reply, keeping your tone calm and steady.

To: JK

It's okay. I know how much pressure you're under right now. Let's just put it behind us.

I'm just finishing up here. I’m going to grab some food on the way and then head straight home to get some rest.

You wait, watching the little typing bubbles appear and disappear. He’s clearly distracted or being pulled in a dozen directions at the stadium.

JK:

Thank you for understanding. Truly. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Don’t stay up too late.

You put your phone in your bag, feeling a little lighter than you did an hour ago. As you walk past the breakroom, you see Sarah and Min-hee huddled around a laptop, waiting for the Live to start. They’re laughing and pointing at the screen, totally immersed in the idol version of the man who just sent you a private apology.

The contrast is jarring. To them, he’s a distant star; to you, he’s the man who was a "jerk" last night and is currently trying to find his way back into your good graces.

You head out to your car, the evening air cool against your skin. You stop at a small takeout place for some bibimbap, the familiar routine grounding you. By the time you get back to your apartment, the sun has set, and the city lights are beginning to twinkle.

You kick off your shoes, sit down at your small dining table, and open your laptop. Despite saying you might skip it, you find yourself navigating to the Live stream. You just want to see his face to see if the jerk from last night has truly been replaced by the Jungkook you love.

The Live starts, and the contrast is immediate. He looks like a completely different person from the tense, brooding man who snapped at you last night. He’s sitting in his gaming chair, headset on, leaning into the screen with that intense focus he gets when he’s playing. He’s laughing that loud, nose-scrunching laugh that always makes your heart do a little skip as he jokes around with the fans and yells at his teammates in the game.

You’re sitting at your table with your bibimbap, watching him through the screen. Seeing him so relaxed and happy makes the last of your resentment melt away. You can tell he’s using the game to finally blow off all that tour stress.

On an impulse, you pick up your phone. You want to see if he's actually paying attention to his notifications while he's "working."

To: JK

You look like you're having way too much fun for someone who was "exhausted" five minutes ago. Your aim is terrible tonight, by the way. ;)

You look back at the laptop screen. A few seconds pass. Suddenly, his phone which is sitting face-up on the desk next to his keyboard lights up. You see him glance at it out of the corner of his eye while his character is respawning.

He freezes for a split second, then picks up the phone. As he reads your message, a massive, genuine grin spreads across his face the kind of look he usually reserves just for you. He bites his lip, trying to suppress the smile for the camera, but he fails miserably. He chuckles softly to himself, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The chat on the side of the screen starts moving at light speed:

“WHO TEXTED HIM?!”

“Look at that smile, he’s definitely texting a girl.”

“JK is blushing omg??”

“The mystery text strikes again!”

He puts the phone back down, but he’s still beaming. He looks directly into the camera, leaning in closer. "Ah, someone just told me my aim is bad," he says to the millions of viewers, his voice playful and warm. "I have to focus now to prove them wrong."

He goes back to the game, but he’s sitting up straighter now, his energy completely shifted. He looks invigorated. You sit back, a smile of your own growing as you realize that even with the whole world watching him, a single text from you is what actually changed his mood.

You watch him for another hour, leaning your head on your hand as he continues to play. He’s much more animated now, occasionally glancing toward his phone as if waiting for another notification. Eventually, he starts wrapping things up, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

"Okay, everyone, I should go," he says into the camera, his voice dropping into that soft, late-night tone that makes the comment section explode. "I have a very early start tomorrow. Sleep well, and thank you for today."

He ends the stream, the screen going black. Not even a minute later, your phone vibrates.

JK:

My aim isn't that bad. I was just distracted.

Are you still awake?

You smile, typing back quickly.

To: JK

I'm still up. Just finished watching a very "distracted" gamer fail at his mission.

The phone rings immediately. You answer, and the sound of his voice raw and stripped of the "Idol" persona fills your quiet apartment.

"Hey," he says softly. You can hear the rustle of him moving around, probably heading to his bed. "I really am sorry about last night, Y/N. Seeing your text during the Live... it was the first time I actually felt like I could breathe all day."

"I know," you murmur, sliding down further into your pillows. "It’s okay, Jungkook. I'm not mad anymore."

"Good," he sighs, and you can practically hear the relief in his chest. "Because I’ve been thinking. This weekend... before the tour officially starts and I have to leave for the first leg. I want you to come over. No work, no phones, no Sejin-hyung calling every five minutes. Just us. I want to make it up to you properly."

Your heart flutters. You think about what Naemi said at dinner about labels, about your birthday, and about the fact that you still haven't taken that final step together.

"I'd like that," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"I'll see you then," he says, his voice dropping an octave, sounding suddenly very much like the man from the garage. "Get some sleep, Y/N. You've been on my mind all night."

As you hang up, you stare at the ceiling. The weekend is only two days away, and for the first time, it feels like the magic you were afraid of ruining might be leading exactly where you want it to go.

You spend the next morning humming to yourself, the lingering warmth from his late-night phone call still buzzing in your chest. You pack a small overnight bag with your essentials a few comfortable outfits, your favorite skincare, and that one lace set you’ve been saving for a moment that felt right.

When you arrive at the penthouse and let yourself in, you expect to see him sprawled on the sofa or maybe playing with Bam. Instead, you find Jungkook standing in the middle of the living room, dressed in a casual hoodie, standing next to a sleek, packed suitcase.

Your heart sinks for a split second. "Wait... are you leaving already? I thought we had the weekend?"

Jungkook looks up, and a wide, mischievous grin breaks across his face. He walks over to you, taking your bag from your hand and setting it down. He pulls you into his arms, his scent instantly grounding you.

"I am leaving," he murmurs against your temple, "but you’re coming with me."

You pull back, confused. "What?"

He points toward the kitchen counter, where two printed booking confirmations are lying. "I know things have been crazy, and after the way I acted the other night... I realized we need to get out of this city. No fans, no managers, no noise."

You pick up the papers, your eyes widening as you read the header of a high-end, secluded luxury wellness resort tucked away in the mountains of Gangwon-do.

"A wellness weekend?" you gasp, looking back at him. "Jungkook, you have rehearsals! How did you—"

"I told Sejin-hyung that if I didn't get forty-eight hours of total silence, I wouldn't be able to give 100% on tour," he says, sounding incredibly proud of himself. "He didn't argue. The car is already downstairs, and I've requested a private villa with its own hot spring."

He leans in, his eyes dark and focused, the playfulness from the Live gone, replaced by a deep sincerity.

"Just you and me, Y/N. No distractions. I want to spend every second of this weekend making sure you know exactly where you stand with me."

He kisses you then, a slow, deep promise that leaves you breathless. He grabs both suitcases, nodding toward the door.

"Ready to go?"

The drive is peaceful, a stark contrast to the usual frantic energy of Seoul. Jungkook is behind the wheel of a more discreet SUV this time, one hand resting firmly on the gear shift while the other reaches over to lace his fingers with yours.

In the back seat, Bam is living his absolute best life. He’s got his head slightly out the cracked window, ears flapping in the wind, letting out the occasional huff of pure excitement. Every few minutes, he pokes his large snout between the front seats, nudging your shoulder for a distracted scratch before doing the same to Jungkook.

"Look at him," Jungkook says, glancing in the rearview mirror with a soft, fatherly beam. "He knows he’s going on vacation. He’s already in holiday mode."

"He’s literally our son," you laugh, reaching back to rub Bam’s soft ears. The dog responds by trying to lick your ear, making you squirm and giggle.

"Careful, Bam, don't distract the driver," Jungkook teases, though his smile only widens. He squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "But you're right. He is. It feels like a real family trip, doesn't it?"

The way he says the word family sends a tiny shiver of warmth through you. It’s so domestic, so grounded. For these next two days, he isn't the most famous man on the planet, and you aren't the busy office professional. You're just two people and their very spoiled Doberman, heading into the mountains to disappear for a while.

"I can't wait to see him running around the grass at the villa," you say, looking out at the scenery as the buildings start to thin out, replaced by lush green slopes.

"I can't wait to get you inside that villa," Jungkook murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he shoots you a side-eye that is definitely not innocent. "No interruptions. Just us. And maybe a very long nap for Bam after he's done running."

He turns up the music some low, vibey R&B and the three of you settle into the rhythm of the road, leaving the weight of the world far behind in the rearview mirror.

A classic R&B track fills the car, the bass low and smooth. Jungkook starts humming along, his voice rich and effortless even just messing around. He catches your eye and grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he begins to actually sing the chorus. He looks so relaxed, so completely different from the stressed-out version of himself just days ago. You lean your head against the headrest, just watching him with a wide, soft smile. He looks so happy, and that happiness is absolutely infectious.

"You like that?" he teases, glancing over at you with a playful wink as he finishes the verse.

"I love it," you admit softly, the truth slipping out.

The drive continues until the highway signs indicate a rest stop. Jungkook pulls the large SUV into a parking spot.

"Okay," he says, unbuckling. "I need fuel, and I’m pretty sure our son needs a bathroom break. What do you want?"

"Just something cold to drink," you say. "And maybe something salty."

"Got it," he says, grabbing his phone and hat. He pulls the mask up over his face, instantly slipping into his discreet public persona. He opens the back door, and Bam immediately jumps out, tail wagging. "Make it quick, Bam-ah!"

While Jungkook heads inside the bustling rest stop market, you walk Bam over to a grassy area slightly away from the main parking lot. Bam sniffs around excitedly, finally finding the perfect spot to do his business. You stand there, waiting patiently, the cool mountain breeze rustling your hair.

A few minutes later, you hear the familiar beep of the car doors unlocking. You look up to see Jungkook walking toward you, balancing a cardboard tray with two large sodas and two sticks of hot, spiraled Potato Tornados dusting with seasoning. He’s looking at his phone, but as he gets closer, he looks up at you and Bam.

A massive, genuine smile spreads across his face, even with the mask obscuring the lower half. He stops, setting the tray down carefully on the hood of the car, and pulls up his phone camera.

"Stay right there," he calls out. "Look at me!"

You laugh, the sound bright in the open air, and instinctively pose, resting your hand on Bam's head. The dog looks up at you, his tongue lolling out in contentment.

Click.

He captures the moment perfectly, you, flushed from the wind and smiling widely, and Bam, looking happy and domestic beside you. Jungkook lowers his phone, his eyes crinkling.

"That’s my favorite picture I've ever taken," he says softly as he walks over to hand you your Potato Tornado.

You reach out, sliding your hand behind his neck to pull him down toward you. Despite the fact that you’re at a public rest stop even with his hat and mask you don’t hesitate. You press your lips to his in a short, sweet, but lingering kiss.

For a second, the world around you disappears. You don't hear the engines of passing cars or the chatter of other travelers. It’s just the warmth of his lips and the soft scent of his cologne.

Jungkook seems startled for a split second, he’s so used to being hyper-aware of his surroundings but then he melts into it. He adjusts his grip on the potato tornados so he can lean into you, his eyes fluttering shut. He kisses you back with a soft, content hum, ignoring the risk of a wandering camera or a curious glance.

When you pull away, his eyes are sparkling with a mix of surprise and pure adoration. He looks a little dazed, his mask slightly lopsided.

"Wow," he breathes, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he fixes his mask. "You're getting bold, Y/N. I like it."

"I just wanted to," you say with a shrug, feeling a little bit of a thrill from the spontaneity.

"Well, keep that energy," he whispers, leaning in close to your ear so only you can hear him. "Because once we get to that villa, I'm not letting you go that easily."

He nudges you playfully toward the car, handed you your snack while whistling for Bam. As you climb back into the passenger seat, you feel a surge of confidence. The tension from earlier in the week feels like a lifetime ago, replaced by the excitement of a weekend where the only thing that matters is the two of you.

You climb back into the car, and for a few minutes, the only sounds are the rustle of paper and the satisfied crunching of the seasoned potato spirals. Jungkook is leaning back in his seat, a look of pure, unadulterated contentment on his face. He’s eating with that focused, happy intensity he gets when he truly enjoys something, chewing enthusiastically, eyes bright, occasionally licking a bit of the savory seasoning off his lip.

He looks so... light. The heavy shadow that was hanging over him back in Seoul has completely evaporated.

"God, this is so good," he mumbles around a mouthful of potato, looking over at you with a lopsided grin. "Why does rest stop food always taste better than five-star catering?"

You laugh, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. "Maybe because you're actually relaxed enough to taste it."

"Probably," he admits, leaning his head back against the headrest and letting out a long, satisfied sigh. He looks out the window at the mountains, then back at you, his expression softening into something incredibly tender. "I’m just happy, Y/N. Like, really happy. Just sitting here in a car at a random rest stop with you and Bam... it feels better than any sold-out show."

He reaches over, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tight, not letting go even as he takes another bite of his skewer. There’s no trace of the superstar Jeon Jungkook here, just a guy who’s deeply in love, enjoying a simple snack with his favorite person.

"Let's get going," he says, his voice full of excitement as he tosses the empty wooden sticks into a trash bag. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can have you all to myself."

He starts the engine, the low hum of the car matching the peaceful vibe of the afternoon. As he pulls back onto the highway, he starts humming again, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand, radiating a warmth that tells you this weekend is going to be everything you hoped for and more.

The drive winds up a private, tree-lined path until the forest opens up to reveal a stunning piece of modern architecture. The villa is a masterpiece of glass, dark wood, and natural stone, perched perfectly on the edge of a slope with a panoramic view of the misty mountains.

As the gates glide open, you can see the steam rising from a private infinity pool and an outdoor stone hot spring (onsen style) tucked away in a courtyard.

"Jungkook..." you breathe, staring at the sheer scale of the place. "This is insane. This must have cost a fortune."

He just laughs, cutting the engine and looking at you with a playful shrug. "Don't even think about the price. I worked hard this year, and I wanted the best for us. Besides," he leans over, unbuckling your seatbelt for you, his eyes locking onto yours, "spoiling you is literally my favorite hobby. You deserve to be in a place as beautiful as you are."

He hops out and opens the back door for Bam, who goes sprinting onto the private lawn like a bullet, ecstatic to have so much space to himself. Jungkook grabs the bags from the trunk, slinging them over his shoulders with ease.

Inside, the villa is even more breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace already flickering with a warm glow, and a bedroom that looks out directly over the valley. There's a bottle of chilled champagne waiting on the counter and a basket of high-end spa products.

Jungkook drops the bags and walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as you both stare out at the view.

"Finally," he whispers, his voice vibrating against your ear. "No cameras, no schedules, no interruptions. Just the three of us."

He turns you around in his arms, his expression turning a bit more serious, searching your face. "Do you like it? Is it enough of an apology for being a jerk the other night?"

Jungkook leads you deeper into the villa, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. As you walk through the master suite toward the massive glass doors leading to the private terrace, you stop dead in your tracks.

Hanging from the reinforced oak beams of the ceiling, right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley, is a sleek, minimalist indoor swing. It’s made of heavy leather and polished wood, looking more like a piece of high-end design than a piece of furniture, but its purpose is unmistakable.

A deep heat flushes across your cheeks, turning your face a bright, undeniable crimson. You look away quickly, but it’s too late.

Jungkook lets out a low, melodic chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. He steps closer, closing the distance until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"You're turning red, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that always makes your knees weak. "I saw it in the catalog and thought it looked... comfortable. For enjoying the view, of course."

He walks over to the swing, testing the weight with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The playful "Golden Maknae" is gone; in his eyes is the gaze of a man who has been waiting far too long for this exact moment of privacy.

"You know," he says, his voice a low growl as he turns back to you, "I told you I wanted to make sure you knew exactly where you stood with me. And I have every intention of spending the next forty-eight hours showing you."

He crosses the room in three slow, deliberate strides, backing you up until your calves hit the edge of the massive king-sized bed. He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip, pulling it down slightly.

"No more talking about the tour. No more talking about work," he whispers, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "I've been a 'saint' for long enough, don't you think?"

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hitching as he finally lets the tension that’s been building for months take over. "I want to hear you say my name for a reason that has nothing to do with a fight."

The tension in the room is thick enough to touch. Jungkook doesn't miss the way your eyes keep flickering back to the swing, nor the way your breathing has hitched. He loves the power he has over you in this moment, the way he can make you blush just by suggesting the possibilities.

"The view out there is beautiful," he whispers, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you flush against him so you can feel the rigid proof of his desire. "But I think I'd prefer a different view."

Without waiting for an answer, he picks you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you over to the swing, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes your blood hum. He settles you onto the leather seat, the slight sway of the ropes making your heart race. He stands between your knees, his large hands gripping your thighs to steady the swing.

"Jungkook..." you gasp, your head falling back against the ropes.

"Stay right there," he commands softly. He drops to his knees on the plush rug beneath you. The height of the swing puts you at the perfect level for him. He doesn't rush; he takes his time, his hands sliding slowly up your legs, pushing your pants out of the way until he finds the edge of your lace underwear.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, making you shiver uncontrollably. "I've been thinking about this since the drive," he murmurs against your inner thigh, his voice muffled. "About finally having the time to give you everything you've been waiting for."

He hooks his fingers into the silk, tugging it aside. When his tongue finally makes contact, a sharp cry escapes your lips, echoing through the glass-walled room. Jungkook moans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips to keep the swing from moving too much as he loses himself in you.

He’s meticulous and fervent, using the edge of the swing to gain leverage as he drinks you in. Every flick of his tongue, every deliberate pressure is designed to make you forget everything, the fight, the office, the world outside. You grip the ropes of the swing, your knuckles white, as the first wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless and completely at his mercy.

The intensity of the afternoon leaves you both feeling pleasantly dazed and deeply connected. After a long, shared shower and some much-needed downtime, the hunger finally shifts from physical desire to a literal need for food.

The resort’s restaurant is as exclusive as the villas dimly lit, with warm wood accents and spaced-out tables that guarantee total privacy. Jungkook has shed his idol armor for a simple, oversized black sweater, looking soft and relaxed in the candlelight.

You’ve settled into a cozy corner booth. Bam is the perfect gentleman; he’s sprawled out on the plush travel mat you brought from home, tucked neatly under the edge of the table. He’s already had his dinner and is now content to just rest his heavy chin on his paws, watching the world go by with sleepy eyes.

"He's so well-behaved when he's tired," Jungkook whispers, reaching down to blindly scratch Bam’s ears while he looks at the menu. "A true professional."

The waiter brings out an array of local delicacies perfectly marbled Hanwoo beef that you grill on a small stone at the table, fresh mountain greens, and chilled wine. Jungkook is back in "happy eater" mode, his eyes widening with every bite.

"Try this," he says, leaning across the table to offer you a perfectly grilled piece of beef. He waits until you take it, watching you with a satisfied smirk. "Good, right?"

"Amazing," you admit, the rich flavors melting on your tongue. "Everything about today has been... perfect, Jungkook. Thank you."

He sets his chopsticks down for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches across the table to take your hand. The flickering candle casts dancing shadows across his sharp features, making him look incredibly handsome.

"I meant what I said," he says quietly, his thumb stroking your knuckles. "I know I can be a lot. The schedule, the stress, the way I shut down when I'm overwhelmed. But being here with you... it reminds me of who I am when I'm not 'Jungkook of BTS.' Just being Bam's dad and your... well."

He pauses, a playful, slightly nervous glint in his eyes.

"Your whatever-you-want-me-to-be tonight."

You squeeze his hand back, feeling the weight of the week finally dissolve completely. Outside, the mountains are silhouettes against a star-heavy sky, and inside, the only thing that matters is the heat of his hand and the quiet breathing of your dog at your feet.

The night air is crisp and carries the scent of pine and damp earth as you leave the restaurant. The small mountain town is practically sleeping; the glowing signs of a few late-night convenience stores are the only things illuminating the cobblestone streets. It feels like you've stepped into a quiet, private world meant only for the three of you.

Jungkook has his bucket hat pulled low, but he isn't walking with his usual "stealth" posture. He looks relaxed, his shoulders down, holding Bam’s leash firmly in one hand while his other hand is hopelessly tangled with yours.

"It's so quiet," he whispers, his voice echoing slightly against the stone buildings. "You can actually hear the wind in the trees. I don't get this often."

Bam is leading the way, his tail swaying in a slow, happy rhythm as he sniffs every flower bed and lamp post. He seems to sense the calm energy between you two, trotting along without his usual chaotic energy.

As you walk past a small, closed flower shop, Jungkook pulls you a little closer, tucking your joined hands into the oversized pocket of his hoodie. It’s a tight fit, but the warmth of his skin against yours is the best feeling in the world.

"Look up," he says softly, stopping in the middle of a bridge that crosses a small, bubbling creek.

You tilt your head back. Away from the glare of Seoul’s skyscrapers, the sky is a velvet canvas spilled with thousands of stars. It’s breathtaking.

"I used to look at the stars during late rehearsals and just feel... small," Jungkook murmurs, looking not at the sky, but at you. The starlight reflects in his dark eyes, making them shimmer. "But standing here right now, I don't feel small. I just feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

He stops walking entirely, turning to face you. Bam sits down patiently at his feet, looking up at the two of you. Jungkook reaches out with his free hand, cupping your face, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

"Thank you for coming with me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "And for not giving up on me when I'm difficult."

He leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally lingering on your lips. It’s a kiss that tastes like the chilled wine from dinner and the promise of a long, peaceful night ahead.

"Let's go home," he whispers against your lips. "Our son looks like he's ready to sleep, and I really want to get you back to that villa."

The atmosphere in the villa has shifted from peaceful to electric. After the walk, you tell him you’re going to get ready for bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. Inside the spacious, marble-tiled bathroom, you catch your reflection. You’re wearing the new lingerie set you bought, deep emerald silk and delicate black lace that hugs your curves in all the right places. It’s bold, elegant, and far more daring than anything you usually wear. You take a deep breath, smoothing the lace, and finally step out.

In the bedroom, the only light comes from the dim bedside lamps and the dying embers in the fireplace. Jungkook is already under the covers well, mostly. He’s lying on top of the sheets in nothing but his black boxers, leaning against the headboard while scrolling through his phone. The sight of him the intricate tattoos trailing down his arm, the hard lines of his chest and abs makes your throat go dry.

When he hears the bathroom door click, he looks up. His thumb freezes on the screen.

For a heartbeat, he just stares, his gaze traveling slowly from your face down to your toes and back up again. You feel a wave of insecurity wash over you, your hands instinctively reaching up to fiddle with the strap of the lace.

"I... I bought this for tonight," you whisper, your voice small.

Jungkook’s phone is forgotten, tossed onto the nightstand. His expression transforms; the casual, sleepy look vanishes, replaced by a dark, intense hunger that feels like a physical weight in the room. A slow, predatory smirk plays on his lips.

"Come here, baby," he says, his voice a low, gravelly command that vibrates in your chest.

He doesn't wait for you to move. He reaches out, his large hand finding your waist and pulling you firmly onto the bed. In one fluid motion, he settles you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. The contrast of your soft skin against the rough texture of his tattoos and the heat of his bare thighs is overwhelming.

He cups the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls your face toward his. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," he murmurs against your lips. "You look beautiful. Too beautiful."

Then he kisses you, not the gentle, apologetic kisses from the bridge, but a deep, possessive kiss that tastes of longing and fire. His hands slide down your back, pressing you closer until there isn't a single inch of space left between you, making it very clear that he has no intention of letting you go until morning.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the heat radiating between your bodies. Jungkook’s hands are shaking slightly as they slide over the silk of your lingerie, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he grips too hard.

"You’re so perfect," he groans, his voice breaking as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He begins to worship your skin, leaving a trail of biting, sucking kisses along your collarbone that he knows will leave marks tomorrow. He’s taking his time, his tongue tracing the edges of the lace, teasing the skin beneath but never quite touching where you want him most.

His large hands move with a desperate kind of worship, mapping every curve of your body as if he’s trying to memorize you through his fingertips. When he finally unclips the emerald silk, his breath hitches. He looks at you with such raw adoration it’s almost overwhelming. He leans down, his mouth finally capturing one peak, his tongue swirling and tugging until you’re arching your back against him, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

He moves lower, his kisses becoming more urgent, more demanding. He’s murmuring praise against your skin, how beautiful you are, how much he’s wanted this, how you’re the only thing that matters. By the time he’s between your thighs, the tension is unbearable. You’re slick and aching, and the way he looks at you, like you’re a goddess he’s lucky to serve makes your heart race faster than the pleasure.

When he finally enters you, it’s slow and agonizingly deep. He lets out a ragged, choked-off sound, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to find his rhythm. But you’re not making it easy. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your hips meeting every thrust with a desperate hunger of your own. You whisper his name, your voice breathy and broken, and it’s the final straw.

The weeks of pent-up stress, the longing, and the sheer sight of you beneath him snap his control. With a few more frantic, powerful thrusts, he collapses against you, his body shuddering as he spills into you far sooner than he intended.

Silence falls over the room, broken only by your heavy breathing. Jungkook stays buried in your neck, his body gone limp. Slowly, he pulls back, his face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He won't meet your eyes, his jaw tight with frustration.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice thick with shame. "I... it's been so long, and you... you just make me lose my mind, Y/N. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

"Jungkook, look at me," you whisper, cupping his face and forcing him to see the genuine love in your eyes. "It is perfect. You don't have to be a superstar in here. I just want you."

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes softening, but the competitive, protective side of him isn't finished. "I'm not letting you go like that," he murmurs, a new kind of determination sparking in his gaze.

He shifts, moving down the bed until he’s positioned between your legs again. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and focused. "I'm going to make sure you remember tonight," he promises.

He uses his fingers with the same precision he uses for everything else, deliberate, steady, and intense. He watches your face, his thumb working in expert circles while two fingers slide inside you, mimicking the depth he just left. He doesn't stop, even when your breath hitches and your eyes roll back. He watches every transition of your pleasure, his expression one of pure, focused worship.

When the first tremors of your orgasm hit, he picks up the pace, his touch firm and unrelenting, dragging the climax out of you until you’re crying out his name, your body shivering in his hands. Only then does he crawl back up, pulling you into his chest and wrapping the duvet around both of you, holding you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

You’re still breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as the aftershocks of the climax slowly fade into a warm, heavy glow. Jungkook is still hovering over you, his face slightly hidden in the crook of your neck, his body tense with that lingering sense of "failure" he felt for coming too quickly.

You reach up, your fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him back just enough so he has to look at you.

"Jungkook," you whisper, your voice still a little raspy. "Stop worrying. Seriously. That was... it was incredible."

He bites his lip, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of disappointment. "I should have lasted longer for you. I wanted to be better."

You let out a soft laugh and pull his head down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Believe me, you were more than enough. Do you have any idea how hot it is to see you lose control like that? Knowing that I'm the one who makes you lose your mind... that’s better than any perfectly timed performance."

You run your hand down the solid line of his chest, tracing the ink on his skin. "I find you so incredibly hot, kook. All of you. Especially when you're just like this, raw and real with me."

A slow, bashful grin finally breaks across his face, that famous bunny-smile returning as the tension leaves his shoulders. He lets out a long, relieved huff and buries his face in your chest, wrapping his massive arms around you and squeezing tight.

"You're going to give me a massive ego," he mumbles into your skin, though he sounds completely satisfied now.

"Good," you tease, stroking his hair. "You deserve one."

He shifts, pulling the heavy duvet over both of you and tucking your head under his chin. Bam is a quiet weight at the foot of the bed, the fire is glowing dim in the hearth, and for the first time in a long time, the world feels completely still.

"Sleep, baby," he whispers, his voice dropping into that deep, protective tone. "I've got you. We have all of tomorrow, too."

The next morning, the room is bathed in a soft, golden light filtering through the mist of the mountains. You slip out of bed as quietly as possible, glancing back at Jungkook. He’s out cold, sprawled across the pillows with one arm hanging off the side of the bed. He looks completely dead to the world, the kind of deep, heavy sleep that only comes when your body finally gives up after months of tour prep and intense emotions.

After a long, steaming shower that makes your skin glow, you get dressed in some leggings and an oversized hoodie. Bam is already waiting by the door, his tail thumping rhythmically against the floor.

"Shh, let's let him sleep," you whisper, clipping on his leash.

The air outside is biting and fresh, waking you up instantly. You’re walking Bam along a quiet, wooded path behind the villa when your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing Minho's name on the screen.

"Hey, Minho," you answer, keeping your voice low as Bam sniffs a nearby pine tree.

"Hey! I’m not waking you up, am I?" Minho’s voice is bright, a stark contrast to the quiet morning. "I just wanted to check in. Naemi mentioned you guys went away for the weekend. How is it? Did he manage to apologize properly?"

You can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck as you think about the swing and the night before. "He did. We're at a wellness resort in the mountains. It's... it's really beautiful here, Minho. Very peaceful."

"Good. He needed that. And I’m guessing you did too," Minho says, his tone softening a bit. "He’s been under so much pressure with this tour. I’m glad he’s got you there to help him turn his brain off for a bit."

"He's currently doing exactly that," you laugh softly. "He’s still crashed out. I think he’s going to sleep until noon."

"Let him. He's earned it," Minho says. "Anyway, I won't keep you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay and didn't need me to bail you out of any more awkward dinners with his manager. Enjoy the quiet while it lasts, alright?"

"Thanks, Minho. Talk soon."

You hang up and tuck the phone away, taking a deep breath of the mountain air. As you watch Bam explore the undergrowth, you feel a sense of calm you haven't felt in weeks.

The morning light is hitting the peaks just right, turning the mist into a shimmering veil of gold and violet. You watch Bam sprint across a wide, green meadow, his muscular frame moving with pure joy against the backdrop of the jagged, pine-covered mountains.

It’s too beautiful not to capture. You pull out your phone and open Instagram.

You film a short, Story.

The first few seconds are a slow pan of the horizon the sun peeking over the ridge, the deep shadows of the valley, and the absolute silence of the wilderness.

Then, you switch the focus to Bam. He’s a blur of black and tan, leaping over a fallen log and then turning back to look at you, his tongue lolling out in a goofy, happy grin.

You tag the location simply as Somewhere peaceful and add a tiny heart emoji in the corner.

Almost immediately, your notifications start to flicker. You don't check them, though. You just tuck your phone back into your pocket and whistle for Bam.

"Come on, boy," you call out, watching him race back toward you. "Let's head back. I think your dad might be waking up soon, and he's going to be starving."

As you walk back toward the glass-fronted villa, you see a movement behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. A dark silhouette is standing there, messy hair sticking up in every direction, wrapped in a white duvet like a giant cocoon. Even from this distance, you can see the sleepy, lopsided smile on Jungkook's face as he watches his two favorite things in the world walking back to him.

By the time you reach the door, he’s already opened it, leaning against the frame with his eyes half-closed, still radiating the heat of a man who just woke up from the best sleep of his life.

"Morning," he rasps, his voice deep and heavy with sleep. He reaches out a hand, pulling you into the warm, scent-filled circle of his blanket. "I woke up and the bed was cold. Don't do that again."

You giggle, leaning into the warmth of the duvet as his strong arms pull you close. The smell of sleep and his familiar scent wrap around you like a second blanket.

"I had to take Bam out," you say, looking up at him with a teasing smile. "He had business to attend to, and unlike you, he doesn't have the luxury of sleeping until noon."

Jungkook groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "He’s a traitor for leaving me alone in that big bed," he mumbles, his breath warm against your skin. "I woke up and reached for you, and all I found was a cold pillow. I almost had a heart attack."

Bam, hearing his name, trots over and nudges Jungkook’s bare leg with a cold, wet nose. Jungkook lets out a sharp laugh, finally opening his eyes properly.

"Yeah, yeah, I see you, you monster," he grumbles affectionately, reaching down with one hand to ruffle Bam’s ears while keeping the other firmly around your waist. He pulls you even tighter, his gaze dropping to your lips. "The bed is still warm, you know. And I’m definitely not ready to be a functional human being yet."

He gives you a look that is half-sleepy and half-hungry—the kind of look that tells you he isn't thinking about breakfast at all.

"Come back to bed for just an hour?" he pleads, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive rasp. "No phones, no walking, just... staying right there."

He doesn't even wait for a "yes." He starts backing you toward the bedroom, pulling the duvet around both of you like a private tent, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glow you love so much.

The moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you, the playful morning energy shifts into something far more intense. Jungkook drops the duvet, letting it pool around his feet, and pulls you flush against him. His skin is still radiating the deep, heavy heat of sleep, and as he presses you back against the mattress, his weight feels grounding and possessive.

"I missed you," he mumbles, his voice a vibration against your lips. "Even for twenty minutes... it was too long."

He doesn't give you a chance to respond. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that tastes like raw, morning hunger. It’s slow and deep, his tongue tangling with yours with a lazy, confident rhythm. His hands, large and calloused, slide under your hoodie, his palms searing against your bare skin as he searches for the lace you wore last night. When he finds it, he lets out a low, guttural growl of approval.

He pulls the hoodie over your head and tosses it aside, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He moves down your body, his mouth worshiping the curve of your breasts through the silk before his teeth graze your nipple, sending a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"Jungkook," you gasp, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

He ignores your plea for speed, determined to savor every inch of you this morning. He moves with a deliberate, agonizing slowness, his tongue tracing the line of your stomach down to the waistband of your leggings. He peels them off with a focused precision, tossing them to the floor until you’re lying completely bare beneath him in the morning light.

He settles between your thighs, his gaze fixed on yours as he reaches down, his fingers finding you already slick and aching for him. He watches your expression change the way your eyes flutter shut and your lips part, as he strokes you, his thumb finding that perfect, sensitive spot.

"Look at me," he commands softly. When you open your eyes, you see the pure, unadulterated devotion in his gaze. "I want to see you when you feel this."

He enters you with one slow, masterful thrust that fills you completely. You let out a broken cry, your head hitting the pillow as he begins to move. It’s different from last night, less frantic, more rhythmic and deep. He’s taking his time, his chest heaving as he watches the way your body reacts to him. Every time his hips hit yours, he lets out a shaky breath, his fingers interlacing with yours and pinning your hands to the bed.

The friction is perfect, the heat between you building until the air in the room feels heavy. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, your movements becoming more desperate as the tension coils tight in your stomach.

"You're mine," he rasps, his pace quickening as he nears the edge. "Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," you moan, your voice breaking as the first wave of the climax hits you. "Always yours, Jungkook."

The sound of his name is the final trigger. He loses his rhythm, his thrusts becoming hard and fast as he buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering violently as he collapses into you. He holds you so tight you can barely breathe, his heart thudding against your chest in a wild, erratic beat, both of you lost in the quiet, golden warmth of the mountain morning.

The room is silent except for the sound of your synchronized breathing, the air still thick with the heat of the last few minutes. Jungkook is heavy on top of you, his forehead resting against yours, his skin damp and glowing in the morning light. He hasn't moved an inch, as if he’s trying to hold onto the connection for as long as possible.

You reach up, your hand shaking slightly as you brush a stray, sweat-dampened lock of hair away from his eyes. He finally blinks, his dark pupils blown wide, looking at you with a gaze so raw and vulnerable it makes your chest ache.

"Jungkook?" you whisper, your voice a soft rasp.

"Hmm?" he hums, a tiny, contented smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nuzzles your nose with his.

"Are you happy right now?" you ask softly. "In this moment, away from everything... are you truly happy?"

He pulls back just a fraction, his expression turning serious. He searches your eyes, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your lower lip. "I haven't felt this light in years, Y/N. No pressure, no expectations... just being here. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time."

You hesitate for a second, your heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and love. "And... are you happy with me? Not just the weekend, but... us?"

The question makes his breath hitch. His gaze softens into something so incredibly tender it feels like a physical embrace. He doesn't answer with words at first; instead, he leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to your lips.

"Y/N," he says, his voice dropping into that deep, soul-shaking register. "I’m not just happy with you. I’m myself with you. With the rest of the world, I have to be the best, the strongest, the Golden Maknae. But with you... I can just be Jungkook. I can be clumsy, I can be tired, and I can be loved just for who I am."

He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms around you like a shield.

"You’re my peace," he whispers into your hair. "There is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than right here, with you and Bam. You're everything to me."

The rest of the weekend dissolves into a blurred, beautiful cycle of intimacy and recovery. In the isolation of the villa, time ceases to exist. Jungkook sheds every bit of his idol persona, replacing it with a raw, primal energy that seems fueled by the months he spent apart from you.

He proves, quite literally, why he is known for his relentless discipline. His stamina is staggering.

Whether it’s in the massive stone bathtub with the steam rising around you, or back on that leather swing with the moonlight spilling over the floor, he is tireless. He moves with a powerful, athletic grace, his body a map of tensed muscle and sweat-slicked ink. He explores every inch of you with a hunger that seems impossible to sate, pushing you to your limits only to catch you in his arms the moment you crumble.

Each time, he is focused entirely on you, on the way your back arches, the way you gasp his name, and the way your body shudders under his. He takes pride in his endurance, a dark, playful smirk crossing his lips whenever he sees you breathless and spent, only for him to start all over again.

Between the bouts of intensity, there are quiet moments of "normalcy" that feel just as intimate.

You order massive amounts of room service fried chicken, spicy ramen, and mountains of fruit, which you eat while sitting on the floor in your bathrobes, feeding each other bits of food and laughing at Bam’s constant begging.

You take long naps in the middle of the afternoon, tangled together so tightly it's hard to tell where one person ends and the other begins.

He plays his favorite songs on a small Bluetooth speaker, pulling you into slow, clumsy dances in the living room, his hands never leaving your waist.

By the final evening, you’re both physically exhausted but emotionally overflowing. You’re curled up on the outdoor terrace, wrapped in a shared weighted blanket, watching the sun dip below the mountains for the last time.

Jungkook pulls your hand to his mouth, kissing each of your knuckles individually. His eyes are clear, the dark circles that shadowed them on Friday completely gone.

"I don't want to go back," he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with a mixture of peace and lingering desire. "But I think I've finally recharged enough to handle whatever comes next. As long as I know I’m coming home to this."

The drive back to Seoul is a stark contrast to the high-energy trip up. The car is filled with a comfortable, heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the soft R&B tracks playing through the speakers.

Your body feels completely spent in the best way possible. Every muscle is pleasantly sore from the weekend’s "activities," and the emotional release has left you in a state of pure, sleepy bliss. You lean your head against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the green mountains slowly turn into the gray concrete of the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook reaches over, his hand finding yours and squeezing it gently. He looks over at you, his eyes soft as he notices your heavy eyelids.

"Go to sleep, baby," he says, his voice a low, soothing melody. "I’ll wake you up when we’re home."

You don't need to be told twice. You shift in your seat, tucking a small pillow behind your head, and drift off almost instantly.

You float in and out of consciousness for the next few hours. Occasionally, you feel the warmth of his hand stroking your hair or hear him whispering softly to Bam in the back seat to keep him quiet. At one point, you stir when the car stops at a toll booth, and you see him through your lashes profile sharp against the sunset, one hand on the steering wheel, looking completely at peace.

By the time the city lights of Seoul start to blur past the window, you’re in a deep, dreamless sleep.

When the car finally comes to a gentle stop in the private underground garage of his apartment building, you feel a soft kiss on your forehead.

"We're here," Jungkook whispers close to your ear, his breath smelling of the coffee he picked up while you were out. He doesn't make you get up right away; he just stays there for a moment, holding you in the quiet of the car, reluctant to let the magic of the weekend end. "Back to reality, but at least we're doing it together."

Back in Seoul, the bubble of the mountain villa bursts almost instantly. The quiet forest air is replaced by the sterile smell of dance studios, the constant vibration of phones, and the high-pressure hum of tour preparations.

You’re back at your desk, and Jungkook is back to being the world’s most famous perfectionist.

One afternoon, you head down to the massive rehearsal hall at HYBE. You’re there under the guise of "checking the schedule" or "delivering files," but really, you just need to see him. As you push open the heavy soundproof doors, the blast of bass and the screech of sneakers against the floor hit you.

Jungkook is in the center of the room, drenched in sweat. He’s wearing a loose black sleeveless shirt that shows off the tattoos on his arms.. arms that were wrapped around you just forty-eight hours ago. He’s sharp, powerful, and intimidatingly focused.

When the music finally cuts, he bends over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. His eyes find yours in the mirror, and for a split second, that intense "performer" gaze softens into something private and warm.

"Hey," he pants, grabbing a water bottle and walking toward the sidelines where you're standing.

There are staff members everywhere, backup dancers, choreographers, and stylists. You have to keep your distance. You have to be "professional."

"The new choreography looks amazing," you say, your voice steady despite the way your heart is racing. You hold out a tablet as if you're showing him a document. "The transitions in the second verse are much smoother now."

"Thanks," he says, his voice low and raspy. He stands just a little too close to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the same heat you felt under the duvet in the villa.

He pretends to look at the screen, but his hand brushes against yours as he "points" to something. It’s a tiny, lingering touch that feels like a lightning bolt. His eyes flick to your lips for a fraction of a second before he looks back at the room full of people.

It’s agonizing. You want to reach out and wipe the sweat from his forehead. You want to pull him into a corner and kiss him until he forgets the choreography.

"You're doing great, Jungkook-ssi," you say, using the formal suffix for the benefit of the room, though it feels like a lie on your tongue.

"I'm exhausted," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear, a playful but tired glint in his eyes. "I think I need another 'wellness weekend' already. This 'just friends' act is killing me more than the dance routine."

He gives you a subtle, lingering wink before his manager calls his name. He turns back into the professional idol in an instant, but the look he gives you over his shoulder tells you exactly what he’s planning for when the cameras finally turn off tonight.

The air in the briefing room feels heavy with the scent of coffee and the hum of high-powered laptops. You’re standing at the back, your arms crossed, trying to maintain a neutral "staff" expression as the head of operations pulls up a massive, color-coded spreadsheet on the screen.

Jungkook is sitting at the long conference table, surrounded by the other members. He has his glasses on and a serious look on his face, tapping a pen rhythmically against the table.

"Alright, everyone," the manager says, pointing to the screen. "We’re starting with the New York leg. It’s a ten-day stretch. You’ve got the morning shows, three stadium nights, and the charity gala. From there, it’s a direct flight to Tokyo for the fan meetings and the five-night dome run."

You feel a pang in your chest as you look at the dates. It’s weeks of back-to-back travel. Time zones blurring together, late-night rehearsals, and almost zero privacy.

"We’ll be moving in a tight bubble," the manager continues, glancing around the room. "Security will be at Level 1. That means no unauthorized exits from the hotels. Work, gym, sleep. That’s it."

Jungkook’s pen stops moving. He doesn't turn around to look at you, he knows better, but you see his jaw tighten. He’s listening to the cage being built around him for the next month.

"Any questions?" the manager asks.

Jungkook clears his throat, his voice steady but low. "The New York hotel... will the staff floor be the same as the artist floor?"

"Yes, for efficiency," the manager nods, moving on to the logistics of the Japanese press junket.

It’s a small detail, but you catch the meaning. Being on the same floor means a few minutes stolen in the hallway, or a late-night knock on a door when the security team is distracted. It’s a tiny silver lining in a schedule that looks like a marathon.

As the meeting breaks up and people start to stand, the room fills with the sound of chairs scraping and hushed conversations. Jungkook stands up, stretching his back, and for a brief moment, your eyes lock.

He looks tired already, the weight of the upcoming tour pressing down on him. But in that look, there’s also a silent promise. He’s not just going to New York and Japan to perform; he’s going there to find a way to be with you, even if it’s just for five minutes behind a closed door.

"It's going to be a long month," he says loudly, directed at the room but meant entirely for you. He walks past you, the sleeve of his jacket brushing yours, leaving the faint scent of his cologne lingering in your senses as he heads back to the studio.

The energy at the restaurant is electric. To celebrate the tour kickoff, the company booked a private room in a high-end BBQ spot in Gangnam. It’s the kind of place where the walls are thick, the meat is top-tier, and the idols can finally breathe without a mask on.

The table is a chaotic mess of sizzling Hanwoo beef, clinking soju glasses, and loud laughter. All seven guys are there, and the atmosphere is light—the nervous pre-tour jitters have transformed into a shared sense of excitement.

You’re sitting at the end of the table, near the staff members, but close enough to the guys to be part of the conversation. Jungkook is sitting directly across from you. Every time someone tells a joke, he throws his head back and laughs that pure, scrunchy-eyed laugh you love so much.

"To the tour!" Hobi shouts, raising his glass. "And to actually surviving the New York schedule!"

"Cheers!" everyone bellows in unison.

Under the table, you feel a soft pressure against your foot. You look up, and Jungkook is looking at you while taking a sip of his drink. He’s not being obvious, but his eyes are dancing with a secret warmth. He nudges your shoe again with his sneaker, a small, hidden gesture that says, I see you.

"Y/N," Jimin says, leaning forward with a playful grin. "You’re coming with us to the New York leg, right? We need someone to keep this one in line," he gestures toward Jungkook, who is currently trying to fit an entire lettuce wrap into his mouth.

"I'll do my best," you laugh, your face flushing slightly. "But I think he’s a lost cause."

Jungkook manages to swallow and lets out a mock-offended gasp. "Hey! I'm the most well-behaved one here!"

The room erupts in "Yeah, right!" and "Since when?" while Jin starts a long-winded story about Jungkook’s latest gym obsession.

The mood is so good that for a moment, the grueling schedule doesn't seem so scary. Jungkook looks over at you again, his expression softening as he mouths the word 'Wait' so quickly no one else sees it. He’s clearly planning on catching you in the hallway or the parking garage after the dinner.

As the night goes on, the laughter gets louder and the air gets warmer. Despite the chaos of the coming weeks, standing here in this circle of friendship and secret glances, you feel like everything is exactly where it should be. The tour is coming, but for tonight, you’re just a group of friends celebrating a beginning.

The atmosphere, which had been so light and celebratory, curdles in an instant when Minho pulls up a chair. He’s had a few drinks, and his usual protective nature over both of you turns into a clumsy attempt at matchmaking.

"Honestly," Minho says, leaning onto the table and looking between you and Jungkook. "How long is this secret thing going to last? You two are practically inseparable. Why can't you just make it official already? Everyone in this room knows how you feel."

The table goes quiet. The other members exchange awkward glances, sensing the shift in the air. Jungkook’s playful smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, stony mask.

"Minho, drop it," Jungkook says, his voice dangerously low.

"No, I’m serious, JK," Minho persists, his voice rising. "She deserves better than being a ghost in your life. You treat her like a girlfriend in private, but out here? You're too scared to even give her a title?"

"It’s not about being scared!" Jungkook snaps, slamming his hand on the table. The sound echoes in the private room. "You know exactly what my life is like. I don't do official relationships. I can't. It doesn't work with this life. It’s a liability for everyone involved."

Your heart drops into your stomach. You weren't asking for a press release or a red-carpet debut. You just wanted to know that when you were alone, or with your closest friends, you could call him your boyfriend. But hearing him dismiss the idea so coldly labeling your connection as a "liability" makes it feel like nothing more than a convenient situationship.

"So that's it?" you ask, your voice trembling. "We spend all that time together, we share everything, but I'm just a... a secret you keep when it's convenient?"

"I'm protecting you!" Jungkook shouts, turning his frustration toward you.

"Protecting me? Or protecting your image?" you retort, tears stinging your eyes. "I don't need to be in the news, Jungkook. I just wanted to be yours. But you talk about it like it's a business deal."

"We should talk about this alone," you say, trying to maintain a shred of dignity.

"No," Jungkook says, his ego flared and his defensiveness at an all-time high. "There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not going to 'ask you out' like we’re in high school. I don't need to do that to know what we have. If you can't handle how things are, then maybe you shouldn't be here."

The room goes dead silent. The humiliation burns in your chest, hotter than the grill in front of you. You look at him the man who just days ago held you as if you were his entire world and you realize he’s pushing you away to keep his walls up.

"I see," you say, nodding slowly as a single tear escapes. "I’m not going to hang my heart on someone who doesn't take me seriously. If I’m just a 'liability' or a 'situationship' to you, then I’m done."

You stand up, your legs feeling like lead. "I’m not going to New York. And I’m definitely not going to Japan. You can find someone else to keep you recharged on tour."

"Y/N, wait—" Namjoon starts, but you don't stay to hear the rest.

You grab your bag and walk out of the room, leaving the stunned silence and the remains of the celebration behind. Every step away from that table feels like your heart is being torn in two, but the humiliation of staying feels even worse.

The heavy glass doors of the restaurant had barely swung shut behind you when you heard the frantic rhythm of his boots on the pavement.

"Y/N! Stop! Just listen to me for a second!" Jungkook’s voice cracked through the quiet night air, desperate and sharp. He reached out, grabbing your wrist to turn you around, but he let go the second he saw your face.

The streetlights caught the tears tracking down your cheeks, and for a moment, the "International Pop Star" looked like a terrified boy.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak. You took a sharp step back, putting distance between you. "Don't you dare try to fix this with a look or a touch."

"I was just frustrated, the pressure with Minho—"

"No, Jungkook," you interrupted, shaking your head. "You said it perfectly clear in there. I'm a 'liability.' A 'distraction.' You told me you weren't going to ask me to be yours because you don't 'do' official. You treated me like I was just some random girl you’re having a fling with, and not the person who has been by your side through the last months."

You swiped a hand across your eyes, your breath hitching in the cold air.

"I have forgiven you for so much," you continued, your voice gaining a bitter edge. "I’ve forgiven the silence, the mood swings, the long nights where I had to hide in the shadows of your life. I did it because I thought we were building something. But I won't forgive you for demeaning what we are in front of our friends just to protect your pride."

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, his hands reaching out into the empty space between you, but no words came out. He looked paralyzed, the reality of what he’d thrown away finally sinking in.

"Go to New York," you said, your voice cold and final. "Go to Japan. Perform for the world. But while you're out there, you need to figure out exactly what you want. Because if you want a situationship that stays in the dark, you’ve got the wrong person."

"Y/N, please—"

"I'm going home, Jungkook. Don't follow me."

You turned your back on him and walked toward the curb to hail a taxi. You didn't look back, even though you could feel his gaze burning into your spine, standing alone under the flickering streetlights of Gangnam. You had given him everything, but tonight, you finally chose yourself.

The taxi ride home is a blur of passing streetlights and muffled sobs. You lean your forehead against the cold window, the silence of the car feeling heavy and suffocating compared to the laughter that had filled the restaurant only an hour ago. Every time you close your eyes, you hear his voice ‚I don't do official relationships’ ringing in your ears like a physical blow.

When you finally get inside your apartment, the emptiness of the space hits you. You don't even turn on the lights. You just drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the sofa, finally letting the tears come in a violent, chest-aching wave.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a fleeting, hopeful second, your heart leaps, thinking it’s him. But when you pull it out, the screen shows a message from Minho.

Minho: Y/N, I am so, so sorry. I’m an idiot. I thought I was helping, I thought if I pushed him he’d finally say what he tells me when we're alone. I never meant to cause a scene like that. I never wanted to see you hurt.

You stare at the glowing screen, your vision blurred by fresh tears. You know Minho meant well, he’s seen the way you two look at each other, and he wanted his best friends to finally have the peace of being "real." But his well-intentioned nudge only succeeded in exposing the cracks you had been trying to ignore.

You don't have the energy to reply. You can't even think about Jungkook "staring at the door." If he really cared, he wouldn't have let his pride and his fear of his own lifestyle come between you. He wouldn't have made you feel like a secret he was ashamed of.

You toss the phone onto the coffee table and curl into a ball, pulling a throw blanket over your shoulders. The scent of the mountains, the pine and the crisp air from the weekend still lingers faintly on your skin, a cruel reminder of how quickly the highest high can turn into the lowest low.

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