Authors note: Hi everyone! I'm back with a new story I've been posting on AO3. It's 20 chapters long, and I’ve already written about 90% of it, so you can expect updates every week. Hope you enjoy it! I post first on AO3, so if you prefer to have it as soon as its done, I suggest you follow it there haha
If you prefer reading on AO3
Authors note2: Tumblr is updated and as I update on AO3 I will update here too! Let me know what you think and hope you have fun too <3
Synopsis: When Y/N boards a flight to Seoul, she expects a long, uneventful journey, where she will start her new job, where she will stay for only six months before going back home—until she finds herself seated next to an intriguing stranger. What starts as a simple conversation soon turns into something deeper, as fate seems determined to keep bringing them together. With the neon-lit streets of Seoul as their backdrop, what was supposed to be a temporary encounter begins to feel like destiny. But is this connection just a fleeting moment, or the start of something neither of them saw coming?
Tags: #BTSFanfiction, #JungkookxReader, #JiminxReader, #JungkookxReaderxJimin, #LoveTriangle, #Polyamory, #SlowBurn, #AngstWithHappyEnding, #EmotionalTension, #FlirtyJimin, #JealousJungkook, #MutualPining, #FriendsToLovers, #UnexpectedReunion, #IdolVerse, #AlternateUniverse, #CanonDivergence, #ReaderInsert, #OriginalFemaleCharacter, #EmotionalGrowth, #BittersweetMoments, #Longing, #WeeklyUpdates, #AlmostComplete, #20Chapters, #KpopFanfic, #BangtanBoys, #BTSAU, #Jungkook is bad at feelings, #More cliches then this one?, #just stay with me through this one
Authors Note: Hello! Here I am again hahah I'm just getting excited because things are starting to happen and im also ifuhoidsajd lol so here's another chapter!
I might also be writing like a crazy person to distract myself of the fact that they are almost back and the days cannot pass faster hahah
lots of love!
Kiki
ps:
hehe sooooo....
Also, for my people who are waiting on Jungkook, patience my young padawans, his time will come. Fear not ;)
---------
You didn’t mean to fall asleep.
But the light in your apartment is different now — not the pale, unforgiving kind from earlier, but something warmer, stretched long across the floor like the day is trying to leave without making a sound. Late afternoon, maybe. Or early evening. The kind of in-between light that makes everything feel a little softer, a little slower. Dust floats lazily through the air, catching in the golden slant that filters through the half-closed blinds.
It still smells like peppermint. Faint, but still there. Soft and clean and ghostlike. The mug on your coffee table is empty — no trace of warmth left in the ceramic, but the shape of it feels recent. Like someone placed it down gently. Like someone didn’t want to wake you.
The blanket over your legs is still tucked neatly at the sides, folded in at the edges like a quiet gesture you almost missed. You blink slowly, staring at it for a few seconds before it registers — Jimin is gone.
He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t need to. You also hadn’t expected a goodbye, not really. He moves through space like water — he fills it, carries you if you let him, and then leaves without asking for anything. And somehow, what he leaves behind feels more meaningful than words ever could.
The apartment is quiet now. Still.
The kind of stillness that makes you aware of your own heartbeat. The soft hum of the refrigerator. The faint creak of the wood under your couch as you shift your weight. Every sound amplified by the absence of another presence.
But it’s not a lonely kind of quiet. Not quite. But a bit lonely, nevertheless.
You exhale, long and slow, letting your head fall back against the cushion.
There’s a light pressure behind your eyes — the last trace of the hangover, maybe, or just the ghost of the dream you had before Jimin showed up. You can’t remember it now. Just a feeling. A sharpness. That sensation of being underwater without knowing how you got there.
Your limbs feel heavy, but not weighed down. Just… warm. Like you’ve been wrapped in a cocoon you didn’t realize you needed.
And now, you feel the absence.
Your eyes flutter shut again — just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to feel the room. The shift.
It's strange how easy it is to feel when he's gone.
You stay there, breathing. Letting the quiet wrap around you, slow and padded, like the world is giving you a little more time before it starts spinning again. Your fingers curl slightly under the edge of the blanket. The couch cushions dip just the slightest beneath you. Everything feels still in a way it hasn’t for days.
And yet…
It’s not just stillness that settles in your chest.
It’s something else, too.
A hum you can’t quite place. A presence that doesn’t belong to the peppermint or the folded blanket or even to Jimin’s echo.
You try not to name it. Try not to go there.
But your thoughts are already pulling in another direction.
His direction.
The way Jungkook had looked at you yesterday — not during a conversation, not in any obvious way, just in a moment you happened to glance up — like he saw something he hadn’t expected to see. The way his mouth had twitched like he wanted to say something but didn’t. The way he didn’t look away until you did.
You hadn’t thought about it much at the time.
Now you can’t seem to stop.
The silence stretches again.
And then — the buzz.
Sharp against the cushion. One short vibration. Then another.
You open your eyes, slowly. Turn your head toward the sound.
Your phone is still facedown. Like it knew you wouldn’t be ready.
You reach for it, thumb dragging across the screen. It lights up — too bright at first — and you squint, blinking against it.
Two notifications.
The first one makes you snort softly, right on cue.
[My one and only true love 3:43 PM]: Okay. I’m really giving you a break today.
[My one and only true love 3:45 PM]: But tomorrow? I want names.
[My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And context.
[My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And height-to-hotness ratios.
You consider replying. You even start to type.
But the second notification catches your eye — and suddenly your fingers pause.
[JK 1:12 PM]: Still alive?
Your thumb stills above the keyboard.
The words are short. Barely anything. Just enough.
But you feel them settle in your chest anyway.
You stare at the screen, heart thumping slightly out of step.
You don’t know why it feels heavier coming from him.
Maybe because everything from him feels like it might mean something — even when it doesn’t.
Maybe because you still don’t know how much space he’s meant to take up in your day.
Or maybe because… you kind of hoped he would text. And now that he has, you don’t know what to do with that hope.
You type back, simple.
[ You 3:46 PM]: Depends who’s asking.
The reply comes faster than you expect. Like he has been waiting near the phone the entire time.
[JK 3:46 PM]: Just someone who heard you lost a fight to soju.
Your brows lift.
So he knows. Somehow. Someone told him.
But who?
You hesitate, then reply:
[JK 3:47 PM]: Amazing. Didn’t realize my downfall was public info.
[JK 3:47 PM]: It is now. You set a new record, apparently. Very dramatic.
You roll your eyes. But you’re already smiling. Just a little.
You tap your fingers against the edge of the phone, then type:
[You 3:47 PM]: Glad to know I’m leaving a legacy.
And then — a pause. A longer one.
Not longer then a minute. Just long enough to make you wonder.
Then his message blinks across the screen:
[ JK 3:48 PM]: You always do.
You stop.
You stare at the words until the screen begins to dim, and you tap it once to keep it lit. You don’t reply. You don’t know how.
Because you’re still figuring out what any of this is.
Still figuring out what it means when someone like Jungkook says something like that — not just to you, but about you.
And if you’re being honest with yourself — really honest — you know it’s not just the words.
It’s the way your pulse stutters now.
The way your stomach tightens, just slightly.
The way you let your phone rest gently on the blanket beside you, like the weight of it might say too much.
You exhale, slow.
Outside, the city is still moving. Somewhere far off, a car honks. Someone laughs in the hallway.
But inside your apartment, it’s just you. And that message. And the strange little ache blooming behind your ribs.
-----
The next day at work passed in a strange kind of haze.
The hangover was gone. The peppermint scent had faded from your hoodie, and the apartment felt emptier than it did the night before — though a blanket still folded neatly on the couch gave away that Jimin had really been there. You hadn’t heard from him since, just a message in the morning saying “Hope today’s kinder to you.”
You hadn’t answered.
There was too much noise in your head already — leftover static from dreams, memories, text messages that said you always do. And then there was work. The usual rush of prep before a Run BTS shoot, the whole office tense but pretending to be casual. Scripts, gear, last-minute call time changes. People bumping into each other and pretending it wasn’t on purpose.
By 6:40, someone shoved a clipboard into your hands with a breathless “Can you take this to Studio B?”
You were already halfway down the hall when you realized you didn’t mind the errand.
You didn’t really want to be around anyone.
Except when you open the door to the smaller recording studio, it isn’t empty.
Jungkook’s already there.
He’s lounged back on the old leather couch, hoodie hood bunched behind his neck, legs sprawled comfortably. One of his feet bounces in the air, heel tapping the ground. He’s got his phone in hand and one earbud in, but it’s hanging halfway out, like he forgot about it.
He doesn’t see you at first. He’s grinning — really grinning — shoulders shaking with that soundless laugh you’ve seen when something online catches him just right. You freeze for half a second in the doorway, not sure whether to step back or knock or just stand there like a forgotten extra.
Then he looks up.
And you don’t know why it feels like you’ve been caught.
“Oh,” he says, still half-laughing. “You scared me.”
“I knocked.”
“You didn’t.”
You blink. “…I thought I did.”
He smiles, and it makes your stomach shift a little too fast.
You hold up the clipboard in your hand. “Dropping these off. Tomorrow’s call sheets.”
He nods and nudges the coffee table with his foot. “You can leave it here. Unless you want to read it out loud. Make it dramatic.”
You roll your eyes but cross the room anyway, placing the clipboard down gently on the edge of the table. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick toward you as you do — just for a second. A blink. But it’s there.
“Did you volunteer for this?” he asks, voice light.
“Why?”
He shrugs, stretching his arms behind his head. “I mean, it’s almost 7. Kind of feels like you wanted the walk.”
You glance at him, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Kind of feels like you’re reading too much into it.”
He laughs again — not unkind. Not sharp. Just… amused.
“I’ve been told I do that,” he says shrugging. “Once or twice.”
You hover by the table a moment longer, unsure if you’re dismissed or just lingering. But before you can move toward the door, he speaks again — this time a little quieter, but still casual.
“By the way… thanks. For the whole… mess the other day.”
You blink. “You mean—?”
He nods once. Doesn’t elaborate. Just lifts his hand in a little wave like he’s acknowledging something in the air between you both.
“I didn’t know you knew I helped with that.”
He gives a soft scoff. “Please. You’re the only one who would’ve made the managers sound like a calm older sister who’s also on the verge of quitting.”
You almost smile. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”
“I thought so.”
Silence settles again, but it’s not uncomfortable.
He leans forward to pick up his phone, scrolling aimlessly now. You turn toward the door.
“You’re on the schedule at 8:45,” you say over your shoulder. “Try not to be late.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“More like a prayer.”
He huffs another laugh behind you. “See you tomorrow.”
You don’t look back when you leave, but you do catch your reflection briefly in the narrow studio window — the way your shoulders are still a little too stiff, your expression a little too carefully blank.
But your heart?
It’s doing that thing again.
The quiet kind of racing.
-------
The studio was already buzzing by the time you arrived.
Staff filtered in and out of the side doors, trailing wires and clipped walkies, the usual pre-shoot chaos humming under every breath. You tucked your phone into your back pocket, tried not to think about the last conversation you’d had with either of them, and slid the call sheet onto the production table like it didn’t weigh more than it should.
Run BTS days always carried a different kind of energy. It wasn’t just content — it was the boys being themselves, half-scripted and half-chaotic. You’d noticed, over time, how even the quietest ones came alive here. Something about being in front of the camera without the full weight of an idol performance made them playful in a way that was rare to catch elsewhere.
You were adjusting the mic list when you heard your name.
“Y/N!”
It was Taehyung, waving dramatically from across the set like you were half a football field away.
“Come settle a bet,” he called.
You squinted. “Do I want to know what the bet is?”
Jimin appeared beside him, grinning like he’d already won. “You absolutely do.”
That’s when you noticed the screen behind them — the large monitor propped up for playback — currently displaying a paused Mario Kart track. Two controllers were sitting on the table, one already gripped tightly in Jungkook’s hands.
“Jungkook challenged me,” Jimin said, bouncing lightly on his heels. “Then he lost. And now he wants a rematch. But I refuse, so he wants to show he can beat anyone else. So we chose you.”
You blinked and pointed at yourself in disbelief. “Me?”
Jungkook, seated in one of the gamer-style chairs with his legs kicked up like he owned the place, smirked. “You talk a big game.”
You crossed your arms. “I’ve never talked any game.”
“That’s what makes you dangerous,” he replied, eyes gleaming.
Someone from the staff handed you the second controller, and it felt suspiciously like a setup — the way all the boys slowly started crowding behind the monitor, how Jimin was suddenly perched on the arm of the couch beside you, offering unsolicited tips.
“Watch the drifts in the third lap,” he murmured. “That’s where he gets cocky.”
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “Are you helping me or sabotaging me?”
He smiled, all sugar and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Jungkook chose the track. Something fast. Of course.
When the countdown began, your focus narrowed. Just you, the controller, and the digital chaos on screen. Around you, you were vaguely aware of voices — cheering, laughing, someone (probably Jin) commentating like it was the Olympics.
Jungkook was fast. Annoyingly fast.
But you were patient. Quietly calculating.
And in the last stretch of the final lap, you drifted perfectly around a corner, dodged a red shell, and zipped across the finish line less than half a second ahead.
The room exploded.
Hobi’s laugh was unmistakable as Jin threw his hands in the air. Taehyung screamed something unintelligible. Jimin laughed so hard he nearly fell from where he was sitting on.
Jungkook stared at the screen, jaw slack. Then he turned to look at you.
“That was luck.”
You leaned back, tossing the controller gently onto the couch. “Skill. Coated in humble confidence.”
“Rematch.”
“You’ll need time to recover.” You patted him on the shoulder.
He huffed, half a laugh escaping before he could stop it. And then he smiled — a real one this time, boyish and bright.
Jimin passed behind you as the camera crew started setting up for the next segment. He didn’t say anything at first — just brushed his knuckles lightly across your shoulder in passing, a touch no one else would notice.
When he came back around, slipping into place beside you as the others were getting miked, he handed you a bottle of water without meeting your eyes.
“You okay?” he asked under his breath.
You nodded. “I think I just made a mortal enemy.”
He smiled. “Nah. That’s just Jungkook’s love language.”
Your stomach flipped — not because of the words, but the quiet way he said them. Like he knew exactly how light to make it. Exactly when not to push.
You looked at him then, and for a second, neither of you said anything.
Then the director called for first positions, and the moment scattered like loose change.
Still, when Jungkook passed you on the way to his mark, he bumped your shoulder lightly, a grin tucked half into the corner of his mouth.
“Round two’s coming,” he said.
You didn’t answer.
But you smiled anyway.
-----
The hallway beyond the studio felt quieter than it should. Dimmer, too, the bright set lights replaced by the low ambient hum of backstage fluorescents. You rubbed your fingertips along your temple, trying to will away the strange buzz still dancing in your chest after the shoot.
Your badge swung slightly with each step as you wandered past stacked lighting gear and garment racks. A few of the stylists were packing up, their conversations soft and distant. Most of the boys had already vanished into dressing rooms or out the back exit.
You stepped into the green room without knocking — just enough to drop off the folder you’d been handed. Inside, it was quiet. A jacket draped over the couch, an open water bottle on the table. Jungkook was seated on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable until he glanced up and noticed you.
"Hey," he said, straightening slightly.
You held out the folder. "Call sheet for the weekend. You guys have a rehearsal slotted Sunday."
He set his phone down and took the folder from you, glancing at the cover. "Thanks."
"No problem."
You turned to leave, but his voice followed. "You know... you kind of crushed me today."
You blinked. "At Mario Kart?"
He let out a low chuckle. "I’m gonna pretend it wasn’t personal."
"Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’m just that good."
Jungkook tilted his head like he was considering that. "Dangerously humble. It’s a deadly combo."
You smirked, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make your heart feel a little too aware of itself.
“How’s your recovery from trying to beat Sana in drinking?” He asked casually.
Your eyebrows shot up. "How do you—"
His grin widened. "Let’s just say... death by soju doesn’t go unnoticed."
You narrowed your eyes, trying not to smile. "I’m going to start interrogating people."
"You won’t need to. I’m very susceptible to guilt. And bribery."
You laughed despite yourself, glancing down at the call sheet again. Something about this was easier than it should’ve been.
Then footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Taehyung appeared, slowing as soon as he saw the two of you. He stopped a few paces away, taking in the scene without saying a word.
You braced for something.
He didn’t disappoint.
"You know," he said, pointing between the two of you, "if you’re gonna stand that close and smile that much, at least try to look a little less obvious."
Jungkook groaned, head tipping back with a dramatic sigh. "Hyung—"
Taehyung raised both hands, backing away slowly. "Hey, hey. Don’t mind me. I’m just an innocent bystander. An observant one. But innocent nonetheless."
Then, just before turning the corner, he added over his shoulder, "Cute, though. Seriously."
You stared after him.
Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, then looked at you with something caught between amusement and apology.
"He’s going to milk that for weeks."
You sighed. "Guess we’re doomed."
"Could be worse," Jungkook said.
And the way he looked at you — not teasing, not intense, just quietly sure — made it very hard to argue.
----
The studio floor had emptied out more than you realized. One minute you were dodging prop boxes and laughing with Yoshi while the post-filming chaos still lingered, and the next — you were standing by the stairwell with a half-empty water bottle in hand, waiting for the elevator that seemed determined not to arrive.
"You always disappear right before the fun part," Jimin’s voice cut through the quiet like a familiar song.
You turned, half startled, half expecting him. He was already walking toward you, hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders, hair still damp from the earlier shoot, and something soft behind his eyes. Like he’d been waiting for a moment alone just like this.
You gave a weak smile. "Didn’t know there was a fun part."
He stopped in front of you, leaning a shoulder lightly against the wall. "There’s always a fun part."
The hallway buzzed gently with silence. A light flickered above you, casting slow-moving shadows. You tightened your grip on the bottle.
"Tired?" he asked, glancing down at your hands.
You shrugged. "A little. I think the last twenty-four hours finally caught up to me."
He nodded slowly, like he understood more than you were saying.
"Thanks for yesterday," you said after a moment.
"You already said that."
You looked up. "Well, I’m saying it again."
He smiled at that, then tilted his head slightly. "Want a ride home? I’ve got time."
You hesitated. For a breath. Maybe two. Then nodded. Why not?
----
The city passed in fragments outside the window, a patchwork of late-night haze and quiet. Yellow-tinted streetlights blinked over sidewalks. Neon signs flickered half-heartedly from the windows of half-closed stores. Inside the car, it was warm — too warm — and you didn’t bother removing your coat. You felt the press of it, like a shield. A weight you weren’t quite ready to shrug off.
Jimin didn’t put on music. You didn’t ask. The air between you hummed with an unspoken rhythm, one you couldn’t place.
"You’re quiet," he said, glancing at you as the car slowed at a red light. "I thought I’d at least get a dramatic monologue about the evils of filming variety shows in the cold."
You gave a soft huff, the corner of your mouth twitching. "You’re lucky I’m too tired to perform."
"I’m devastated," he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.
Your gaze drifted back out the window. You traced the fog from your breath with a fingertip on the glass. "It’s just been... an intense week."
"I know the feeling," he murmured. His tone didn’t shift. He didn’t offer advice. He just agreed, like it was the only thing worth saying.
"It’s not even anything specific. Just… the internship. The schedule. The pace of it all. Its been almost three months but feels like im here for much longer but at the same time much less. It’s weird." You gave a little shrug, as if brushing the weight off your shoulders could make it lighter. "Everything’s just a bit much sometimes."
He stayed silent. The hum of the car filled in what you didn’t say.
Then, his voice returned, lighter this time. "If it makes you feel better, I’m very impressed by how professional you looked while holding a bag of cucumbers today."
That pulled a laugh from your chest. You shot him a side glance. "Stop."
"Dead serious. Iconic. Might be the most glamorous thing I’ve seen all week."
The light turned green, and he eased the car forward. You leaned into your seat and sighed. Something about him — the way he let the serious and silly fold over each other — always managed to unravel you in pieces. Quiet ones.
"You’re good at this," you said softly.
"At what?"
"Disarming people."
He glanced at you, his smile widening. "You make it sound like I’m a spy."
"Maybe you are. The charming kind. Gets people talking when they don’t mean to."
"Ah," he said, mock-serious. "So I’m dangerously persuasive. Noted."
You lifted an eyebrow. "I’m saying you’re sneaky. Subtle. The kind of person who probably gets away with way too much."
He gasped in mock offense. "I’m wounded."
"You’ll survive."
He turned onto your street, the familiar row of buildings falling into place outside the window. But he didn’t stop in front of yours. Instead, he pulled up further, into a quieter spot shaded by trees and dim streetlight.
The engine ticked as he cut it. Neither of you moved.
You sat in the silence, eyes on your hands folded in your lap, while Jimin’s rested casually on the wheel like he wasn’t in a rush to end whatever this was.
"We’re okay, right?" he asked after a moment. Quiet. Careful.
You nodded slowly. "I think so."
He didn’t speak right away. You could feel his gaze, warm and open.
"You’ve seemed different lately. Not bad. Just… like your head’s somewhere else."
You traced another foggy line on the window. "Maybe it is. Everything just feels different, like something shifted and I haven’t caught up to it yet."
He didn’t press. Just waited.
"It’s not really about the job," you added quickly. "It’s nothing. And also… not nothing. I guess I’m still figuring it out."
His voice was low when he answered. "Want to know what I’m figuring out?"
You turned to him, surprised by the question. "What?"
"How long I can sit here before I do something really dumb."
Your breath caught.
He gave a small, knowing smile. "And it gets harder everytime you look at me like that. "
You didn’t look away. Your fingers tightened just a little in your lap. "Then maybe stop thinking about it."
He waited. A pause that felt like a held breath, long enough to ask without asking.
And then, slowly — like testing the weight of it — he leaned in.
The kiss was light. Barely a whisper between you. A question posed in silence. A warmth you hadn’t realized you were craving.
It wasn’t a hot or passionate kiss, but rather something soft, uncertain — like both of you were trying to remember how to breathe through it. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t demand anything, didn’t burn its way through your chest, but settled there gently, like the warmth of a hand over your heart. It asked nothing but permission. It didn’t shout. It didn’t shake. It just… existed, tender and fleeting. Like a pause between thoughts. Like a secret neither of you had the words to speak yet.
But it didn’t last for long.
Because just as the moment settled — just as the softness of it bloomed in your chest — you pulled away.
The car felt too close now. Too still. Your hand reached for the door.
"I should—"
He nodded.
You stepped out into the cold. The night air stung your cheeks in a way that reminded you where you were. Grounded you.
The door shut behind you. Your boots clicked against the pavement as you walked towards the door of your apartment building.
And then—
Your name.
Spoken low. Firm.
You turned as he caught up to you.
No hesitation this time.
His hand found the back of your head softly but firmer. His eyes found your mouth.
And he kissed you again.
Fuller. Warmer. Still careful, but more certain — like he’d decided he didn’t want to let you walk away wondering. This kiss wasn’t rushed, but there was urgency beneath the tenderness. A silent insistence that said: I meant that. It carried something heavier than the first — not pressure, but presence. His thumb brushed along your jaw as the kiss deepened just slightly, grounding you where you stood.
Your breath caught somewhere between surprise and surrender.
For a moment, you let yourself sink into it. The world narrowed. The streetlamp above you flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn echoed and faded. But here — with his forehead resting lightly against yours — everything else disappeared.
You could feel your heart knocking against your ribs, too fast, too loud. Like it hadn’t caught up to what your body was already answering.
"I get to do dumb things sometimes too," he murmured resting his forehead against yours. You were with your eyes closed still trying to process what just happened.
You didn’t answer.
But you didn’t let go either.
You didn’t know how long you stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, Jimin’s warmth still lingering on your lips.
The street was quiet. Only the distant hum of a passing car reminded you the world hadn’t completely stopped. But in your body? In your chest? Everything felt like it had come to a sudden, terrifying standstill.
He kissed you.
He kissed you.
Again.
And then he—
He just turned around and left.
No last word. No clever tease. Not even a backward glance.
He walked back to his car like that kiss hadn’t just rearranged your entire central nervous system.
You were still standing there like a glitch in a simulation when the car engine started. It purred low, then faded as the wheels rolled down the block.
Only when the red taillights disappeared from view did you finally move.
You turned slowly, let yourself walk the last few steps to your building, and fumbled with the code on the door twice before getting it right. Your fingers didn’t work properly. Your brain certainly didn’t.
Inside, the air felt colder than you expected. Or maybe that was just your skin trying to forget the way his hand held the back of your head.
You dropped your bag at the entrance. Your coat somewhere near the couch. Your shoes half-on, half-off by the mat.
And then you just stood there.
Completely and utterly flabbergasted.
What the hell had just happened?
You touched your lips. Once. Lightly. Like you could still trace the shape of him there.
This was a joke. It had to be.
No.
This was your life.
You spun in place, hair swishing with the motion, like pacing would make your thoughts more manageable.
It didn’t.
He kissed you. Again. And it wasn’t some lingering almost-moment. Not some near miss like before. No. It was real. It happened.
And you let it happen.
You kissed him back. Oh God, what have you done? You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Never said anything. To anyone. Ever. In fact, you believe you should’ve just been able to speak ever again.
You groaned and collapsed face-first onto the couch, muffling a scream into the nearest cushion.
What were you supposed to do now? Text him? Pretend it never happened? Throw your phone into the sea? Take a rocket and launch yourself into space and disapear forever?
You rolled over dramatically, now staring at the ceiling, limbs sprawled in defeat.
Should you call Evi?
No.
Yes.
No. Definitely not. She would ascend into a whole different plane of existence if she found out. You could already hear her voice in your head, pitch climbing with every syllable:
“YOU DID WHAT? With PARK JIMIN?! Girl, are you INSANE?”
You covered your face with both hands.
God. This was bad. This was… good? No. Complicated. This was very complicated.
And you were very possibly losing your mind.
You hadn’t even taken your makeup off. Your phone buzzed against your thigh, and you flinched like it had burned you.
But it wasn’t him.
Of course it wasn’t.
You lay there for another minute before sitting up and grabbing your phone anyway. You opened your notes app and typed exactly two words:
He kissed me.
Then you stared at them.
Then you deleted them.
Then you opened a new note:
What the fuck is happening.
You closed the app.
Typed Evi’s name in your contacts.
And stared.
You hadn’t done anything wrong.
Right?
But why did it feel like your entire body was filled with static electricity?
You groaned again and launched yourself backward onto the couch. You needed to sleep. Or scream. Or invent a time machine.
Anything but this.
Your phone buzzed again.
This time, not a message. A FaceTime.
My one and only true love is FaceTiming…
You screamed.
Not a little gasp, not a startled “oh”—a full-on, sharp yelp that shot out of you like a reflex. The sound echoed off your apartment walls, and you instantly slapped a hand over your mouth.
Your thumb still hit "accept."
Evi’s face exploded onto the screen, perfectly framed and flawless. Hair smooth and curled at the ends, lips lined with something expensive and terrifyingly red. Her brows looked like they were carved by gods.
“Why are you screaming like someone broke into your house?” she asked, calmly sipping from a matcha glass.
You blinked at her. “I thought you were a murderer. Or my boss.”
“Charming. This is the welcome I get?”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“You scare easily for someone who’s been hiding a man in her apartment.”
Your soul left your body.
You coughed. “What—what are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” She leaned in dramatically. “I know that look. You’re flushed. Your hair’s doing that thing it does when you’re stressed but trying not to look stressed. Your eyes are twitchy. And unless it’s -3 degrees outside, that red on your cheeks isn’t from the cold.”
You adjusted your phone. “It is cold.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And yet you don’t look frozen. You look freshly kissed.”
You made a noise that wasn’t a laugh or a protest—just a long, whimpering exhale.
“Y/N,” she said slowly. “Was someone at your place again since yesterday?”
You said nothing.
“Someone tucked your blanket,” she continued. “Someone made you ramen. Someone bought you Pocari Sweat. You don’t even like Pocari Sweat. You drink it once a year and call it a ritual. And today you are jumpy and blushing. Spill, bitch. ”
You buried your face in your hand. “You are so dramatic.”
“I am your best friend. I’m allowed to be. Was it someone from work?”
“Evi…”
“Was it one of the boys?” Her eyes widened, manic energy building. “Wait. DON’T tell me. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Scratch your nose if it’s complicated.”
You burst out laughing, but it was too late—your fingers had brushed your cheek.
“I KNEW IT!”
“That was not a signal.”
“Too late. Evidence locked in.”
“Jesus Christ.”
She grinned at you. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
You stared at her through the screen. Your cheeks still felt warm. Your mouth—God, your mouth—still tingled faintly. Like the memory of his lips hadn’t quite left yet.
She tilted her head. “Was it good?”
You sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“Not a no.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m just saying—if someone kissed me and they were as hot as they sound, I would spiral, like, immediately.”
“Oh, I already spiraled.”
She beamed. “That’s my girl.”
There was a beat of silence, then her voice softened.
“You okay, though?” She dropped the subject just like that. She knew better then to press you. And she also knew when you were not jokinly freaking out.
You looked away. Then back. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t push. She didn’t fill the silence with noise like she normally would. Just… nodded. Like that was enough.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
“Of course,” she replied. Then, after a pause: “Can I complain about my neighbor now?”
You blinked. “Absolutely.”
She launched into it instantly. “So this morning? He started blasting Cupid at seven a.m. again. Not even the good version—the sped-up TikTok remix. While dancing. In a tutu. On his balcony.”
You snorted. “Still the same three songs?”
“On a loop. My brain is bleeding. My sanity is held together by two hairpins and a dream.”
You grinned.
She leaned closer to the screen. “I’m serious. If I disappear one day, avenge me. I’ll be the one under the floorboards of his playlist.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
You nodded. “I do.”
“And when you’re ready,” she said, “I want the whole story. Over wine. With snacks. And a cheap galaxy projector.”
You smiled, eyes soft. “Deal.”
“Miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
She gave you a long look, like she was reading every emotion off your face, then winked and hung up—leaving you in the quiet again.
authors note: Hello Hello! Im back hehe I was going to post on Sunday but I ended up getting last minute tickets to a concert and didn't have time to do much else 🤭 But I wrote a lot in the past week so we might have more updates, regularly? Maybe twice a week? But no promises. haha
I also think this story will be a bit longer than 20 chapters (even though things will get moving real soon) we are technically half way through lol
Again, I will thank for your comments and kudos. Your comments honestly make my day and I get super excited! hahah
anyway enjoy the calm before the storm :)
Lots of love,
Kiki
Ps: We are in the 10's for Yoongi to be out and single digits for the other boys and I might explode. hahaha someone steal them away from there already
After spending your day rotting in bed watching a bad show on Netflix and some thoughtful consideration — which mostly involved asking your phone’s assistant to flip a coin and then losing — you decided to spend the unexpected days off on Wednesday and Thursday (courtesy of some random holiday you still didn’t fully understand) by going to a karaoke bar with the girls.
The booth you werere guided to was small so it became crowded, half-lit in neon pink and blue, with the screen flickering lyrics over some K-pop hit from five years ago. You held a mic in your hand but didn’t bother singing—Yoshi had hijacked the current song, yelling dramatically into her mic while Mitsuki and Sana clapped along, eyes glassy with laughter and cheap cocktails.
Yoshi collapsed beside you with a winded wheeze, hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks pink from the effort. “I should’ve debuted,” she panted. “Missed opportunity for the nation.”
“You would’ve traumatized the nation,” you said, amused. The other girls laughed from their seats.
“Okay, okay, but seriously,” Yoshi said with flushed cheeks and a wicked smile, “if you had to choose a member from BTS who would it be?”
Your heart skipped in spite of the music’s volume. You reached for your drink, trying not to react. “I’m not doing this”
Yoshi blinked. “Babe. You are no fun”
Mitsuki piped in from the other side. “I would choose Namjoon. I bet he is a good kisser.”
“He does gives the vibes,” Sana said smugly. “But I bet Jungkook is just a menace.”
You groaned, dragging your hand down your face. “You’re all being ridiculous.”
“Are we?” Yoshi leaned closer, eyes narrowed like she was about to perform a scientific analysis. “Let me get this straight. We all work for, arguably, one of the prettiest men in Korea, who are not only super friendly but shamelessly flirt with a door if given the chance. We aren’t allowed to do anything but we are allowed to look at them and think about it. Except for Mitsuki, ” Yoshi looks at her with a pity face “You got the pretty girls to look at.”
You shrugged, giving her your best neutral expression. “They’re idols. They’re friendly. That’s their job.”
“Right,” Yoshi said, unconvinced. “And it’s your job to have Jimin light up like a christmas tree when he talks to you or have Jungkook buffer when you walk in the room.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you said, standing up and trying not to let your face betray you.
Yoshi laughed as you walked away. “Denial is a river in Egypt, babe!”
As the night wore on, the energy mellowed. You all ended up sprawled on the floor with fries and snacks between you, phones passed around for selfies and filters.
Mitsuki had everyone doing a ridiculous quiz: "What type of main character energy do you have?"
"Y/N, you're totally the quiet one with a dark past who all the love interests fall for," Mitsuki said, giggling.
"So basically… her actual life," Yoshi muttered, nudging you.
"I don’t have love interests," you insisted.
Yoshi gave you a flat look. “Two of the most famous men in Korea literally hover around you like you’re the last Wi-Fi signal in the mountains.”
You hid behind a pillow. “Please shut up.”
“Not until you admit something,” she said, grinning. “You don’t have to tell us who—but you’ve thought about it, right? One of them?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Mitsuki gasped dramatically. “You have!”
“I hate you both,” you said weakly.
Sana, sipping her drink, smiled faintly. “I guess some people attract that kind of attention without even trying. Must be nice.”
The words weren’t biting. Not exactly. But they clung to you anyway, sticky and cold.
Yoshi made a face but said nothing.
The conversation turned to lighter things—embarrassing school stories, fashion disasters, and the time Sana got mistaken for a backup dancer and actually went on stage before security caught her.
You laughed so hard you cried, and for a while, it felt okay. You all for sure had too much to drink.
But the echo of Sana’s voice—sweet and casual—stuck with you.
By the time the night ended, it was nearly 2 a.m. The karaoke machine had long since powered down, and everyone was scattered between half-empty drink glasses and tangled purses. You were so glad you didn’t work tomorrow. The alchohol at this point making you sway.
You stepped outside with Yoshi and mitsuki, who walked with you down to the street, wrapped around your arm like you were her lifeline, where a taxi you ordered for them was waiting. Yoshiwas a bit more gone then you. By a bit you mean she could barely keep her eyes open and Mitsuki volunteered to bring her home.
The city was quieter now. Rain had started, fine and misty, softening the lights and washing the neon in a blurry sheen.
“Want me to stay with you tonight?” Mitsuki asked gently.
You shook your head. “I think I need to be alone.”
She didn’t argue. Just squeezed your hand. “Text me when you’re home, okay?” She entered the taxi silently after Yoshi and left.
Your ride back was silent. You stared out the window, head leaned against the glass. You werent drunk. Or better, you weren’t drunk enough.
In the quiet, your thoughts unraveled.
You kept circling back to Jungkook—to the way his voice sounded when he said he liked you, like it was simple, like it wasn’t, actually, the most complicated thing in the world. He had said it as if it didn’t carry weight, as if it wasn’t dangerous for both of you. You hadn’t stopped him. And the worst part was... you weren’t even sure you wanted to. That look in his eyes had followed you ever since—certain, almost gentle, like he was sure he’d made the right call in choosing you, and that haunted you more than any mistake ever could.
Then there was Jimin. Sweet, steady Jimin—who wasn’t supposed to matter like this, and yet he did. You couldn’t stop thinking about how close his mouth had gotten to yours, how you hadn't moved away, hadn’t even thought to, not until it was too late. You could still feel that moment clinging to your skin, lingering in the space between what almost happened and what you knew shouldn’t. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything, that it had just been the moment, the lighting, the blurred lines between comfort and something else—but the more you repeated that lie, the less believable it became.
You hated how easily you'd let yourself exist in the space between the two of them, how natural it had begun to feel—like falling into gravity you weren’t meant to obey.
And that scared you more then anything.
Reaching home, you half stumbled into your apartment and just layed on your couch. World spinning you decided you would just rest your eyes for a second before going to bed.
The air smells like spring. Cut grass and clean laundry. The curtains sway slightly in a breeze you can’t feel. You’re on a worn but familiar couch, your hand cradling a chipped mug of tea that wasn’t there a second ago.
You frown.
Across from you, slouched in the matching armchair with his ankle balanced on his knee, sits Theo.
Your stomach turns.
It takes a moment for your mind to catch up — to recognize the shape of him. But then it hits you. The soft scar above his brow. The way he always bites his thumb when he’s thinking. The hoodie that you claimed as your own.
TheoYour ex.
The last person who really got close to your heart.
He looks exactly like he did the day you left — minus the quiet devastation you carried with you at the airport.
“You look good,” he says.
You blink. “What… is this?”
He doesn’t answer directly. Just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You still take your tea like that?”
You glance down. The tea is pale, nearly white. Milk-heavy. Exactly how he used to tease you for drinking it. “I don’t drink it like this anymore.”
He smirks. “You do. Just not around other people.”
Your chest tightens and you don’t answer. The room feels warped — familiar, but not quite right. The light never changes. The air never moves. A memory that never finishes loading.
“You used to sit with me like this all the time,” he says, quieter now. “Sunday mornings. Your legs on my lap. You’d tell me about a book you were pretending to finish.”
You smile despite yourself. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“You never made it past chapter seven.”
You almost laugh. You hate that it feels nice to be remembered like that. That a part of you still craves this kind of intimacy, even if it feels like just in a dream.
“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” he asks suddenly.
You look up.
You nod. “Outside that café. The one with the blue door.”
He smiles faintly. “You were freezing. I offered you my scarf, and you said, ‘only if I get a kiss too.’”
You flush. “You called me out.”
“You looked smug as hell when I actually did it.”
“You liked that about me.”
“I did.”
Another pause. Long and soft. Like the quiet after a snowfall.
Then he says, “I think that was the last time I really knew you.”
Your breath catches.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
His tone darkens, almost imperceptibly. “I mean… after that, you kept changing. Evolving. Looking further away every time you talked about the future.”
“I told you what I wanted.”
“You told me what you were chasing,” he says. “That’s not the same.”
You bristle. “Why are you here?”
“Maybe your brain brought me back because you still need to hear it.”
“Hear what?”
He stands up, slow and deliberate. Walks toward the window, his hands in his pockets.
“That I didn’t want you anymore.”
The room tilts.
Your voice is barely audible. “You said it you didn’t do long distance.”
“I said a lot of things to make you feel better.” He turns back to you, face unreadable. “But the truth is — I couldn’t recognize the version of you that stood in front of me by the end.”
You stare at him. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s honest.”
“No,” you bite out, standing too. “You broke up with me because I got an opportunity. Because I said yes to a dream that fell on my lap. You couldn’t handle not being my first priority.”
His eyes flash, sharper now. “I wasn’t even second by then.”
“That’s not true.”
“Wasn’t it?” he steps closer. “Every conversation turned into you defending your choices. Your plans. Your schedule. You didn’t want a relationship — you wanted a fan club.”
Your heart pounds. “That’s not what it was.”
“No,” he says. “But that’s what you were becoming.”
You stagger back, your spine hitting the edge of the couch.
“You stopped seeing me,” he continues, voice hardening. “I was a placeholder in your day. Someone to text when it was convenient. You’d light up over your friendship with Evi, how your coworkers would be, your Seoul skyline — but never for me. Not anymore.”
“You didn’t say that,” you whisper.
“Because I knew you’d cry and twist it into my fault. Like always.”
Your breath punches out of you.
“I let you go because I didn’t want to be the villain,” he says simply. “But I was already the leftover.”
You shake your head. “We had something good, Theo.”
“We had something brief.”
The cruelty in his voice isn’t sharp — it’s casual.
Like he’s just telling the truth.
Like it doesn’t cost him anything to gut you with it.
“I love you,” you whisper.
“I know.” He shrugs. “But you stopped being someone I wanted to love.”
The ache that follows those words is so physical you almost double over.
He watches, unfazed. “You were too consumed by what you wanted to become and where you wanted to be. And eventually, I saw it. You didn’t want to share your life — you wanted to star in it. And I couldn’t drop everything to just follow you around.”
You flinch.
“And now,” he says, eyes narrowing, “you’re doing it again.”
“What?”
He steps even closer. “Two men. Both circling. One all charm and sunshine. One who pretends to be disinterested but looks at you like he’s drowning.”
“Stop—”
“You want them both,” he says. “Not because you love either of them, but because they make you feel important.”
“That’s not true—!”
“You don’t love people,” he says coldly. “You collect them.”
Your hands are shaking.
He leans in, his breath almost touching yours. “You act like you’re scared of choosing. But maybe the real problem is that you like the attention.”
You slap him.
Your hand doesn’t connect. The dream flickers, your body frozen mid-motion. Like the world itself has glitched.
He smiles slowly.
“Does it scare you?” he asks, voice soft again. “The that this version of you isn’t lovable too?”
“I am,” you choke out.
“Are you sure abou that?” he asks.
You wake with a gasp so sharp it feels like your lungs tear.
Your body jerks upright, soaked in sweat, heart pounding like a fist to your ribcage. The room spins.
Your mouth tastes like stale sugar and regret.
Your head pulses violently.
And your eyes burn — from tears or sleep or the cruel residue of his words, you’re not sure.
Theo.
His name sits like a rock in your chest. A weight you forgot you still carried.
You grip the sheets, knuckles white.
He had said it wasn’t about distance.
He said he didn’t want you anymore.
And worst of all, he’d made you believe that might’ve been right.
You press your palms to your eyes until all you see is static. Until the lump in your throat finally swells into something too painful to swallow.
It was just a dream.
It was a wound you never let scab over.
And now it was bleeding again.
The sharp ringing pierced through the fog in your head like a thousand tiny hammers. You groaned, face pressed deep into your pillow, willing the noise to stop. But it kept coming — insistent, nagging, relentless.
Your phone blinked at the coffee table, the caller ID flashing a name you didn’t bother to see right now. Then again. And again.
You slapped the side table blindly, knocking your glass of water over. Cold spilled over your hand, but you barely registered it. The pounding in your skull was a brutal drumline, each beat syncing with the relentless buzzing in your ears.
You fumbled with the phone, trying to silence it, but your fingers wouldn’t obey. Your body felt like it was full of lead and cotton at the same time. The room spun gently when you moved your head even a little, and you let out a low, frustrated sigh.
The calls kept coming.
Eventually, after the seventh or eighth ring, your bleary brain decided it was less torturous to answer.
You swiped and lifted the phone to your ear, voice a hoarse croak. “Hello?”
“Y/N?” The voice on the other end was soft but steady. Familiar.
You blinked against the haze and realized who it was. “Jimin?”
“Yeah.” His voice was calm, but there was something under it — concern? Something deeper. “You okay?”
You wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him about the pounding in your head, the sick nausea twisting your stomach, the regret and exhaustion that felt like a physical weight. But all that came out was a quiet groan, “I’m hungover.”
There was a pause.
“Are you alone?” A pause. “Do you need anyhing?”
You stared at the ceiling, trying to think but your hungover and the dream being too much for you to handle at once. “I cannot think right now. Thanks though.” And before you could say anything else, the call ended.
You blinked at the silent phone, your heart thumping a little faster.
20 minutes later your door rattles gently. A single knock.
You open it wearing one sock, an oversized hoodie, and what might still be yesterday’s eyeliner smudged. Your hair is a nest of betrayal. Your breath tastes like crime.
Jimin’s eyes widen just enough to register the disaster that is you, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he holds up a convenience store bag in one hand, and a bottle of Pocari Sweat in the other, like an offering.
“Hangover queen,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “Where’s your kitchen?”
You make a noise that might be laughter or weeping. It doesn’t matter. You point toward the inside of the apartment and collapse back onto the couch before you can think twice. The cushions feel like heaven. Then you feel Jimin tug something over your legs — a throw blanket you didn’t even realize was there.
“Why are you like this?” you mumble into a pillow.
“Because I care,” he says with a grin you can’t see but feel in your chest. He walks to your kitchen like he’s been there before — opens cabinets until he finds a clean mug and puts on the kettle. You hear the rustle of ramen packaging. You didn’t even ask.
“Jimin,” you croak.
“Yeah?”
“I think I died in my sleep.”
“You didn’t. Ghosts can’t get hangovers this bad.”
He pads over, kneels in front of you, and presses a cold bottle into your palm. “Sip slowly.”
You obey because he’s crouched like some angelic nurse and you’re too weak to argue. It’s embarrassingly nice — the way he’s just there, not asking questions, not judging, just filling the space like he was always meant to.
You watch him move around your space, humming a little tune as he preps the ramen, cuts open the seaweed packets, and finds chopsticks like it’s second nature. He doesn’t hover, but he doesn’t leave either.
He settles beside you once he’s done, a bowl in each hand. He hands you yours with a pair of chopsticks already broken for you. “I even added an egg. Don’t say I never spoil you.”
You blink at him, the steam from the ramen fogging your already bleary vision. “You’re a saint.”
“Nope,” he says, blowing on his noodles. “But I’m flattered you think so.”
For a long time, there’s just quiet. Just the slurp of noodles, the occasional sniffle, the hum of your heater kicking in. Familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.
He finally breaks the silence. “Rough night?”
You nod. Then, a pause. “Remind me to not try to overdrink Sana”
“That bad, huh?”
You look over. He’s not teasing. His gaze is soft. You nod again, slower this time.
You lean your head against the cushion and breathe. “Thanks for coming.”
He shrugs. “It’s me. You don’t even have to ask.”
Your heart folds in on itself a little. You’re too hungover to unpack the meaning. Too grateful to overthink it.
Instead, he steal your half-finished bowl of ramen when you’re not looking.
“Hey!”
“Caretaker tax,” he mumble with a small, wicked smile. And when you just stare at him like he grew two heads, he laughs — really laughs — and you swear, even with your head splitting in two, the world feels a little less cruel.
Jimin gets up with the plates in hand, before narrowing his eyes when you try to get up too. “I’ll fight you if you say you will do the dishes”
Before you could protest, your phone buzzes again, this time not with a call but with a FaceTime ring that practically vibrates through your skull.
You groan softly. The screen lights up in your hand, and before you can even process what you’re doing, you swipe to accept.
Evi’s face fills the screen instantly, framed in chaos — frizzy bun, hoodie half-zipped, a face mask drying in uneven splotches on her cheeks.
“BABE!” she shouts like a war siren, eyes wide. “Oh my GOD, you’re ALIVE!”
You wince, pulling the phone a little farther from your face. “Please,” you rasp. “Volume.”
“No, no. You don’t get to ‘volume’ me. I have been calling you for hours. Hours, Y/N. I was two missed calls away from reporting you to the embassy.”
You snort. Or try to. It comes out like a cough and a whimper.
Evi squints. “You look like a ghost in a hoodie. Did you fall into a bottle of tequila and climb back out covered in shame?”
“Close. It was Soju” you pout. You tilt the camera down just enough to show your position on the couch — hoodie up to your nose, mismatched socks, and the corner of a blanket over your knees.
There’s a dramatic gasp on her end.
“Someone tucked you in?!” she accuses.
You blink. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. That’s a blanket tuck. A cared-for blanket tuck. Who’s there?”
You shift the phone away before your gaze can flick toward the figure moving quietly in your kitchen — someone out of frame, but still there.
“No one.”
“Oh, no one came in and took care of your hungover, tragic self back from the brink of death? Made you look slightly less like a corpse that forgot how to moisturize?”
You stay quiet. Evi leans in dramatically, her voice dropping to a stage whisper.
“You do have mystery caretaker energy right now. That’s post-nurture glow.”
You press your lips together, failing to hide the twitch of a smile.
She doesn’t let up. “I swear, if someone cooked you ramen and handed you a sports drink, I’m demanding a meet-cute debrief. Like, was it a Florence Nightingale situation or a ‘you up?’ text turned heroic rescue?”
You close your eyes and sigh. “You’re exhausting.”
“That’s rich coming from the girl who made me call 14 times like I was auditioning for a role in Taken 4: Seoul Edition.”
From behind the screen, there’s a soft clink of dishes being set aside.
You adjust your grip on the phone. “I’m fine, okay? Just hungover. Really hungover.”
Evi narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Fine, I’ll back off. For now. But the second you’re upright, I want every single detail. Who, what, when, and how attractive.”
You nod. “You’ll be the first to know.”
She smirks. “I better be. If I find out you’re being nursed back to health by a secret boyfriend and you didn’t tell me? Friendship over.”
You laugh — a real one this time. Your headache still pulses behind your eyes, but something about Evi’s chaos, her voice, her concern masked with jokes — it soothes in a different way.
“Okay,” she says, calming down a little, though the glint in her eyes doesn’t fade. “Drink water. Nap. Text me later.”
“Promise.”
“I’m putting you on Do Not Disturb in protest.”
The call ends before you can reply, leaving you blinking at the now-quiet screen.
You lower the phone slowly, only to find a pair of eyes already watching you from the edge of the living room.
Jimin’s still there, leaning against your counter, mug in hand.
He says nothing — just gives you a look that’s half amused, half unreadable.
You blink. “You heard all that?”
He nods, lips quirking at the corners. “Didn’t realize I’m now a ramen saint.”
You groan and bury your face back in the pillow.
He just laughs, soft and low, and goes back to stirring the tea he’d made for you both.
And you don’t even try to stop your heart from aching a little.
The pounding in your head had dulled to a manageable throb — the kind that let you lift it without the room spinning in protest. You were halfway through your second mug of peppermint tea — Jimin’s idea — and nestled into the corner of your couch, legs tucked under the blanket he’d draped earlier.
But now that your head wasn’t splitting open and your stomach had finally decided to stop staging a coup, your brain… had room. And unfortunately, it chose to fill that space with one thing.
That moment in the hallway.
The second his hand had lifted, his breath had slowed, and everything between you had tilted — as if the world had quietly leaned in to watch.
You hadn’t kissed him.
But you hadn’t exactly pulled away, either.
Your phone lay face-down on the coffee table, Jimin’s untouched mug of tea now cooling beside it. He was still there — in the same spot across the couch — casually flipping through something on his phone, one leg tucked up, body half-blanketed from earlier. The gentle hush of the room wrapped around the both of you like cotton.
You picked up your phone again, thumb moving slowly over the screen without really seeing anything. Your thoughts wandered, and before you knew it, your eyes lifted from your screen, drifting over to him instead.
He hadn’t looked up, fingers still scrolling. Then, without breaking his focus, he said, “You’re staring again.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, I’m not.”
“Mmhmm,” he said softly, voice casual but knowing. “That’s definitely staring.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly. You looked back down at your phone, trying to focus on the meaningless scrolling. But your fingers slowed, your breath uneven.
“I must look awful,” you mumbled, voice scratchy and too loud in the stillness.
Jimin finally glanced up — just a quick flick of his eyes — and said, “You don’t.”
You swallowed. “You’re just being nice.”
He gave a lazy, soft smile without putting his phone away. “I’m always nice.”
You let out a quiet breath, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself.
Another silence stretched between you — but this one felt warmer, thicker, like a shared blanket instead of a wall.
“I didn’t mean to… ruin your day,” you said, softer this time. “You didn’t have to stay.”
He tilted his head a little, like that thought genuinely confused him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Because you didn’t have a good answer. Not one that didn’t make you sound pathetic.
But maybe he saw it anyway — that flicker of doubt, the half-formed sentence you didn’t say — because he set his phone down gently, screen dimming to black.
“You don’t have to apologize for needing someone,” he said.
You looked at him, really looked. And it was almost unbearable, the way he said it — not like an offer, not like a favor, but like a truth. Like something already decided.
“I’m not good at that,” you said.
He gave a small nod. “I know.”
And you hated that he did. That he saw through you like that — quiet, without judgment, without pressure. He wasn’t asking for anything. Not an explanation, not a confession. Just... presence. And somehow that was harder.
Your throat tightened. “I think I was going to let you kiss me.”
Jimin blinked — once, slowly — and then his expression softened in a way that nearly undid you.
“I know,” he said, just as quietly.
No teasing. No smug grin. Just that steady, grounding weight of him.
You stared at the threads in the blanket for a moment, fingers brushing over them absently.
“I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
That brought your gaze back to him — not because you didn’t believe him, but because a part of you wanted to. So badly.
“I just…” you hesitated. “Listen, can you imagine the chaos? If anyone knows I’ll be on the first flight out of here, and it will be just a mess. We cannot do anything.”
He nodded again. “That makes sense.”
You blinked. “You’re not going to argue?”
“I’m not here to change your mind,” he said. “I’m here because I want to be. That’s it.”
Simple. Uncomplicated. But somehow, that made it feel even more dangerous.
Because he wasn’t trying to win you over.
He was just being here — and that made your chest ache in a different way.
Jimin shifted slightly, curling deeper into the corner of the couch. “You don’t need to have all the answers.”
You looked down at your hands. They were steady now. Not shaking. Not fumbling. Just warm beneath the weight of the blanket.
“Can you stay?” you asked before you could even process it.
Jimin looked over, his eyes soft. His voice was a breath. “Yeah. As long as you want.”
Authors Note: Hello! The reason I am posting super early this week? I am getting excited to how the story goes hahah I wrote a lot the last couple of days (This time mostly out of order but I put a LOT of stuff down) and maybe this story will be a bit longer? We are almost halfway and I feel like it might take a bit more to have everyone come to their senses, lol
Also im eating this slow burn upppp hahahh
Personal side note, Hobi is going to kill me still before his tour ends. I feel like everyone will become slightly more Hobi biased after this tour. 🥵
Lots of love,
Kiki
--------------✈︎
Tuesday dawned gray and drizzly—the kind of morning that left the city slick with reflections and the air thick with indecision. Seoul’s skyline blurred into a wet watercolor through the taxi window, and by the time you reached HYBE, your coat was damp around the edges and your thoughts were heavier than the clouds.
You stepped into the building, clutching your coffee like a lifeline. The warmth of the paper cup grounded you, a small, tangible comfort against the chaos spiraling in your chest. Every click of your shoes echoed too loud in the corridor, or maybe you were just hyper-aware today.
The headlines hadn't stopped.
They hadn't even slowed. If anything, the story had multiplied like wildfire overnight, igniting fresh takes and wilder speculations every hour. Ji-a’s agency had released a flimsy statement, something about "close friendships in the industry" that only managed to stoke the embers of the rumor mill. You'd read it while brushing your teeth, and the memory still made your jaw clench. Vague PR speak that offered no closure, just more room for chaos to bloom.
Your inbox had been a battlefield this morning. Between forwarding crisis management memos and reading yet another email where someone tried to sound neutral but came off condescending, you’d nearly deleted everything out of spite. One particularly ridiculous line—"Remain discreet but appear calm and approachable"—had you rolling your eyes so hard you were convinced your eyeballs would get stuck.
So, you buried yourself in work. It was the only thing you had control over.
Tasks became your escape. Highlight. Respond. Reformat. Send. Over and over until the rhythm numbed the restlessness clawing at your insides. It worked. For a while.
Until he showed up.
"You look like you need this."
You blinked.
Jimin.
He stood at your desk, an iced coffee in each hand, dressed down in sweats and a cap like he wasn’t part of the madness. You hadn't even heard him approach.
You blinked again, as if his presence alone reset your brain.
"That obvious?" you asked, voice hoarse with fatigue. You reached for the cup he offered, grateful for the cool condensation against your palm.
He grinned, lopsided and charming, like he had a secret you might want in on. "A little. You’ve been typing the same thing for five minutes."
You glanced at your screen.
Sure enough, the same unfinished line blinked back at you accusingly. You sighed.
"I didn’t even notice."
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just pulled the chair closest to your desk and turned it slightly, so that his knees brushed against yours when he sat. It wasn’t much, but it grounded you, like an invisible tether between chaos and calm.
"You okay?"
His voice dropped as he asked it, low enough that it didn’t belong to Jimin-the-idol or Jimin-the-smiling-office-flirt. Just Jimin, the person. The one who’d somehow become your quiet anchor in all this.
You hesitated.
Then nodded. "Just a lot in my head."
"Want to talk about it?"
Another pause.
You shook your head. "Not yet."
And he didn’t push.
Just sat there. Sipped his coffee. Let you breathe without having to explain why it was hard.
"I don’t know how you do it," you murmured after a moment. "You always show up at the right time. Like you have a sixth sense or something."
Jimin smiled again, softer this time. "Or maybe I just pay attention to you."
"I—uh..."
He tilted his head slightly. "You okay?"
You nodded too fast. "Golden."
He didn’t call you out on it. Just bumped your knee with his, a gentle nudge that said he saw right through you but wasn’t going to make you admit it.
And then, that smile.
The one that should be illegal. Sweet and open and devastating in its quiet sincerity.
He stayed by your desk for another 15 minutes, half looking over your shoulder on what you were doing half lounging on the chair looking at his phone. His presence conforting enough to actually start to be productive.
And just like that, he stood and left, as if he hadn’t just upended your entire morning with a single sentence. You stared after him, coffee in hand, pulse skittering like a skipped record.
Lunch came faster than expected. You weren’t even sure how Jimin managed it—one second you were knee-deep in formatting press notes for the comeback that was sprinting your way, the next he was by your desk, sunglasses on and mask tugged down just enough to show a mischievous smile.
“I’ve decided,” he said with mock gravitas. “You’re coming with me. For lunch. No arguments.”
You blinked up at him. “And if I say I’m busy?”
“I’ll sit here and pout until you’re embarrassed into agreeing.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s emotional blackmail.”
He shrugged, shameless. “I’m very good at it.”
Before you could say anything else, he was already tugging gently at your sleeve. “Come on, I know a place.”
Ten minutes later, you were stepping into a tiny traditional Korean eatery tucked between two apartment buildings. It looked barely big enough to seat ten people, but it was warm and filled with the aroma of garlic, simmering broth, and the kind of spices that wrapped around your senses like a hug. Jimin held the door open for you, and the second you stepped inside, you were greeted by two middle-aged women in floral aprons who immediately recognized him.
“Jimin-ah!” one of them gasped, rushing over like he was her long-lost son. “You haven’t come in weeks! Did you forget about us?”
He bowed with a playful grin. “Never, Auntie. I brought a friend today—she works with us.”
You smiled politely, bowing. “It smells amazing in here.”
“You’re even prettier than he said!” the auntie beamed. “Sit, sit! I’ll bring you something special.”
Jimin gave you a triumphant look as you slid into a seat across from him. “Told you. Free side dishes. They love me.”
You laughed. “You weren’t kidding.”
A few minutes later, your table was so full of banchan it looked like a feast. Kimchi, spicy cucumbers, japchae, steamed egg, seaweed salad—more than you could name. The aunties even brought out bubbling hot pots of doenjang jjigae and sizzling bulgogi without waiting for your order.
“I didn’t realize you were royalty,” you said, eyes wide taking all the dishes in.
“I’m just charming,” he said with mock humility. “And sometimes I do the dishes when they yell at their husbands.”
The food was incredible, but you found yourself more focused on the way Jimin looked sitting across from you. His mask was tucked into his jacket pocket, his sleeves rolled up just slightly, collarbones peeking out from the loose collar of his shirt. He was relaxed, leaning back, one hand around his chopsticks and the other resting on the table like he wasn’t a global superstar but just… someone who liked sharing meals with you.
“So,” he said with a teasing grin, “what’s your secret talent? Something I wouldn’t guess.”
You paused, tilting your head thoughtfully. “I can fall asleep absolutely anywhere. Trains, studios, floors, standing up if I have to.”
Jimin blinked. “Wait—like, standing up?”
You nodded, proudly. “I have witnesses.”
He laughed, eyes crinkling. “That’s not a talent, that’s a survival skill.”
“Same thing,” you said, grinning.
“Remind me never to take you anywhere exciting,” he teased. “You’d probably nap through it.”
You shrugged. “Can’t help it if I’m built for comfort.”
He shook his head fondly, then leaned in a bit. “Alright, my turn. My secret talent... I can untangle headphone wires faster than anyone alive.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s your flex?”
“Hey, don’t mock it. Do you know how many lives I’ve saved during rehearsals because someone’s in-ear monitors were a rat’s nest?”
You laughed. “Heroic.”
“I try,” he said with a wink.
You found yourself relaxing more with every passing minute. He was easy to be around, his warmth wrapping around you more effectively than the doenjang jjigae. Still, the voice in your head wouldn’t quiet down—not completely. Is he just like this with everyone? Is he playing? Or… is he playing with you specifically?
“You’re staring,” he said casually, not looking up from his food.
Your hand froze mid-bite. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You were,” he teased. “It’s okay. I heard I’m very good-looking.”
You blinked, then let out a startled laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Only sometimes.” He glanced up then, and his gaze held yours a second too long.
Your heart stuttered. Okay. That wasn’t nothing.
“I think the auntie’s going to bring us more kimchi,” he said, switching topics with a grin. “She always does when I’m with someone cute.”
You nearly dropped your spoon. “You—”
“What? It’s true,” he said innocently. “You’re adorable. She’s going to think we’re close.”
“Let me guess. She does that too?”
“Every time.”
Your cheeks were warm now, and it had nothing to do with the spicy stew.
You tried to focus on your food, but your mind was going haywire. He was flirting. Definitely flirting. Right? You weren’t imagining the way his knee brushed against yours under the table, or the way he looked at you like he saw through the entire storm of your life and still wanted to sit in it. Still wanted you to sit here and laugh.
You swallowed thickly. “You’re kind of hard to read, you know.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “Am I?”
You nodded, poking your rice. “You’re always joking. It’s hard to know when you’re being serious.”
Jimin leaned forward then, elbows on the table, voice softer but still threaded with that teasing warmth. “What if I said I’m always serious about the people I choose to spend time with?”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his. The noise of the restaurant faded.
You were about to say something when his expression shifted—just briefly—and you caught a flash of something quieter beneath his grin.
“It’s kind of nice, you know,” he said, voice thoughtful. “Being with someone who doesn’t look at me like the rest of the world does. Not everyone can do that.”
You blinked, the moment stretching. “I don’t think I can see you the way others do. Once you figure out how annoying you actually are its hard to turn back.” You joke at him trying to lighten his mood.
He smiled, softer this time. “That’s what I mean.”
You rolled your eyes and stabbed another bite. “So. Hidden talent questions aside—how do you stay sane with all the noise?”
Jimin tilted his head, thoughtful but not too serious. “I dance. I talk to people who make me feel real. I get bubble tea and send Jungkook terrible selfies until he tells me to stop.”
You snorted, nearly choking on a piece of rice cake. “You annoy him on purpose?”
“Oh, constantly. He pretends to hate it, but he’d be lost without me.”
You smiled despite yourself, chest warming in a way you didn’t know how to explain. Jimin talks like this is normal, like you’re someone meant to hear this. Someone who might just be real enough for him, too.
Before you could respond, the auntie swooped in with a plate of tteok and a wink. “For the pretty couple,” she said in Korean.
You blinked. Jimin just grinned, accepting the plate like this happened all the time.
You cleared your throat. “She thinks we’re—”
“She always does, doesn’t matter who comes here” Jimin said cheerfully. “We’ll probably get free mochi next time too if we keep smiling like this.”
You almost dropped your chopsticks again. “You’re evil.”
“Still adorable though,” he said, and this time, you didn’t bother to argue.
Even as you laughed and played along, a part of your brain whispered Jungkook’s name like a thread woven through your spine. His face. His voice last night. The way he said your name like it meant something. Just for a second, the memory made your chest ache.
But then Jimin nudged a dish closer to you with the back of his chopsticks, and murmured, “You didn’t eat enough of this one. It’s the best part.”
And you realized: maybe it didn’t have to be so heavy. Maybe not every smile had to be weighted with meaning. Not when someone was right in front of you, offering something warm.
You picked up your spoon and pointed it at Jimin. “You’re buying dessert next time.”
He grinned. “Only if you let me pick the place.”
The energy in the studio buzzed like static — bright lights overhead, stylists buzzing around like bees, camera crew setting up quick takes, music playing faintly through someone’s speaker. The set was minimal, just a wide white backdrop and a few lighting rigs, but the presence of two powerhouse groups in one room made it feel a little like chaos bottled in a jar.
You stood near the back, earpiece still in from the earlier check-ins, tablet in your hand. Your job now was mostly supervisory — making sure everything stayed on track, that no one wandered too far during setups, and that last-minute requests didn’t fall through the cracks.
You were quietly ticking something off the schedule when Yoshi slid up beside you, holding a small pack of banana milk like it was a sacred object.
“Look what I found in the staff fridge,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “You want it? Or do I get to pretend I’m Jungkook for a few minutes and drink it dramatically?”
You raised an eyebrow. “You are never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never,” she said, handing it to you anyway. “Besides, I need to keep you hydrated. You’ve been sprinting between people like you’re in a Mario Kart track.”
You sighed and took the drink gratefully. “They’ve changed the filming order four times. I’m just trying to avoid anyone fainting from hunger before they start dancing.”
Yoshi mock-saluted. “I respect your service.”
Just then, loud laughter erupted near the center of the studio. Jungkook and Taehyung were squabbling over a pair of sunglasses, both already dressed in stylized versions of their comeback outfits—denim jackets, layers of accessories, their hair styled perfectly. The full glam treatment turned their already unfair visuals into something almost cinematic—Jungkook’s skin practically glowing under the lighting, his lips a soft rose, eyes lined just enough to cut through the glare. Taehyung looked like he’d walked out of a fashion editorial, every movement precise and graceful.
You tried not to stare. You really tried. But even across the room, you could feel Jungkook’s presence like a string tied around your ribs.
He hadn’t said anything since last night’s…moment.
And you hadn’t either.
It had been easier to ignore the strange throb in your chest when Jimin had looked at you like you were something warm and sweet just hours ago. But now—with Jungkook only a few feet away, tossing his head back in laughter, that familiar dimple showing as he cracked a joke—you felt it again. That subtle ache. That awareness.
He hadn’t looked at you once.
“Okay, this is actually kind of iconic,” Yoshi said beside you, breaking your thoughts as she waved toward the chaos. “It’s like watching a crossover episode. BTS and SEVENTEEN in the same TikTok? The internet’s going to melt.”
“Only if they can stop play-fighting long enough to film it,” you muttered.
“Hey, you two.”
You turned to find Mingyu strolling over, all six feet of friendly charm. He was dressed in soft layers—charcoal gray pants, a fitted knit, silver jewelry catching the light. The stylists had outdone themselves—his hair was slicked just enough to look effortless, skin flawless under the lights, cheekbones catching the glow. His grin was easy, warm. Classic Mingyu.
“Y/N, right?” he asked.
You nodded, offering a polite smile. “Hi, yes. Good to see you again.”
“We were just wondering if there’s any chance you can turn on the second speakers around? It's nicer with the music a bit louder.”
You blinked. “Uh—yes, one sec.” You turned toward your tablet, already checking inventory.
Mingyu leaned slightly to the side to peek. “You’re always this efficient?”
“She’s the most organized person here,” Yoshi chimed in helpfully. “If you ever want to not get lost when it’s chaos, stick with her.”
You flushed slightly but smiled. “I’ll have someone come turn the extra speaker in a couple of minutes.”
“Thanks,” Mingyu said, then gave you a grin that could probably short-circuit cameras. “You’re doing great, by the way.”
You were about to respond—something diplomatic and not awkward—when your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You hesitated for a second before pulling it out.
[JK]: Hey.
[JK]: Can I ask you something?
[JK]: What did Mingyu want?
Your heart stilled. Then sped up like it was trying to make up for lost time.
You blinked at the screen, the studio fading slightly in the background. The buzz of idols, stylists, camera crew—all of it grew muffled.
He texted.
The first time since he’d said your name like a secret behind a closed office door. The first time since your breath had caught and your voice had barely worked.
“What’s that face?” Yoshi asked beside you, peeking over your shoulder with all the subtlety of a nosy cat.
You angled your phone away. “Nothing. Just work.”
“‘Just work’ doesn’t make people look like they’ve been zapped by lightning.”
You shook your head, trying to refocus. Mingyu was still talking—something about how SEVENTEEN’s choreo was harder than BTS’s, which had Hobi from across the room raising an eyebrow in mock offense.
But your thumb hovered over the screen, your pulse strangely unsteady.
What did he want to ask?
And more importantly—why now?
The timing, the silence, the whole weight of the unspoken things between you—it all suddenly felt like it was gathering again. And here you were, right in the middle of a very crowded room.
Yoshi tugged on your sleeve. “Come on. They’re starting to line up for rehearsal takes. We should move.”
You nodded, sliding your phone back into your pocket, heart still thudding.
The studio lights dimmed momentarily as the first take wrapped, the faint sound of SEVENTEEN’s backing track fading out as a camera assistant called, “Reset!” through the room.
Jungkook was still at the center of it all — dancing, laughing, always moving. His makeup had just a hint of highlight that caught every light in the room, his outfit made to flatter and flex with him, the image of a performer in his element. But even through the layers of energy, people, and performance, you felt it.
Your phone buzzed again in your pocket.
You didn’t check it right away.
Instead, you handed a bottle of water to a stylist who looked overwhelmed, then helped reposition a soft reflector screen that had drooped mid-shot. You answered Yoshi’s whispered question about who was scheduled for the behind-the-scenes clips, checked your tablet, and moved around the set like a shadow.
But your heart wasn’t calm. Not really.
When you finally had a second to breathe, you pulled your phone out and peeked.
[JK ]: Are you ignoring me?
[JK ]: Or are you just busy…?
You inhaled slowly through your nose. The messages were simple. Almost casual. But you could feel it again — that underlying current in his words. The way he was reaching out, unsure, but still trying.
You locked the screen again.
It wasn’t about playing games.
You were working.
But you also didn’t know what to say yet. Not when just seeing his name lit something complicated in your chest. Not when you didn’t know what his messages meant.
“Y/N,” Yoshi whispered, nudging you from where she sat beside the lighting rig. “He keeps looking over here.”
You didn’t ask who. You knew.
“I think you’re driving Jungkook crazy,” she added, sipping her iced coffee like this was a drama unfolding just for her amusement. “This is kind of entertaining.”
“He’s probably just trying to figure out what time they’re filming next,” you muttered, flipping through your notes again.
“Mmhm. With that face?” she teased.
You didn’t look.
Not yet.
It was almost an hour later when the final round of takes finished — the studio dimming slightly as the lighting techs powered down the overhead rigs and started packing up.
The members were tired, buzzing with post-filming energy but ready to wind down. Most were peeling off toward the dressing rooms or grabbing snacks. You started reorganizing the paperwork for the next call sheet, fully absorbed — until someone stopped in front of you.
You didn’t need to look up.
You knew his shoes. His height. The way he stood like he was both confident and slightly restless.
“Y/N.”
You lifted your head slowly.
Jungkook stood in front of you, hair slightly damp from sweat, cheeks flushed from the dancing. His jacket was off, revealing the simple black tank top underneath, and the chain around his neck caught the low light.
But his eyes — they were focused. On you.
You blinked. “Hi.”
His tone was casual, but the line between his brows betrayed him. “Why didn’t you reply?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then said simply, “I was working.”
Jungkook stared at you for a second. Like he was waiting for more.
You tilted your head. “Is that not a good enough reason?”
He shifted slightly. “No, it is. It’s just…” He exhaled through his nose, barely a laugh. “You usually reply.”
You shrugged, trying to keep your voice even. “You don’t usually text.”
He flinched — barely — but enough.
There it was again. That moment where the air between you felt sharp and soft at the same time. Like something real was just out of reach, and neither of you knew if it was okay to touch it yet.
“You looked busy,” he said finally, like he was conceding.
“I was busy,” you replied with a small smile. “See? No mystery.”
He watched you for a second longer, then nodded once. His tongue playing with the piercings in his lip like he had more to say, but he didn’t.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
You offered a nod, pretending the tightness in your chest wasn’t growing again.
But just as he turned to go, he paused, looked back over his shoulder.
“Let me know when you’re not busy.”
Then he walked away.
You didn’t move for a while. Not even when Yoshi sidled up next to you again and whispered, “Okay. That was hot.”
You just stood there.
Phone still in your hand. His name still on your screen. And that feeling — the one you kept trying to ignore — sitting quietly between your ribs.
You weren’t exactly hiding.
But the hallway was dim and quiet, tucked between the makeup station and the back entrance, away from the noise of idol chatter and crew members wrapping cables. You’d told yourself you needed to breathe, to check the updated notes on the shoot, maybe text Yoshi and see if she wanted to grab something quick before they were called back. But the truth was—
You were stressed out. And rightfully so.
The filming had gone well, technically. TikToks were shot, the members were smiling, the Seventeen boys had joined in for the for some extra takes which made everything extra chaotic — in the way everyone loved. Yoshi was still laughing when she left to chase down a script change someone forgot to print.
But you couldn’t focus. Not really.
Maybe it was the heat from the studio lights still clinging to your skin… or the way Jungkook’s unread texts sat in your phone like stones.
You heard the footsteps before you saw him, hard-soled moving without urgency, without noise. The hairs on your arms stood up before he even came into view.
“I figured I’d find you out here,” Jimin’s voice was soft, like velvet after dusk.
You turned toward him, breath catching.
He looked… unreal.
Still dressed from the shoot, his stage shirt hugged his frame a little too well, the kind of cut that made your eyes trace down before you could stop yourself. Hair styled just messy enough to look like perfection by accident. His eyes lined and shadowed just subtly enough to sharpen the soft angles of his face, the kind of face that was already too pretty for its own good.
He looked like a painting—made for lights and cameras and the hush of people watching.
And he was looking right at you.
“Taking a break,” you offered, voice careful.
“Same.” He leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, head tilted in that slow, effortless way he had. “You disappeared after the last shoot.”
“I didn’t mean to.” You lifted one shoulder. “I figured everyone needed time to chill. I didn’t want to hover.”
“But you always hover,” he said, teasing just a little. His smile was playful, but his eyes stayed on you, sharp and knowing.
You tried to look away, but he stepped closer and the hallway suddenly felt smaller.
Your gaze flicked back to him — and he was already there, in front of you. Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that your breath hitched. Close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne, this time warm and sweet and a little spicy, like cinnamon and late nights. There was the faintest sheen of sweat at his temple, making his skin glow under the dim lighting.
God, he was pretty. You always tried to play it cool around him, but seeing him now—fully in idol mode, all eyes and intensity on you—it was almost unfair how much it got to you.
And it wasn’t just the glam. It wasn’t just the liner or the shimmer on his cheekbones or the way his lips looked too soft to be real. It was how he held himself — like he knew how dangerous he looked and was waiting to see what you’d do about it.
“I keep trying to figure you out,” he said finally, his eyes locked on yours.
You swallowed. “Why?”
He tilted his head slightly, voice softer now. “Because you don’t make it easy.”
“I’m not that complicated,” you said — but even you didn’t sound convinced.
His smile was faint, almost knowing. “You are. Sometimes, you let me in. You laugh, you text back, you look at me like I’m the only one in the room. And then the next … you disappear.”
Your throat tightened.
You weren’t sure if he was talking about today. Or yesterday. Or every day since you’d started caring too much to admit to yourself.
“I’m just trying to do a good job,” you said quietly. “That’s all.”
Jimin didn’t speak. Just looked at you — long and quiet — until you could feel the tension pulling tight again.
Then he stepped in.
The last inch between you disappeared, and your back met the cool wall behind you as his body angled toward yours. Still not touching. But the air between you was practically electric now.
“I think you’re doing a great job,” he said, voice lower. “But I also think you’re scared.”
Your breath caught.
“Scared of what?” you asked, too quiet.
His eyes flickered from your mouth to your eyes and back. “You tell me.”
You didn’t move. You couldn’t.
His presence filled every space around you. There was nowhere to go — and you weren’t sure you wanted to anyway.
You felt every single inch of the moment stretch between you.
The lights down the hall flickered faintly.
The buzz of a vending machine filled the silence.
And then — his hand lifted, like he was about to reach for your cheek, your hair, anything—
Your lips parted.
You didn’t know if you were going to stop him… or kiss him first.
But just then—
A voice from down the hall.
Laughter. Seventeen’s manager shouting something light-hearted about snacks.
Jimin didn’t move for a heartbeat.
His eyes stayed on yours like he was memorizing you. Like he wanted to burn this moment into the back of his mind.
Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Not all the way. Just enough.
Just enough to let you breathe again.
You stared at him, chest rising too fast.
He smiled — not teasing this time. Not smug. Just soft.
“I should go help wrap things up,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. But he didn’t move.
You turned first. Started walking. You felt his gaze trail after you the whole way.
But before you reached the corner, he spoke again.
“Y/N,” he called, and you stopped.
Turned.
He looked at you, illuminated only by the dim light and the way he made everything feel more alive.
“I’m not giving up,” he said.
The words hit you square in the chest.
And then he smiled — that slow, crooked one that had no business being so pretty.
Then he turned the opposite direction, heading back into the studio.
You stood frozen for a long time.
You didn’t know what hurt more — how close he’d been… or the fact that you might want him to try again.
It was way too late for you to be awake. Even if you had the next couple of days off. You hadn’t answered Jungkook’s messages at all. In fact you decided to not reply to anyone right now. Your phone lay facedown beside your pillow, screen dark, vibrations muted — like if you ignored it long enough, the ache in your chest would go away too.
But it didn’t.
Instead, the quiet pressed in harder than ever.
Your room was still and dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the lamp on your nightstand. The kind of lighting that made everything feel more fragile. You were curled on your side, knees tucked in, eyes open.
And all you could think about was him.
Or them.
You hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Not the plane. Not the coffee. Not the slow, awful, wonderful way your heart reacted to them like it belonged to someone else entirely.
But today?
Today did something to you.
Jungkook had texted.
The first message was polite, harmless. The second, between takes, felt more like him. A little teasing. A little curious. The kind of message that pulled at something warm and stupid inside your chest.
And yet… you didn’t answer.
Not when he was in the middle of a PR nightmare. Not after he called you and layed it out for you that he cared for you—maybe more than he should. Not after all the things he made you feel without you ever really acknowledging them.
And not after Jimin.
God. Jimin.
Your hand curled under the blanket at the memory.
The way he had looked at you. Spoken to you. Gotten so close.
You weren’t prepared for it — the way your pulse reacted. The way your entire body had gone still and tense, like a wire pulled too tight. If that hallway had been one second quieter, one shadow deeper, one person slower to interrupt...
You might’ve kissed him.
You think you would’ve.
And maybe the scariest part is — you wouldn’t have regretted it.
You’d wanted it.
Even now, you could still see him when you closed your eyes. The shimmer on his cheekbones. The curve of his plump mouth when he said he wasn’t giving up. The heat in his eyes when he was close enough for you to taste the air between you.
He was so pretty it was almost unreal.
Too pretty.
Like something out of a dream — or a warning.
You sighed, rolling onto your back, eyes fixed on the ceiling now. Your heart felt split down the middle.
Because you were starting to realize it wasn’t just Jimin.
And it wasn’t just Jungkook.
It was both of them.
Different energies. Different intensities. Different types of gravity pulling you in.
Jimin saw you. Stepped toward you. Flirted like it was a language only the two of you spoke — but with eyes that said he was serious underneath it all.
And Jungkook? He made you ache. In silence. With nothing but a look. With the tension that lived under everything he didn’t say.
And neither of them made it easy.
You reached for your phone, staring at the dark screen for a moment before flipping it over again.
Your thumb hovered.
Then pulled away.
You couldn’t do this tonight.
Not with your chest already full of too much.
Not when Jimin’s voice still echoed in your ears.
Not when Jungkook’s silence said more than his texts ever could.
You turned your face into the pillow, eyes burning, heart heavy.
Because the truth was settling in now, and it was unbearable in its clarity.
It was never going to be just one of them.
And you didn’t know if you could survive both.
authors notes2: Sooo that was that... I wonder what got Jimin so riled up now when he was just a steady stream next to her 🤔 Share your thoughts on this chapter! I'm excited to read them heheh
Anyway, hope you guys have a great rest of the week, and who knows if ill post again before it ends 👀
Kiki
Authors note: Hey guys! Another week, another chapter!! I was feeling a bit blocked writing this one, but decided to post it as is. Hope you guys enjoy it!!
Also, less than a month to have ot7 back and I honestly I simply cannot freaking wait!!!!! Hope they all finish it safely and get out as soon as possible. Word on the street that Joon is sleeping next to his 'leaving clothes' since D-30 lol
Also, if you would like to have notifications as soon as im done with the chapters, I post first on AO3, so I suggest you follow it there if you want the new chapters ASAP haha
Lots of love,
kiki
--------------✈︎
The news broke like thunder.
Not the cinematic kind that rolls through the sky in warning—but the kind that crashes down without mercy, right on top of you. Violent. Sudden. The one that leaves your bones rattling.
Your phone vibrates so violently on the nightstand that it skitters off the edge, landing on the floor with a sharp, accusing thud. It doesn't stop. Just keeps buzzing like it’s trying to wake the dead—or destroy the living. Your groggy limbs don’t want to move, but something in your chest starts to twist, coil, squeeze. You force your eyes open.
5:47 AM.
You blink. Once. Twice. The numbers don’t change.
Who the hell is texting you before sunrise?
For a split second, you almost reach for Evi’s contact out of reflex—ready to half-joke, half-scold her for pulling you into some chaotic rabbit hole this early. But your hand stills before it touches the screen. Evi wouldn’t. Not unless it mattered.
Your fingers fumble over the edge of the bed, blindly searching until your palm grazes the phone’s edge. You squint at the screen.
Twenty-three notifications.
The cold dread begins to bloom before you even unlock it.
The first one, timestamped 4:13 AM, stares at you like a siren in the dark:
[Yoshi 💚]: Are you awake? Check Twitter. NOW.
You swipe down. Another from Evi, minutes later:
[my one and only true love]: girl its blowing out of proportions. I know you’re not PR but I’m sure the bomb is gonna drop in your lap at some point.
Your heart stutters, picking up a strange, off-beat rhythm as you scroll further.
Texts from the girls. Three missed calls from Seo-Jun—which throws you, given how distant he’s been lately. One from your supervisor.
And then Sana, which leaves your fingers frozen on the screen for longer then it should.
[San ✨]: Guess golden boy isn't so golden after all… Dating scandal with Ji-a just dropped. Everyone’s freaking out. Manager wants all hands on deck.
Your blood runs cold.
And then you're moving—sitting up too fast, legs tangling in the sheets, lungs tight as if the air has turned into smoke. Your fingers fly across the screen, launching your browser with practiced speed.
There it is. Headline after headline. Like digital shrapnel.
“Alleged Date: BTS’ Jungkook Spotted on Intimate Night Out with Actress Ji-a”
“Golden Maknae’s Secret Romance? Late Night Rendezvous Caught on Camera”
“HYBE Stocks Dip Following Dating Rumors of BTS Member”
The breath you suck in trembles through your chest.
The photos aren't explicit. No grand confessions. No stolen kisses in alleyways.
But you know that build. That silhouette. That casual oversized hoodie he wore just last week to the office, sleeves pushed up to his forearms like he always does.
And Ji-a’s smile—it’s the kind that reaches her eyes. Her hand is tucked into the crook of his arm like she belongs there. In another frame, she leans up—her lips brushing what looks like his cheek, but the angle swallows his expression whole.
It could be anyone.
But it’s not.
You know it’s him.
A sharp ache carves itself into your chest.
You swallow hard, but the knot in your throat refuses to budge. You blink, then blink again, as if that might make the headlines disappear. As if denial could overwrite truth.
He’s not yours.
He never was.
Still—your hands are trembling.
The screen buzzes again. Taking away the haze that had been taking control.
[Manager Kim]: Emergency meeting at 7 AM. All staff required. Media response team assembling now.
You inhale, long and slow. A futile attempt to calm the chaos clawing through your ribcage.
This isn’t personal.
This is your job.
Your job.
You’re just staff. Intern staff, at that.
You tell yourself this again and again as you set the phone down. As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. As your bare feet press to the floor.
But the words don’t land. They bounce right off the jagged glass now wedged in your chest.
You get dressed in silence.
Black slacks. Crisp white blouse. You tug your hair back into a low, tight bun. Not a strand out of place.
If you look like you have it together, maybe no one will see the cracks.
The mirror doesn’t lie, though.
Your eyes are red. Swollen in the corners. You look exactly like someone who barely slept, who was sucker-punched by a truth she never wanted to admit.
You stare yourself down for five long seconds.
Then you turn away.
The city blurs past the car window, a gray smear of buildings and movement. Your Uber driver hums along to a soft pop ballad, and your brain doesn't even register the lyrics until the segment changes.
A newscaster’s chipper voice cuts through the radio:
“...breaking news in the world of K-pop today. BTS’s Jungkook was spotted late last night with actress Ji-a in what fans are calling a romantic date…”
You almost ask the driver to change the station. The words feel like needles under your skin, but you can’t summon the energy to speak.
You just press your forehead to the window, letting the cold glass anchor you. Ground you. Keep you from floating into the spiral that threatens to pull you under.
You don’t open your phone again.
You don’t want to see the trending hashtags.
Or the edits.
Or the commentary dissecting every inch of his posture, every pixel of her expression.
You already saw everything you needed to.
You felt it.
That silent confirmation that whatever sliver of hope you’d let flicker in your chest—whatever spark there was between you and him that night on the plane, or in the quiet glances at the studio—was nothing more than smoke.
Maybe it had been real for a second. Maybe not.
But it didn’t matter anymore.
Now the world had a new power couple to obsess over. And you?
You were supposed to be the ghost behind the curtain.
Not even a footnote.
You arrive at HYBE twelve minutes early and walk into a war room.
The energy is electric—tight with tension, exhaustion, and that specific brand of focused chaos that only comes with a PR crisis. Laptops are open. Papers clutter the table. Coffee cups, some half-empty, litter the surface like fallen soldiers. On the main screen, the photos—the ones causing all of this—are blown up in high resolution, each pixel scrutinized to death.
Your eyes lock onto them. Not like you haven’t stared at them for way too long at this point.
“—we need to control the narrative immediately. We have a statement drafted, but timing is everything. The longer we wait, the worse the speculation gets.”
A woman from legal adjusts her glasses. “We also have to consider contract implications. If we confirm a relationship—”
Manager Kim cuts in sharply. “Let’s not jump ahead.” He runs a hand through his short black hair, eyes scanning the table, reading the tension in everyone’s posture. “Thoughts? Anyone?”
There’s a beat of silence. You’re not even sure why you open your mouth. Maybe it’s because you’ve been staring at the same three photos for an hour and something about them keeps nagging at you.
You lean forward slightly, keeping your voice light. “It’s just… interesting how conveniently unprovable these are. No face. No tattoos. Even the outfit—yeah, it looks like something he’d wear, but it’s not exclusive. The angles, the hair, the framing—it almost feels intentional. Like someone wanted it to look like him, without ever proving it.”
A few heads turn. You pretend not to notice, keeping your eyes on the screen.
Manager Kim taps his pen against the table once, then looks directly at you. “You’re saying we don’t even need to deny it—because technically, it can’t be confirmed.”
You shrug, casual. “If someone wants to believe it’s not him, there’s just enough doubt to let them. We don’t have to say anything. The public will do it for us.”
There’s a pause.
Then, Manager Kim nods. “We hold the statement. No confirmation, no denial. We circulate this internally—to senior staff, the social teams. Get a few trusted fan accounts to point out the lack of facial ID. Let the doubt spread organically. Let the public talk itself out of it.”
“But sir,” someone from PR chimes in carefully, “the fans are already—”
“They’ll speculate no matter what,” he says firmly. “Silence is not admission. It’s refusal. And we’re not playing a game we can't win.”
Murmurs of agreement ripple around the table. The head of PR is already scribbling notes.
You sit back in your chair, trying not to overthink it. You hadn’t expected anyone to actually listen to what you said, let alone use it. But Manager Kim throws you the smallest glance—barely there, but unmistakably approving.
And suddenly, you feel the weight of it settle in your chest.
He turns to security. “Increase protection for all members. Especially Jungkook. No press contact, no comments. Adjust schedules only if absolutely necessary. We need to show this doesn’t touch us.”
The meeting moves on—action items, timelines, roles. You take notes automatically, keeping your focus on logistics: extra guards, backdoor exits, minimizing visibility. You bury yourself in the tasks. It’s easier than thinking about everything else.
An hour later, the meeting begins to thin out. Someone from the team walks over, clutching a folder.
“Y/N,” she says, “can you take these revised security protocols to the members? They’re in the practice room.”
You stay long enough to answer a few questions about exits and the new silent protocol for building arrivals. Jin nods seriously. Yoongi doesn't look up. No one asks about Jungkook.
You don’t either.
Your voice is even, measured, as if your pulse isn’t climbing with every second you stay in the room. As if your bones aren’t buzzing like live wires beneath your skin. You can still feel the aftershock of the meeting upstairs—the sharp, clipped tone of voices deciding how to erase the truth without technically lying. Your own voice, echoing in the room when you hadn't meant to say anything at all.
And then Manager Kim's approval, the way it had cut through the static.
Now here you are. Delivering orders about protection and secrecy to the very people who need shielding from the world—and maybe, in some way, from each other.
As you excuse yourself and are halfway down the hallway, you hear Jimin’s voice call after you.
“Y/N.”
You stop mid-turn. “Yeah?”
He jogs lightly to reach you, slowing as he gets close. His face is unreadable—his usual brightness dimmed, replaced by something quieter, more careful.
“Did you see him?”
You don’t ask who. The question thuds in your chest like a dropped weight.
“No,” you answer. “Not really.”
Jimin nods like he expected that. “He’s in the small studio. Said he needed air but didn’t want to leave the building.”
There’s a pause. The kind that stretches too long, not awkward, but full of things neither of you says.
You don’t move. Neither does he.
His gaze lingers on you—not sharp, not suspicious. Just… searching. Watching you like he’s weighing whether to ask more or let you go.
Then, softer, “You should… uh, go talk to him.”
You nod. Not because you understand, but because you don’t know what else to do.
“I’ll… bring him a copy of the protocols,” you manage, lifting a few spare sheets from the folder. It gives you something to carry. A reason. A script.
Jimin doesn’t smile. He just hums. “You don’t have to talk to him, you know. If it’s easier.”
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Nothing about Jungkook is ever easy.
With Jimin, things slip into place. His warmth is effortless. The way he notices without asking, how he makes you feel seen without the pressure of being understood.
Jungkook is different.
You can never tell if he’s trying not to feel or feeling too much. He’s quiet in ways that leave room for your own noise, but when he does speak—it sticks. Like he doesn’t talk unless he means it. Like everything matters.
He never pushes. He doesn’t chase.
But he makes you want to walk toward him anyway.
And that’s what makes it hard.
You nod again and turn, the walls of the hallway closing in around you. Each step toward the small studio feels like a dare. Like walking toward a cliff's edge in the dark—knowing something waits on the other side, but unsure whether it will catch you or let you fall.
When you reach the door, your hand hesitates on the handle.
There’s no sound inside. Not even music.
You knock.
No answer.
Another beat. Then, softly, you push the door open.
He's there, in the sofa, laying face down and one arm hanging off, hoodie pulled low. A water bottle sits untouched beside him. His phone is face-down. His body language is closed off, locked down like he’s trying to disappear into the cushions.
Your breath catches.
You should say something. Announce yourself. But you don’t.
Because for a moment—for a single, gut-wrenching moment—you just look at him. You let yourself see him. Not the idol. Not the subject of a PR meeting. Just the boy who sat beside you on a plane, who laughed at your jokes before either of you realized where this would all lead.
Your bones shake—not from fear this time, but from restraint.
He shifts then, sensing you. His head turns slightly. Just enough to glance over his shoulder, but not enough to face you fully.
You hold up the pages. “Security protocols,” you say, your voice softer than it should be. “They need you to review them.”
His eyes flick down to the paper, then back to you. He doesn’t reach for them.
He doesn’t speak.
The silence between you stretches, drawn tight like a thread caught between two pins. His face is pale. Tired. He looks like someone who hasn’t slept. Someone who’s been watched too closely for too long.
You swallow hard. “They’re not asking you to say anything,” you offer. “No comment. No confirmation. Just… let the noise pass.”
Finally, he speaks.
“I didn’t think it would matter.”
His voice is low. Rough.
You blink. “What?”
He turns his face a little more. You can see his profile now—the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the hollow beneath his eyes.
“I didn’t think… going out for dinner with someone would matter this much.”
The ache in your chest sharpens. “It’s not your fault.”
He huffs, almost a laugh. “That’s what they all say, right? When it becomes your fault anyway.”
You want to step closer. You don’t.
He finally looks at you fully sitting up, and it’s worse than you expect. Because he doesn’t look angry. Or defensive. Or even embarrassed.
He just looks disappointed.
So you place the papers on the nearest table and nod. “I’ll let them know I gave these to you.”
You turn to go.
“Y/N.”
You took a tentative step forward back at him. "Are you... I mean... do you need anything?”
A hollow laugh escaped him. "Need anything? No. I think I've got everything covered.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between you. There were a thousand things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask. But none of them were your right.
"I should go," you finally murmured, moving for the door.
His hand shot out, catching your wrist. The contact sent electricity up your arm, and you froze, eyes wide as you looked up at him.
"Do you believe it?" he asked, voice low and intense. "What they're saying?"
Your pulse hammered against his fingers. "It's not my place to—"
"I'm asking what you think," he interrupted, eyes searching yours with an urgency that made your breath catch. "Not what your job says you should think."
You hesitated, acutely aware of his grip on your wrist, the warmth of his skin against yours. "I think... I think it doesn't matter what I believe."
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment? Frustration? You couldn't tell.
"It matters to me," he said quietly.
Your heart stuttered. "Why?"
He didn't answer immediately, his gaze dropping to where his fingers still circled your wrist. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he released you.
"Forget it," he muttered, stepping back. "You're right. It doesn't matter."
The sudden distance between you felt like a physical ache. You wanted to reach for him, to pull him back.
Instead, you said, "I should get back to work."
He nodded, already turning away. "Yeah. Me too."
You watched him walk past you toward the practice room, shoulders squared as if preparing for battle. Just before he disappeared around the corner, he paused, glancing back at you.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—his expression softened into something so vulnerable it made your chest hurt.
Then he was gone.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of activity. As Manager Kim had directed, no official statement was released. Social media exploded with speculation, as expected. Fans trended supportive hashtags. Reporters camped outside the building. Security was doubled.
Through it all, you moved on autopilot, completing tasks with mechanical efficiency while keeping your emotions carefully locked away. You didn't see Jungkook again. Didn't seek him out. Didn't allow yourself to wonder where he was or what he was thinking.
It wasn't until evening, when the office had finally emptied and the crisis management had shifted to overnight monitoring teams, that you allowed yourself to breathe.
Your apartment felt emptier than usual when you finally returned home, the silence pressing in from all sides. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and moved through the darkened rooms without bothering to turn on the lights.
In the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring at nothing.
You set the glass down harder than intended, water sloshing over the rim. This was ridiculous. You were acting like a lovesick teenager, not a professional adult with responsibilities and boundaries.
Whatever Jungkook felt—whatever that is—it couldn't matter. Not in the real world where he was a global superstar and you were a temporary intern who would be gone in seconds if compared to the timing of their life.
Your phone buzzed on the counter, pulling you from your thoughts. Probably Yoshi or Mitsuki checking in. They'd been texting all day, offering support and distraction in equal measure, even though you don’t want to admit why they would do so. This doesn’t impact you at all.
You picked it up, glancing at the screen.
Your heart stopped.
[Jungkook]: Are you awake?
You stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Three simple words that somehow felt monumental.
The response was immediate.
[Jungkook]: Can I call you?
Your pulse raced. This was crossing a line—a line you'd been carefully maintaining for weeks. A line that protected you both from complications neither of you needed.
The phone rang seconds later. You answered on the second ring, breath caught in your throat.
"Hey." His voice was rough, lower than usual.
"Hey," you echoed softly.
Silence stretched between you, heavy with all the things neither of you knew how to say. You could hear his breathing, slightly uneven, as if he'd been running.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For texting so late."
"It's fine." You moved to the living room, sinking onto the couch. "I wasn't sleeping."
Another pause.
"I wanted to explain," he began, then stopped. "No, that's not right. I need to explain. About the photos. About Ji-a."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "You don't owe me an explanation."
"I know." His voice softened. "But I want to give you one anyway."
You closed your eyes, clutching the phone tighter. "Why?"
The question hung between you, simple but loaded with meaning.
"Because," he said slowly, as if choosing each word with care, "I can't stand the thought of you believing something that isn't true."
Your throat tightened. "Jungkook..."
"It's not what it looked like," he continued, a note of urgency entering his voice. "Ji-a and I... we have history. We used to... see each other. But it wasn't serious. It was never serious."
You swallowed hard, unsure what to say. The confirmation of their past relationship wasn't surprising, but it still stung in ways you hadn't expected.
"She called Sunday night," he went on when you didn't respond. "Wanted to meet. I thought... I don't know what I thought. That maybe if I saw her, I could stop thinking about—" He broke off abruptly.
"About what?" you asked, barely above a whisper.
There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of his breathing.
"About you," he finally said, so quietly you almost missed it. "I can't stop thinking about you."
The world seemed to still around you, everything narrowing to the sound of his voice in your ear and the thundering of your heart.
"Jungkook..." Your voice faltered. You didn't know what to say—what you could say. This was too much, too fast, too complicated.
"I know," he said quickly, as if sensing your panic. "I know this is crazy. I know I shouldn't be saying any of this. But after today—after everything—I just... I can’t keep pretending."
You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. "I don't understand. Why would you go see Ji-a if...?" You couldn't finish the question.
He exhaled slowly. "Because I thought it would help. I thought if I was with someone else, maybe I could forget how I felt about you. But it didn't work. It just made everything worse."
"That's..." You struggled to find words, emotion clogging your throat. "That's a lot to process."
"I know." His voice softened with regret. "And I'm dumping it all on you at once. I'm sorry."
You both fell silent. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of everything he was saying. Jungkook—Jeon Jungkook—couldn't stop thinking about you? It seemed impossible, like something from a dream you'd wake up from any moment.
You took a deep breath. "I don't know what to say. This is... complicated."
"I know."
"You're you, and I'm me, and there are a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea."
"I know that too."
You closed your eyes, gathering courage. "And I'm only here temporarily. I go back in a few months."
"I know," he repeated, quieter now. "But none of that changes how I feel."
Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. Part of you wanted to tell him that you felt it too—that impossible pull, that connection that had been there since the plane. That you thought about him constantly, that seeing those photos had hurt more than you could admit.
But the rational part of you knew better. Knew that opening that door would only lead to pain for both of you.
"I don't know what you want from me," you said finally, your voice small.
"Nothing," he answered immediately. "I don't expect anything. I just... I needed you to know the truth. About Ji-a. About me. About how I feel. I hate waiting to see how things turn out and I’ve been doing it for too long with you. Its been driving me crazy not talking things out."
You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "Thank you for telling me."
Another silence fell, this one heavier than before. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. Frozen into whatever it is that is stirring inside of you.
"It's late," he said softly. "We should both get some sleep."
You heard his quiet exhale—disappointment, maybe, or just resignation. "Yeah. You're right." After a beat you added "Jungkook?"
"Hmm?"
You hesitated, then said, "I'm glad you called."
It wasn't much—nowhere near the confession he'd given you—but it was all you could offer right now. A small acknowledgment that his words meant something to you, even if you couldn't return them in kind.
"Me too," he murmured. Then, after a pause: "Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, JK."
The call ended, but you sat there for a long time afterward, phone clutched to your chest, his words echoing in your mind.
"I can't stop thinking about you."
You wanted to believe him. Wanted to let yourself feel everything you'd been suppressing for weeks. But the reality of your situation loomed large—he was Jeon Jungkook, and you were just... you. Temporary. Transient. Already counting down the days until you'd leave.
Getting involved would only end in heartbreak. For both of you.
So why couldn't you stop smiling at the memory of his voice, soft and vulnerable, admitting he couldn't get you out of his head?
You fell asleep on the couch, still fully dressed, torn between hope and fear, joy and dread—and the growing certainty that whatever line you'd been trying to maintain had already been crossed, whether you were ready to admit it or not.
Chapter 7 - Chapter 9
Authors note: Heya people! Im back on Friday as promised! This chapter follows JK over the weekend and I just felt it could be fun to know a little more about how he feels about things and maybe his reasoning about all the stupid shit he does.
anyway, hope you enjoy it!
Lots of love,
Kiki
Saturday afternoon
12PM
He hadn’t meant to scroll.
Really.
He was just waiting for the water to boil, standing in the kitchen with his hood up, tapping his phone like it was a nervous habit. It wasn’t even late afternoon—barely 12—but his house was quiet, and he was alone.
Taehyung had gone out. Jin spent the morning texting someone with a dumb smile on his face. The rest were scattered.
And Jungkook…
Well. He was just bored.
That’s what he tells himself when he opens Instagram.
And what he keeps telling himself when he accidentally sees your story.
It’s nothing dramatic. He tells himself. Just a blurry shot of a café table. A coffee mug, a paper napkin doodled on, and a hand—yours, probably—holding a spoon. The corner of someone else’s hoodie sleeve is in frame.
It’s light. Normal. Probably meaningless.
But his brain catches on that small square of fabric.
He knows that hoodie.
He knows it because Jimin wore it the day before.
Jungkook’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
He locks his phone and sets it facedown, turning back toward the boiling water like it matters more than the pulse behind his ears.
Why does that bother him?
Why should it?
He has spent his time close enough to you. Smiled, made jokes. Even though sometimes all he wanted was to go back and kick the shit out of the guy who had touched you in the club. And — more often then not— wipe that smile of Seo-Jun’s face.
He also knows you and Jimin are close. Everyone’s seen it. The playful way you guys act around eachother. The way Jimin always seems to make you laugh—And the way he wished he could too.
It’s not like he has a claim on you.
It’s not like he wants one.
Jungkook swipes a hand through his hair and grabs the ramen from the cupboard, annoyed at himself for even thinking about it this much.
But then, it gets worse. He thinks back to when you show up at the studio with that same soft smile Jimin always manages to put on your face. You're holding an iced americano in one hand and a folder in the other, and when Jimin sees you, his eyes light up like he’s been waiting all morning just for that.
And you—
You bump his shoulder with yours, say something under your breath, and laugh when he tugs your hood up over your head like you’re a little kid he needs to protect from the cold.
You don’t even notice Jungkook watching.
He’s across the room, fiddling with the straps of his bag, pretending to check his something in inside. But he’s watching.
It’s subtle, the way your body leans just a little toward Jimin. Like you're used to being near him. Like you want to be near him.
And Jungkook hates it.
Not because it’s wrong.
Not because you’re doing anything bad.
But it makes him feel like he missed a moment he desperately wanted—like he blinked, and you drifted into someone else’s orbit, while he was still circling you like the moon to your planet.
He wants to tell himself it’s just protectiveness. That he’s just worried for you. That he knows how this world works, and it’s harsh, and it can break girls like you if you're not careful.
But the truth?
He just doesn’t like seeing you that way—with someone else.
Even if that someone is Jimin.
Especially because it’s Jimin.
Saturday Evening
6PM
“So are you still seeing that Ji-a girl?”
Mingyu’s question lands casually. No agenda. No edge. And snaps him right back to reality.
But it still knocks the air out of Jungkook’s lungs like he wasn’t expecting it—even though he should’ve been.
Taehyung shifts in front of him, picking up his chopsticks again without looking up.
Jungkook leans back in his seat, nursing his glass, jaw tight.
“We weren’t really seeing each other,” he mutters.
Mingyu blinks. “But you were together the other night, no?”
“Not like that.” He exhales slowly. “She just... came by. It wasn’t planned.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “She found you outside the company at night with a perfect blowout?”
Jungkook glares at him. “I said it wasn’t planned.”
Taehyung doesn’t argue. He just flips the meat calmly and waits.
Jungkook downs the last of his drink and finally says, “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“What is?” Mingyu asks, completely missing the tension. “She’s hot. She’s obviously into you. You didn’t like her?”
Jungkook hesitates.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“She’s fine.” Shrugging.
Taehyung snorts. “You say that like you’re talking about lukewarm ramen.”
“I don’t know” Jungkook says quietly. “It just felt... off.”
He taps his fingers restlessly against the table.
“I thought maybe it would help,” he adds. “To get my mind off—”
He stops.
Off what, exactly?
Taehyung looks up, his voice calmer now. “Off of her?”
Jungkook doesn’t answer. Instead he flips the meat that was sizzling on the grill.
Mingyu looks between them, eyes wide. “Wait, who? Are we talking about her-her now?”
“Y/N,” Taehyung says plainly.
Mingyu nods slowly. “Ohhh... right. Yeah. That makes more sense.”
“You’ve barely talked about her lately,” Tae adds. “But I’ve seen it. You’ve changed.”
Jungkook scoffs, and with a smile, plays it off. “I have not.”
“You don’t look at your phone. You stare at it. And when she’s around, it’s like you forget how to act normal.” Taehyung jokes and pokes Jungkook with his elbow.
“That’s not true,” Jungkook protests.
“Right. That’s why you barely speak when she walks in. Or why you always find a reason to hang around if she’s talking to Jimin.”
Jungkook groans, resting his head in his hand. “It’s not like that.”
Taehyung leans back, casual but deliberate. “Then what is it like?”
Mingyu’s grin returns. “Yeah, what is it like, Jeon?”
His smile now not reaching his eyes, Jungkook doesn’t know how to say it. Doesn’t want to say it.
Not the way it’s been tangled in his head.
So instead, he says, “She’s... different. I don’t know… ”
“Different how?”
“Like...” he pauses. “Like, it matters what she thinks. Even though it shouldn’t” he pauses “Even when she’s not looking. Even when she’s not talking to me. Even if I screw up and pretend I didn’t recognize her from the airplane” He looks up. “I felt like shit after that.”
Taehyung nods, voice calm again, holding a smile. “Because you care.”
Jungkook shrugs. “Because I shouldn’t.”
“But you do.”
He goes quiet again.
He doesn’t know what really to say to you. He just knows he wants to be around. To hear you laugh. Or have a smug remark about something that they did. And that is driving him crazy. Even if he doesn’t want to fully admit it.
Mingyu, clearly trying to help, lifts his soju glass. “So... why don’t you just tell her?”
Jungkook lets out a short laugh. “Because she’s leaving. She’s just an intern. Because I don’t know if she even sees me like that. Because she’s close with Jimin, and I don’t want to make it weird. Because maybe I already messed up.”
Taehyung watches him with that same unreadable look he gets when he’s quietly judging you but also doesn’t want to kick you when you’re down.
“ It’s a lot what she has done to be here. It must be hard for her” he says carefully. “You know that.”
Jungkook swallows hard. “I know.”
“So if you want to show up for her, do it for real. Or don’t do it at all.”
He doesn’t say it like a warning.
He says it like a friend. Like a brother.
And it hits even harder because of that.
Jungkook stares down at the half-empty plate in front of him and doesn’t say anything else for a while.
The sound of laughter from another table cuts into the silence for a beat, while the scent of grilled pork and sesame oil hangs warm in the air. Jungkook leans forward, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to loosen the pressure building behind his forehead.
“Can we change the subject?” he mutters.
“No,” Taehyung replies, cool and blunt.
Jungkook looks up. “Hyung.”
“I’m not saying this to mess with you.” Tae sits straighter now, expression serious. “But it’s you, Jungkook. You never hesitate like this. You either care or you don’t. You’re in or you’re not.”
“That’s not fair,” Jungkook says.
“It’s true though,” Mingyu throws in, mouth half-full. “Even back in the day, if a girl wasn’t your thing, you were just polite. If she was, you’d go for it. No second-guessing.”
Jungkook looks away.
It’s so different this time.
It’s not about liking you. It’s not even about attraction. That’s the easy part. And God knows hows he’s attracted to you. It feels like the moment you looked at him in the airplane his gravity shifted and he spent 90% of the day thinking about you. It’s the way you makes him feel like he’s seventeen again—like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like one wrong move will push you away.
“She’s... different,” he says again.
“You keep saying that,” Taehyung replies. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re acting like a toddler around her lately. Friendly one second. Ice cold the next. And after that night at the club, you think anyone didn’t notice?”
Jungkook’s jaw tightens.
“She didn’t say anything.”
“Doesn’t mean she didn’t feel it,” Tae says simply.
There’s a pause, and then Mingyu asks, softer this time, like hes actually just trying to understand his friend. “What would you even want with her?”
Jungkook blinks. “What?”
“Like—long term? You said she’s leaving. She’s not like other girls. And you’re not exactly the kind of guy who—” he stops, thinks better of it. “Well, I just mean, you’re always focused on work. Life’s complicated. Would you even want to deal with that kind of mess?”
Jungkook lets the question settle. He lets the buzz of the alcohol twist through his stomach a little.
“I don’t know” he says shrugging it off.
Taehyung glances up.
Mingyu raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“I think about it all the time.” He exhales. “What it would be like if she stays. What I’d say if I wasn’t such a coward. If I could just figure out how to fix what I already screwed up.”
Taehyung studies him closely now.
“What do you think she wants?”
Jungkook pauses.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Sometimes I think... probably nothing. Maybe I just want this more than she ever did. Maybe it’s just me. Good to point out the position we are all in” He motions slightly to the place around them.
Taehyung’s expression softens just a little, understanding his friend.
“You ever think she’s scared too?”
Jungkook swallows.
“I see it,” Tae continues, “in how she talks to you. She’s guarded, yeah. But she still lights up when you’re around—when you let her in. And she shuts down fast when she thinks she’s wrong about you.”
That last part lands like a weight in Jungkook’s chest.
Because it’s true. He saw it. After Ji-a. The way Y/N’s smile dropped. The way her eyes darted away. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg for clarity.
She just stepped back.
And he let her.
Jungkook says quietly. “I just don’t know if it’s already too late.”
Mingyu finishes his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sound like you’re already losing something you never had.”
Ouch. That stings.
Taehyung raises a brow. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Jungkook looks down at his empty glass, fingers tightening slightly around it.
“I don’t know,” he says.
Then—
“But I think I need to stop pretending I don’t care.”
7:45 PM
They’re halfway into their third bottle of soju when Jimin finally shows up—hood up, cheeks slightly flushed from the jog over. He slides into the booth beside Taehyung like he’s always belonged there.
“You started without me,” Jimin whines and grins, reaching for a glass.
“You said ten minutes. It’s been forty,” Jungkook mumbles, but there’s no heat in his voice.
“Had to finish something,” Jimin shrugs, pouring himself a shot. “Besides, looks like the therapy circle’s already in full swing. Who cried first?”
“Who says we’re crying?” Jungkook muttered, leaning back, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.
Taehyung gave him a look. “You might as well be.”
Jimin reached for a glass, pouring himself a drink. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing much. Therapy topic is Mingyu asked why everyone’s losing their minds over Y/N,” Taehyung said dryly.
Jimin’s expression shifted—but not too much. He took a slow sip, watching Jungkook from behind the rim of his glass.
“And?” he said. Casual.
Jungkook stayed quiet, staring at the table.
Mingyu, clueless in his own charming way, added, “I mean, I get it. She’s hot, chill to talk to, but like… is she secretly a princess or something? I didn’t know a girl could cause this much chaos without even doing anything.”
There was a short beat of silence.
“She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t have to do anything,” Taehyung said, almost gently. “She just is.”
Jungkook’s jaw flexed. He wanted to say something, anything. But the words stuck.
Jimin leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “She’s also the kind of girl who doesn’t know the effect she has,” he said, voice light but eyes a little too honest. “That’s part of it. You can tell when you talk to her she’s not playing games.”
Taehyung gave him a look—knowing, soft.
Jungkook finally spoke. “She’s not like the others. Staff might even be sweet and innocent but you know what they really feel”
Mingyu blinked and nodded. He has experienced that himself. “Damn. So it’s that serious?”
“It’s not,” Jungkook said too quickly.
Jimin raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He just said, “Sure.”
“She saw me with Ji-a,” Jungkook added suddenly, like the words had been burning to get out. “The other night. She didn’t say anything, but… I know she saw.”
Now even Mingyu stayed quiet.
Jimin tilted his head, frowning slightly. “And?”
“She looked at me like…” Jungkook trailed off, searching for the word. “Like I wasn’t who she thought I was.”
“You aren’t,” Taehyung said. “Not when you’re with girls like Ji-a.”
Jungkook winced. “That’s not fair.”
Mingyu blinked between them, finally putting it together. “Wait, you too?”
Jimin looked at him with a lopsided smile. “What, me?”
“You like her.”
Jimin shrugged. “She’s easy to like.”
“But you’re not doing anything about it?”
There was a brief pause before Jimin replied, voice calm. “She doesn’t need me to make it harder.”
Taehyung’s mouth pulled into something almost proud. He nodded once.
Jungkook looked up at Jimin.
“She trusts you,” he said, and it wasn’t quite a question.
“She does,” Jimin agreed, no hint of competition in his voice. “That’s why I’m careful.”
Another beat of silence.
Mingyu raised his glass. “Okay, now I really feel like I walked into the middle of a drama.”
Jimin laughed, and even Jungkook cracked a tired smile.
But under the laughter, the looks lingered.
Taehyung looked between his friends and said nothing—but he saw everything.
Jimin watched the way Jungkook’s knee bounced restlessly, how his thumb kept tapping at his phone screen, even when there were no new messages. Messages Jungkook thought maybe if he willed them enough, they would show up.
10PM
They were well into their fifth bottle by the time the vibe mellowed into something lazy and warm. Laughter came easier, voices lowered with tired honesty. They moved their get-together to Tae’s apartment, since it was closer to where they were and neither of them wanted to get caught red in the face. Literally.
Jungkook hadn’t said much since Jimin’s comment. His phone was in his hand again, thumb hovering over the screen. Not messaging anyone—just checking. Always checking.
Taehyung noticed, of course. Jimin too. But neither said anything.
Mingyu, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware of the invisible lines stretched between them all.
“You know what I think?” he said suddenly, tipping back the last of his drink and setting the glass down with a clink. “You’re overthinking it.”
Jungkook didn’t look up. “Overthinking what?”
“Her. Y/N.” Mingyu grinned. “She’s pretty, she’s cool, she’s nice to everyone—too nice maybe? But if it’s getting in your head that much, why not just… I don’t know. Fuck it off?”
Taehyung glanced up sharply. “Mingyu—”
“I’m serious!” Mingyu waved him off and points at Jungkook to make his point. “He’s young. He’s hot. He’s got Ji-a on the line. She’s fun, right? No pressure, no complications. If you’re gonna get all twisted over someone you can’t even date, why not stick with the one who’s actually into you and didn’t really cause trouble?”
That’s when Jungkook’s phone lit up.
Ji-a .
A video call.
All three boys saw it. Mingyu raised his eyebrows, like he’d just manifested it.
“See?” he said, laughing. “Perfect timing.”
Jungkook stared at the screen. The call kept ringing.
He didn’t move.
Taehyung shifted in his seat. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“It might help,” Mingyu countered. “Blow off some steam. You’ve been weird for weeks, man.”
Jungkook hesitated. His jaw clenched, thumb hovering.
Then he swiped. He just wanted to know what it was about. Curiosity getting the best of him.
The screen lit up with Ji-a’s face. Pretty. Smiling. Tipsy from whatever party she was clearly at. Music thumped in the background.
“Kookie,” she drawled, eyes gleaming. “What are you doing?”
“Just out with the guys.”
“Aw. I miss your face.”
Jungkook forced a smile. “Yeah?”
“You should come over after,” she said without hesitation.
Taehyung looked away. Jimin’s mouth tightened.
Mingyu leaned back smugly.
“I’ll… think about it,” Jungkook muttered.
Ji-a winked. “Don’t think too hard. You know how you like it.”
The call ended with a giggle and a blown kiss.
Jungkook put his phone down slowly.
Silence.
“You don’t have to do that,” Taehyung said again, firmer this time.
“I know.”
Jimin said nothing, but he took another slow sip of his drink, eyes unreadable.
Mingyu finally caught on to the tension and blinked between them. “What?”
Jungkook didn’t answer. His mind was already somewhere else.
Not at Ji-a’s apartment. Not on her voice or her deep sighs.
But on a flinch he’d seen when someone’s hand brushed your back earlier that week.
On the way your laughter always came after a pause—like you needed to be sure it was safe.
On the texts you sent him first friendly when you didn’t know you worked for him, he now wishes he could slap himself for not getting your number first and texting immediately after leaving that airplane. Your texts that turned purely practical and polished. Which even though was not even close to what he was actually craving, he wanted them all day long.
On the quiet nothings you said after catching him with Ji-a the first time.
He hated that you hadn’t said anything.
He hated even more that you probably never would.
Because you waren’t like Ji-a.
And you waren’t his.
By the time the apartment fell into that familiar post-drunken hush, it was past 1 AM. Mingyu was passed out with only one sock on, cradling a cushion like it owed him money. Jimin had tucked himself into the corner by the balcony, earbuds in but nothing playing—his chest rising and falling too evenly to be real. Taehyung had retreated to his room, door slightly ajar, low jazz humming through his speaker like a sigh no one could stop.
And Jungkook?
He was still awake.
Phone screen dimly lit in his palm, thumb hesitating over the keyboard. Ji-a had been texting all night.
Ji-a [12:17 AM]:
You ignoring me?
Ji-a [12:23 AM]:
Come over, Kookie.
Ji-a [12:24 AM]:
I can send a car for you.
Ji-a [12:31 AM]:
We both know you’ll sleep better here.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t want to. Not really.
But he couldn’t stop reading them.
Couldn’t stop thinking.
The more he tried to quiet it—you—the louder it all got. The image of you laughing with Seo-Jun at the bar, that bright, spontaneous sound that had cut through the haze of his thoughts like a spotlight. You flinching earlier that week when someone tapped you shoulder—so subtle he almost missed it, but enough to tangle him up. The way you always gave everyone else your full attention—but him, you kept at a polite distance, like he was a puzzle you had given up to solve.
He should’ve been grateful for that.
He wasn’t.
He wanted more, and he hated that he did.
He hated that wanting her made him feel so damn helpless.
So when Ji-a texted again—
Ji-a [01:04 AM]:
I need you.
Ji-a [01:04 AM]:
[photo]
His breath caught. He stared at it too long—her silhouetted against dim light, hair tumbling over one shoulder, expression both inviting and expectant. She was beautiful in a careless, confident way he used to like
And then he moved.
Just like that.
He grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, slid his phone into his pocket, careful not to wake the others. He slipped on his sneakers quietly, the zip of his hoodie echoing too loudly in his ears. He paused by the mirror down the hall—half-expecting to see someone else’s determined eyes looking back. Instead, he saw his own gaze: sharp, restless, tinged with something he refused to name.
He didn’t think.
He just moved.
Ji-a’s apartment was barely a fifteen-minute ride away. He could feel the engine of the car before he even got in, that hum of metal and promise that she’d be waiting with lips curved into that same familiar smile.
He didn’t text her.
He didn’t need to.
1:18am
Her place was warm.
Smelled like jasmine and vodka and something artificial he couldn’t name. Maybe candle wax. Maybe perfume. Maybe the ghost of too many nights that started like this.
Ji-a opened the door in a satin robe, no bra, her smile curling like she’d been waiting for him all her life.
“There you are,” she said, like he belonged there. Like this was where he should’ve been all along.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
Just stepped in and let her pull him close, her mouth already brushing his jaw, fingers tugging at his hoodie like it offended her.
“You always take too long,” she murmured against his throat, her hand already sliding down his abdomen, like she’d done it before. Because she had.
Too many times.
It was easy. Familiar. Fast.
She was warm, soft, hungry in a way that made it impossible to think straight.
He let her drag him through the hallway, stumbling over his shoes that got kicked off beside the couch, the scent of jasmine thickening the farther they went. Her robe slipped from one shoulder, her thigh bare where it parted. She looked beautiful. He could admit that.
But halfway to her bedroom, something in him stalled.
His back hit the wall, her hands greedy as they pulled at his belt, mouth trailing kisses down his neck. “God, you taste the same,” she whispered, her voice a sultry murmur that might’ve worked—once. “Missed this.”
She moaned his name when he grabbed her waist. Clutched at him like she’d memorized every edge of him.
It was all so smooth.
Too smooth.
Like they were checking boxes in a scene they’d both performed too many times.
His hands slid under her robe, fingers skating along her ribs, but there was a hollowness to it. A delay between touch and reaction. Like his body was here, but his head… it was somewhere else.
A pair of eyes he wasn’t supposed to remember so vividly.
A laugh, unpolished and real..
The kind of connection that hadn’t needed rehearsal.
Ji-a pressed against him, her breath hot against his ear. “You’re quiet tonight,” she said, almost teasing. She tugged his jeans lower, her knee brushing between his legs. “Not like last time.”
He exhaled, closed his eyes.
He could do this.
Could pretend.
But his brain—
It was cruel.
It kept searching.
Searching for skin that felt different. For a voice that didn’t try so hard to be seductive. For a softness that hadn't meant to tempt him, but did.
Ji-a’s lips trailed down his chest, fingers curling around him, making him close his eyes and lean back his head. “What is bothering you, baby?” she asked, low.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t lie either.
He just leaned into her.
Put his mouth on hers, slow and deep.
Gave her what she wanted—rhythm and friction, lips and hands and muscle memory.
But he couldn’t stop the name that almost slipped out.
The thought of someone else’s breath hitching under his touch.
Someone who wouldn’t have pulled him into this, but who he would’ve followed anyway.
And in the moment Ji-a tipped her head back as he was deep into her and gasped his name, he let himself imagine it was you instead.
4:04am
He left before she could ask him to stay.
Didn’t say goodbye.
Didn’t wait for her reaction.
Back at Tae’s apartment, the lights were still off. Mingyu snored. Jimin had rolled to the other side of the blanket. His pillow was cold again.
Jungkook tossed his jacket aside and collapsed on the couch like something deflated.
He pulled out his phone.
No new messages.
Nothing from you.
Not even a dumb update. Not even work. Why would you anyway? It’s the weekend and in the middle of the night.
He opened your contact, stared at it again.
The cursor blinked in the empty text box.
Hey.
He erased it.
Tried again.
Couldn’t sleep.
Deleted.
He tossed the phone onto the floor and dragged the blanket over his shoulders like it could protect him from the truth.
He'd tried forgetting you.
With hands. With skin. With someone else.
But he still ended up here.
Alone.
And wanting only one person who had no idea she was keeping him up at night.
Sunday Morning
7:02 AM
He hadn’t really slept.
Not after slipping out last night. Not after coming back and lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it could make sense of the mess inside his head.
Ji-a had said all the right things—worn all the right things too. She always did. Familiar in a way that made it easy to lose himself for a while. But nothing stuck.
Not when he walked away from her apartment and still found himself checking his phone like an idiot. Hoping for a message that wasn’t coming.
From someone who probably wasn’t even thinking about him.
He clenched his jaw and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the muted reflection in the black TV screen. Pathetic. Even his reflection looked like he didn’t want to deal with him either.
Footsteps broke the silence.
He didn’t need to look to know it was Taehyung.
That quiet, easy rhythm of someone who knew the space like his own thoughts.
“You good?”
Jungkook shrugged without looking back. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Taehyung didn’t say anything right away. He just opened the fridge and tossed him a cold water bottle. Jungkook caught it one-handed, let the coolness sting against his palm.
“Thought you knocked out early,” Taehyung said, casually.
“I went out for a bit to clear my head.”
He didn’t say where. But he could feel the weight of Taehyung’s stare like it was physical.
“…and did you manage?” Jungkook knew Taehyung enough to know his friend clocked in to where he went but didn’t say anything.
Jungkook hesitated. Just long enough to give himself away.
“No.”
Silence.
He hated this part.
Not because of the judgment. There wasn’t any. Not from Taehyung. Just... disappointment? Concern? Understanding?
It was worse.
“She called,” Jungkook muttered. “Again.”
“You answered.”
“You know she wouldn’t stop.”
Taehyung came over and sat down next to him, back against the couch. Grounded and calm, like he was willing to wait all day for Jungkook to get it together.
“I thought if I saw her, maybe I’d stop thinking about it.”
“You mean Y/N.”
He didn’t even flinch at the name. It had been there in his chest all night anyway.
“I thought maybe I could forget her,” Jungkook admitted quietly.
“And did it work?”
“No.”
The word scraped out of him like it hurt. Because it did.
“She’s still very much there,” he said. “In my head. Every second. And I don’t even have anything with her. I’m this messed up over something that never even started.”
Taehyung gave a dry chuckle.
Jungkook looked down at his hands. “I thought I could distract myself. I tried to. But I walked out of Ji-a’s apartment and I felt worse than when I got there.”
“You’re gonna end up resenting both of them.”
“I already do.”
Taehyung let out a slow breath beside him. Not surprised.
Jungkook rubbed at his temple. “She hasn’t texted me.”
“You haven’t exactly opened the door either.Plus is the weekend.”
“She texts Jimin though.” He pouts slightly.
“You think she’s not reaching out because she doesn’t care?”
“Maybe. Or maybe she thinks I don’t.”
“You didn’t exactly make it easy to tell.”
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, voice tight. “I was a dick. I know.”
“You’re being one to yourself, too.”
He stayed quiet for a second. Then, like a confession: “She’s not like Ji-a.”
“No. She’s not.”
“She’s not like anyone.”
Taehyung didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
Jungkook sat back against the couch and tilted his head toward the ceiling. “I’m losing it.”
Jungkook cracked a small, hollow smile. “Feels the same.”
Taehyung got up and stretched. “Come on. Let’s make coffee before Mingyu wakes up and says something dumb.”
The curve on Jungkooks lips went up and he nodded slowly.
He would never say it out loud—but part of him hoped she would text anything other then work. Just once. Even if she was mad. Even if it meant nothing.
Just so he’d know he hadn’t imagined everything.
Sunday
8PM
The city was unusually warm for a Sunday evening this time of year, the kind of humid warmth that stuck to your skin and made everything feel slower, lazier, heavier. The kind that wrapped around you like an unwanted second skin. Jungkook leaned back in the car, one hand resting loosely on his thigh, the other scrolling through his phone—not because he cared about anything he saw, but because he needed something to do with his hands. Something to distract from the low thrum of guilt that had been pounding in his head since morning.
Doom-scrolling was his best form of self-soothing these days. Especially after Ji-a had sent the location. A cozy but upscale izakaya tucked away in a quieter corner of Gangnam. She promised good food, cold drinks, and "no stress."
No stress.
That was the part that hooked him, and she knew it. He was exhausted. Not just physically, from the lack of sleep, but from the noise in his own head. Beating himself up over things that no longer had quick fixes.
When he arrived, she was already there, perched on the edge of a booth like she belonged in that dim lighting. Legs crossed. Drink half-finished. Lips curved into a coy smile that had always worked on him in the past.
"Hey, stranger," she said.
He slid into the seat across from her and offered a small smile, more polite than anything. "Hey."
Ji-a looked great. Objectively. She always did. Her makeup was minimal but perfect, skin glowing under the moody amber lighting. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose tie, framing her face with effortless elegance. She wore a cropped black top that hugged her waist, and it wasn’t a surprise if every man who passed glanced over. She leaned in a little, her elbows on the table.
"I wasn’t sure you’d actually come."
"I said I would."
"Still," she teased, "you’ve been so… inconsistent."
He shrugged, noncommittal. The waiter appeared, and they ordered—grilled skewers, fried chicken, a round of soju. The clinking of glasses and the low hum of laughter from surrounding tables filled the silences between them.
For the first twenty minutes, it wasn’t bad.
Ji-a talked about work, complained about her schedule, made sly jokes about idol life as if she weren’t halfway in the industry herself. Jungkook laughed in the right places. He asked questions when it seemed appropriate. He even smiled a few times—the kind of automatic smile he knew how to summon. There was a time, not too long ago, when being around her had been easy. Comforting. She was sharp and bold, with a knack for pulling him out of his shell just enough. She didn’t need coaxing, didn’t hesitate to touch his arm, lean close when she laughed.
But that comfort felt thinner now. Like cheap fabric. Stretching. Fraying. And he hated anything that felt forced.
She poured him another glass of soju, sliding it across the table with a smirk.
"So," she said, eyes scanning his face, "what’s got you so quiet lately? I mean, besides your usual introvert phase."
He stared at the glass for a second before meeting her eyes. "I’ve just been busy."
"Too busy to reply to me?" she asked. Her voice was still light, but the edge in it was sharper now, more noticeable.
He didn’t flinch just smiled politely. "I don’t like texting."
"I noticed," she said with a hollow laugh. Then, quieter, "You’ve been extra cold lately. Did I do something?"
"No. It’s not about you."
He meant it. God, he meant it.
She tilted her head, one perfectly shaped brow lifting. "But there is something."
Jungkook said nothing. He looked out the window instead, where city lights flickered off the rain-washed street and a couple crossed the road with fingers intertwined.
It wasn’t about Ji-a. Not even a little.
It was about the girl who wasn’t here. The girl who barely looked him in the eye this week. Who pulled away every time someone touched her now. The one who talked about her thesis and made it sound like poetry.Whose absence stung more than it should.
"You’re somewhere else again," Ji-a said, her voice softer now, but distant.
He turned to her slowly. "I’m here."
She reached under the table, her fingers brushing his hand, then curling around it. "Then prove it."
Classic Ji-a. Direct. Confident.
The food arrived, offering a break in the tension. He ate mechanically, his movements rehearsed, grateful for something to focus on other than the ache building behind his ribs. The taste of grilled meat and salty batter was dull on his tongue.
Ji-a finished her drink and then stood, sliding into his side of the booth without asking. Her thigh pressed against his. She smelled like jasmine and a perfume he recognized but couldn’t name. Her hand rested casually on his leg.
"Remember the last time we came here?" she murmured close to his ear. Her breath was warm. Her tone suggestive. "You were way more fun."
Jungkook offered a faint smirk. "We were drunk."
"Wanna fix that?" she asked, already refilling their glasses.
And so he drank again. Let her lean into him. Let her whisper into his neck and kiss his cheek. Let her pretend they were okay, that this was what he wanted. For a while, it was easier that way.
Because when he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was someone else.
Almost.
They stayed until the staff started wiping down tables. The night air had cooled slightly when they stepped outside. Ji-a looped her arm through his and leaned into his shoulder like they were something. Like they could still be something.
Maybe this was what normal looked like. Maybe this was what he needed. Someone easy. Someone who wanted him.
When they reached the curb, she looked up at him, her voice soft. "Come back to mine?"
Jungkook hesitated.
This was the part where he usually said yes. Let things unfold the way she wanted. Let himself be wanted, even if it wasn’t what he wanted.
"I have an early schedule," he lied, again.
Ji-a blinked, smile faltering before she forced it back. "Right. Of course."
He opened the cab door for her. Said goodbye. Walked away before she could say anything else. The silence of the ride home filled his lungs like cement. He didn’t scroll. Didn’t text. Just stared out the window as neon signs blurred past.
When he got home, everything felt too quiet. The hum of the fridge. The soft buzz of the lights. The faint creak of his floorboards as he toed off his shoes. He didn’t turn on the TV or music. Just tossed his jacket on the back of the couch and opened a bottle of water.
The moment he sat down, his body slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees, water bottle untouched in his hand.
His phone buzzed.
For half a second, his heart kicked.
It could be you.
But why would it be?
Ji-a. Again. Her message was sweet. Suggestive. Asking if he changed his mind.
He didn’t reply.
Locked the screen.
Another buzz. He was ready to throw his phone out the window.
But this time, it was his manager.
Jungkook sat upright, pulse ticking.
“ Emergency meeting at the company. Come now. Someone took pictures tonight. ”
The air thinned. His chest tightened.
He unlocked the screen again. Two attached photos followed. Blurry, but clear enough. His back to the camera. Ji-a leaning into him. The kiss to his cheek. Her arm wrapped in his.
You arrive at work exactly on time. Not early, not late. Neutral.
You clock in, settle at your desk in the rehearsal room, and begin reviewing your checklists for the day—camera angles for the afternoon shoot, backline confirmations, sound setup revisions. It’s the usual rhythm that you have fallen into in the past month. Familiar. Safe.
Except it’s not.
Your skin still prickles from last night. The noise, the light, that moment in the club you’re trying hard to delete—his hand, the pressure of it, the way your body stiffened before you even had time to really register what was happening.
You haven’t told the girls. You didn’t text Seo-Jun back. Even though he texted maybe one too many times for your liking. You haven’t really looked at your phone at all, actually. It’s easier not to think.
So you sit. And you focus.
You keep your face calm, your spine straight, your tasks in check.
But when one of the sound guys brushes your shoulder while passing a cable behind you, your body reacts.
A quick, automatic flinch.
Just a twitch—so small no one should notice.
Except someone does.
You feel the heat of his gaze before you even look up.
Jungkook stands on the far side of the studio, half-bent over a monitor setup, a cord in one hand. His head is tilted slightly, one brow faintly raised. His expression unreadable.
Your stomach drops.
You immediately look away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like nothing happened.
It happens again an hour later.
You’re crouched by one of the cases, sorting the smaller equipment pieces when Jimin approaches with a light laugh and a clipboard in hand.
“Hey,” he says casually, crouching beside you, “you good with this checklist, or should I double-check it before you send it over to the floor team?”
You nod, smiling faintly. “It’s good. Already cross-checked the light positions.”
“Wow. Gold star for you.”
He nudges your shoulder gently with his own. It’s friendly. Normal. The same was he has done a couple of times before.
And still—your body freezes for a second.
You catch it too late, feel your own chest tighten. You hope he doesn’t notice.
But he does.
Of course he does.
Jimin tilts his head slightly, his playful grin dimming. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” You force another smile. “Just didn’t expect that.”
He doesn’t press. But he doesn’t look convinced either.
You pull away politely, standing. “I’ll go prep the next set.”
You don’t look back.
By lunch, you’re wound so tightly you barely hear your name being called.
“Y/N”
You blink, glance up. Jungkook stands in front of you, a protein bar in one hand, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. The studio lights cast a soft sheen across his cheekbones, but his expression is strangely neutral.
“You forgot to eat again,” he says, holding the bar out to you.
You hesitate. Looking between the treat in his hands and back to his face.
He waits, not smiling like he usually does. Just watching.
“It’s fine,” you say softly. “I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
You finally take it, your fingers brushing his for half a second. You pull your hand back quickly, clutching the wrapper.
Jungkook leans against the edge of the table, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.
“You always flinch like that?”
Your heart skips. “What?”
His eyes stay on yours. He doesn’t say it with judgment, or even concern—it’s something a bit more than that. Measured.
But not cold.
“I’ve been around you for weeks,” he says. “I’ve never seen you act like people touching you was a problem.”
Your lips part—but nothing comes out. Then shut again.
He shrugs slowly, his tone softening just slightly. “Just wondering if someone did something.”
You look down. “Nothing happened.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You glance around the room, but no one is paying attention.
You force a breath through your nose. “It’s fine. I don’t… I just didn’t sleep well.”
Jungkook leans in a little closer—not physically, but emotionally. His presence narrows in on you, quiet and grounded.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “But if something’s wrong… I don’t think you should pretend it’s nothing.”
You finally meet his eyes again.
And you say it gently, without a hint of emotion
“Jungkook its really ok. I just didn’t sleep very well”
Something flickers behind his expression—regret? frustration?
He doesn't push.
Just takes a breath, straightens up, and gives a tiny nod.
“Okay,” he says getting back up. “But maybe try eating that before it melts in your hand.”
He turns and walks away.
When he finally leaves the room, you look down and realize your fingers have crushed the corner of the bar from how tightly you were holding it.
You’re outside, behind the building, leaning against the railing near the loading dock—your unofficial break spot. Your coffee’s cold, but you’re still holding it, sipping like it might ground you. Gently nibling on the protein bar jungkook gave to you.
It’s a quiet moment. Almost peaceful.
Until you hear the door creak open behind you.
“Hey.”
You turn slightly and find Seo-Jun there, hands in his pockets, a hesitant look on his face.
“Hey,” you echo, soft and tired. You haven’t been clearly avoiding him today but you also were not looking for his company either.
He walks over and stands beside you, not too close—but not far enough to ignore. There’s a silence between you that isn’t awkward, but it’s weighty. Like he came here with something to say and is still working up to it.
“You’ve been off today,” he says eventually, glancing sideways at you. “Something happen?”
You keep your eyes on the concrete taking another small bite before answering. “No, not really.”
“You sure?” You can feel his gaze on you.
You nod. “Just tired.”
He studies you for a second. “Was it the club?”
You blink. Slowly. Your heart kicks a little. You don’t want to think about the club again. You are honestly getting tired at this point from people asking if you are ok and if something happened.
You don’t answer right away. Seo-Jun watches your silence and softens his tone. He reaches for your arm and you stare for a second at his hand on you.
“Y/N… if someone did anything to you, even if it felt small, I—”
“Nothing happened,” you interrupt, a little too sharp. Finally looking up at him with a blank expression on your face. “Really. I’m fine”
He backs off slightly, hands raising in surrender. “Okay. I believe you.”
The silence that follows is tenser now. He breaks it gently.
“I’m only asking because I care, you know. Not just as a co-worker. You know that, right?”
You look at him—his expression is honest, warm, maybe too open. It makes your chest hurt.
“I know,” you murmur. “You’re kind.”
He takes a step closer. It’s subtle—but you notice.
And so does someone else.
“Break room’s not good enough anymore?”
The voice comes from behind you. Low.
Casual but at the same time not casual at all.
You freeze.
You both turn to find Jungkook slightly leaning at the doorway, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His expression is unreadable—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Darker than usual. Sharper.
Seo-Jun straightens a little. “Just getting some air.”
Jungkook nods slowly and gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Right. That’s why you’re trying to corner her outside like it’s a drama scene?”
“Excuse me?” Seo-Jun says, surprised.
You step between them instinctively, voice flat. “We’re just talking.”
Jungkook’s eyes flick to you for half a second, then back to Seo-Jun.
“She said she’s fine,” Jungkook mutters, jaw tightening. “Maybe take the hint.”
Seo-Jun’s brows knit. “You’re being weird, man. What’s your deal?”
“My deal,” Jungkook says, stepping forward, “is watching you look real comfortable trying to pull her aside every chance you get. You think she wants that?”
You blink.
Seo-Jun opens his mouth, then closes it.
Your heart is racing, and not in the way it normally is to when you are with Jungkook.
“Stop,” you say, voice sharper now. “Both of you. This is ridiculous.”
Jungkook looks at you, but he doesn’t back down. “Just saying. If someone actually gave a damn, they’d leave you alone when you clearly don’t want to be touched.”
The words hit too directly.
Seo-Jun looks between the two of you, frowning. “Okay. Got it.”
He steps back. “Let me know when I can talk to you without getting pushed around.”
You don’t say anything. God he has some guts to say that to him. Jungkook with a flick of his finger, if he really wanted to, find a way to move Seo-Jun to some other position really fast. Even though you don’t believe he would do so.
He leaves.
The door swings shut behind him.
Jungkook stays where he is, arms crossed now, chest rising and falling with too much tension.
You don’t want to ask. Not really. Your head is still heavy from last nights drinking and, in fact, you dind’t sleep well at all. You just want to go back home call Evi and tell how stupid life feels right now.
But you do ask.
“What was that?”
He shrugs, not looking at you.
“Don’t like the way he talks to you.”
“Why?” you press. “Because he does?”
Jungkook finally looks at you, jaw set.
“He doesn’t know you.”
“And you do?”
That stops him cold.
For a beat, nothing moves between you. No words. No breath.
And then, softer—less angry—he says:
“I’m trying to.”
You don’t answer. You don’t know how to answer. Yeah, if theres something Jungkook has been learning how to do is shut you up alright.
So you turn and go back inside before he can say anything else.
But the weight of it follows you even if he doesn’t.
You are clocked out when you find yourself on the rooftop of the building, the skyline flickering like static. You didn’t mean to come here—your body just moved on its own, like it needed air, distance, a moment.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket.
[Sana]: Have you left already?
You pause. Then reply:
[you]: Roof.
Minutes later, the door creaks open and she steps out, two bottled drinks in hand.
She hands you one without a word, plops down beside you on the low ledge, and kicks her feet out like she’s lived on rooftops her whole life.
“You look like you’re ten seconds away from fighting someone,” she says casually, bumping your arm. “Should I be worried?”
You laugh—but it’s dry. “I already did that today. Sort of.”
“Oh?”
You take a breath, then let it out slowly. “Jungkook and Seo-Jun almost got into it.”
Sana’s head turns so fast you hear her earrings jingle. “What?”
“They both said shit. Jungkook got all weirdly defensive and said Seo-Jun needed to back off. I know Seo-Jun was trying to check on me, but it just… exploded.”
Sana whistles low with a smirk on her lips as she took a sip of her drink. “Damn. Who knew golden boy had claws.”
You shrug, twisting the bottle in your hands. “ I don’t think its that deep.”
She gives you a long, sideways glance. “You sure he doesn’t like you?”
“I don’t know.” You pause. “And even if he did… Honestly, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is temporary. I go back to uni soon. I’m not even from here. I’m not in this world, not really.” You sip from your own drink now. Looking into the city “Also I don’t know if you noticed” you turn to her and whisper “hes like, veryfamous. And Army is scary”
Sana watches you for a second longer before turning her eyes back to the skyline with a ghostly smile playing on her lips.
“You know, sometimes I forget you’re the intern.”
“Thanks,” you murmur.
“No, I mean it. You’re so… calm. Even now, when you’re clearly unraveling.”
You scoff and smile faintly loking back at her. “That’s new. I feel like a mess.”
“I’d trade places with you if I could.”
You glance over. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, brushing off the comment. “Just thinking out loud.”
You don't press it. You’re too tired. Why would any one want to be in the mess you feel like you are in now?
“Can I ask you something?” Sana says, after a pause.
You nod.
“What do you want from all of this? Like… when your internship ends. What’s next?”
You stare at the lights across the river. “I don’t know. Definetly go back, finish school. Pretend I didn’t just get blown into the most complicated, confusing part of my life?”
“That’s… kind of poetic.”
You scoff. “It’s kind of tragic.”
Sana chuckles and leans her head on your shoulder. “Well, until you leave, we’ve got you.”
You lean your head against hers.
And in that moment—warm rooftop lights, distant traffic hum, someone breathing next to you—it almost feels like the world isn’t shifting beneath your feet.
The week moves slowly. Not in hours or things to do, but in atmosphere.
You show up early to the company every day. Focused. Steady. Like nothing happened. Not like Seo-Jun stopped texting. Not like Jimin haven’t been facetiming you every so often to talk about nothing and everything. Sometimes hes just bored and keeps quiet as he scrolls on his phone. Not like Jungkook haven’t gone back to being playfull and sweet around you, and hasn’t scared one of your friends.
You nod politely when Jungkook walks in, headphones slung around his neck, offering his usual grin—easy, sweet, playful. Like nothing happened.
You meet Seo-Jun in the hallway once. He gives a small smile, and you smile back. But he doesn’t stop to talk. Doesn’t walk you to the elevator like he used to. Doesn’t ask if you’ve eaten or wait by your desk with a second coffee just because.
You tell yourself it’s the comeback schedule. Everyone’s busy. You’re lucky if you get more than a few minutes with anyone. Right?
Still… your inbox feels quieter than usual.
“Hey.” A voice tugs you out of your thoughts. You turn and Jimin’s leaning against the wall near the studio entrance, watching you.
You blink. “Hi.”
“You’ve got that face again.”
“What face?”
He crosses his arms and nods thoughtfully. “The ‘Shit, did I turn off my iron off this morning’ face.”
You let out a soft laugh, and that’s all it takes. Jimin steps in, sliding easily into your rhythm like he always does—without pushing.
“Don’t say stuff like that. I might actually need to go back home and check”
“I was gonna grab coffee. Want to come?”
You glance at your screen. Nothing urgent. No one waiting. No Seo-Jun anywhere in sight.
You stand. “Sure.”
The walk to the café is easy, breezy conversation—half jokes about the staff, half your quiet comments that make Jimin laugh like you’re funnier than you are.
He holds the door open with a little bow. “After you, Miss Important.”
“Please,” you roll your eyes, “you’re the celebrity.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one we all talk about.”
You snort into your drink. “Right.”
“I’m serious. You keep surprising everyone.”
You glance at him over the lid of your cup. “Why?”
“Because you’re… good. And you stay kind. Even when things are clearly weird.”
You stiffen slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… I saw your face last week. After that night.”
Your grip tightens slightly.
“I didn’t say anything because you looked like you didn’t want anyone to,” he adds gently.
You nod, eyes lowering to your cup. “I didn’t.”
“Okay.” He nudges you with his elbow. “I still wanted to check in.”
You look at him. There’s no expectation in his eyes. Just quiet warmth.
“I’m fine,” you murmur.
“Of course,” he says, like he knows you’re lying but won’t make you say it.
You sit there for a moment longer, then finally crack a smile. “You’re really good at this, you know?”
“At what?”
You shrug. “Being normal.”
He grins. “Well, someone’s gotta balance out Jeon.”
You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”
“What?” he chuckles. “It’s true. You should see him these days. All bark, no clue.”
You let the silence stretch after that, and Jimin doesn’t rush to fill it. He just sits beside you, letting you breathe.
And for the first time in days, you do.
You don’t expect to see Jimin again that evening. Not after the way the week’s been going—everyone scattered, schedules packed, Seo-Jun ghosting in and out of rooms like an afterthought.
But there he is, waiting outside the elevator when you’re finally heading down to grab something from the vending machine before heading home, hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from practice.
“Are you stalking me?” you ask, amused.
“Obviously,” he says without missing a beat. “I’m incredibly subtle.”
You raise a brow.
“I was just on my way down too,” he admits, nodding to the elevator. “You don’t own the snack machine, Y/N.”
“Yet.” You point out.
He grins. “Now that’s the ambition I like to see.”
You both walk side by side under the flickering hallway lights, the building quieter than usual at this hour.
“You’re not sleeping enough,” he says casually, grabbing a juice box from the machine.
“You noticed that from a hallway?”
“No, I noticed that from the fact that you look like someone pressed mute on you.”
You stare at him. Raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen you make five sarcastic comments in under a minute. This new quiet version is weird.”
You grab your drink and sigh. “I’m just tired.”
“From?”
You hesitate. Then as if he managed in the past week to take brick by brick off of you, you say “Everything.”
“Fair.”
He doesn’t pry. Just sits on the bench nearby and gestures for you to join him. You do. A quiet hum of silence stretches between you, but it’s not heavy. It’s… spacious.
You sip your drink and glance over. “Do you ever feel like people expect you to be something even when you’re running on empty?”
“All the time.” He replies not skipping a beat.
“Do you ever fake it?”
He gives a soft laugh. “Every single day.”
You exhale through your nose, and for the first time in a while, it’s not out of frustration. It’s something like relief.
“I think I’ve forgotten how to talk to people,” you admit, quieter now.
“No you haven’t,” he says, resting his head against the wall. “You just don’t want to say the wrong thing. That’s not the same.”
You turn your head toward him squinting in his direction. “How do you always know what to say?”
“I don’t,” he replies, smirking. “I just look like I do.”
You laugh again, and this time, it feels real.
He shifts toward you slightly, and something in the air changes—still light, still safe, but there’s a warmth to it now. A slight tilt.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “you really don’t have to be so tough all the time.”
You meet his eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on your expression. “If I’m not, I might break.”
He holds your gaze. “Then break. I’m sure someone will be there to help pick up the pieces.”
You blink, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. You want to say something—anything—but your throat tightens.
So instead, you whisper, “Thanks.”
He bumps his shoulder lightly into yours. “That’s what friends are for.”
There’s a pause. Then he adds, with a shit-eating grin and eyes sparkling, “Though, just for the record… I look great holding broken pieces.”
You burst out laughing again, loud enough to echo down the hallway. Pushing him with your hands.
And for a moment, it’s enough.
Jimin’s is back on the schedule of always being there.
Not in a clingy, all-consuming way. Just… there. When you walk into the practice floor with coffee. When you’re buried in edits in the conference room. When you’re catching your breath after yet another rushed lunch.
It starts to feel like muscle memory—turning your head and finding him there, eyes crinkling, teasing something out of you without even trying.
“You’re starting to show favoritism,” you tease one afternoon as he hands you a drink without asking. The exact one you’ve been craving.
He shrugs, leaning on the counter beside you. “I’m not showing favoritism. You’re just easier to deal with when you’re caffeinated.”
You roll your eyes but sip gratefully anyway.
He watches you for a second. “Better?”
“Not terrible.”
“High praise.” The corner of his lips twitch up.
You two fall into an easy rhythm, the kind that doesn’t demand anything too intense, but still feels sincere. Jimin flirts—because of course he does—but it’s always with a nudge of humor, a twinkle in his eye, and never too close to a line.
You like that. You need that. Someone who sees the weight on your shoulders but doesn’t force you to unpack it. Someone who meets you where you are, without pushing.
And somehow, he gets that. Every time.
One late afternoon, you’re both hiding out in a corner of the building, away from the chaos. You’re lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and he’s sitting beside you, cross-legged, spinning his phone on his palm.
“You know,” he says casually, “I like that you don’t try so hard.”
You glance at him. “Thanks…?”
“No, I mean it.” He lies back too, arms folded behind his head. “People either try to impress us or avoid us. You kind of just exist.”
“I think that’s supposed to be an insult.” You look at him with a look of slight disbelief.
He grins. “It’s not. I like that you’re not fake.”
You stretch your legs out. “Yeah well, faking things takes too much energy.”
He hums in agreement. “You’re funny.”
“You’re soft.”
He gasps. “I am not.”
“You gave me a cookie earlier and said it was because I ‘looked like I needed love.’”
“I was being practical.”
You laugh, eyes fluttering closed for a second.
Safe. That’s what this feels like..
Just… safe.
Later, in the practice room, the rest of the boys filter in slowly. Jungkook’s the last to arrive. Hoodie up, hair slightly damp, headphones hanging from his neck. His usual outfit.
You’re sitting beside Jimin, working on your laptop while he watches something on his phone and casually throws in commentary like you’re both watching it together.
Jungkook doesn’t say anything when he walks in. But you feel it—his eyes on the two of you for a beat too long.
You glance up just in time to see him drop onto the couch across the room, pulling out his phone immediately.
He starts typing. And doesn’t stop.
Hoseok notices first. “What’s up with you, Jungkook? You’ve been texting all day.”
Jungkook glances up, casual. That smug smile on his face “Huh? Just stuff.”
“Stuff?” Taehyung leans over to peek. “Are you in love or something?”
Jungkook laughs but doesn’t deny it. “I’m allowed to text.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon adds, “but you hate texting.”
Jimin looks up at that, interest piqued. His eyes flick from Jungkook to you. You don’t react, just keep working. Jimin leans over and whispers, “Told you he’s sus lately.”
You snort. “He’s probably playing a game.”
Jimin nods dramatically. “A dangerous one.”
Jungkook looks up briefly—only at Jimin—but his gaze shifts just for a second toward you. Then he looks back down and resumes typing.
It’s late.
The lights outside the building cast long golden strips against the windows. Most people have already gone home. Afterall who wants to stay at their workplace on a Friday night? You and Jimin are still in the corner of the break room, the remnants of takeout boxes between you and the hum of the vending machine the only sound for a while.
You didn’t mean to stay this long. But you’re here. And so is he.
Jimin’s leaning on one elbow, swirling the straw of his soda with absent focus. “You’re quiet tonight,” he says without looking at you.
“I’m tired.”
“You say that even when you’re not.”
That makes you glance up. He’s not teasing this time. His voice is soft. Matter-of-fact. Still gentle.
And that’s all it takes.
You lean back in your chair and exhale slowly, as if the breath had been waiting days to be let out.
“It’s weird,” you say after a long pause. “Being here.”
Jimin shifts slightly, listening.
“I like it so much. All of this. The work, the people… even the chaos.” You let out a quiet laugh. “Sometimes I catch myself just… smiling in the elevator. Like an idiot.”
His lips lift, just slightly.
“But I’m not supposed to stay,” you continue, eyes fixed on a smudge on the table. “This was always temporary. My internship ends in a few months, and then I have to go back and finish Uni. Write my thesis. Take the last of my exams. Do all the normal stuff that is paused.”
You finally look at him. “It doesn’t leave room to even think about staying. You know? Even if I wanted to.”
He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you carefully. Then: “You don’t talk about your life before this much.”
“No one here really asks.”
“I’m asking now.”
You hesitate. Then something in his expression—completely open, unhurried—unravels something you’ve kept stitched tight.
So you start to talk.
About how before Korea, you felt stuck. How you were so excited for the internship even though you were taking the place of your friend, so ready to grow and take a risk. But that not everyone saw it that way.
You talk about Evi. “She was supposed to come. She’s my best friend—still is. But something came up last minute, and she asked me to take the opportunity instead.”
“And your friends?” Jimin asks gently.
You hesitate, then laugh without humor. “They kind of... scattered. Some just drifted. But a lot of it was after my breakup.”
He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t interrupt. Letting you continue your story on your time. Even if you wanted to stop right there you know he wouldn’t push.
“We were together for years. I thought—” you stop with a scoff, then continue more quietly. “He said he couldn’t do long-distance. That I was choosing this over him.”
Jimin’s voice is low. “That’s not fair.”
“No. But maybe it was just honest.”
You’re surprised you’re even saying any of this. That it’s spilling out like this. You look away, toward the vending machine’s glow. “I just didn’t expect to feel this right here. I thought I’d just... do the job, learn what I could, go home, figure it out with him and have my life back. Maybe get a friend or two back”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away. But when you look at him again, there’s something in his expression that feels like comfort without pity.
“You know what I think?” he says after a moment.
You raise an eyebrow.
“I think you deserve to feel like you belong somewhere. Even if it’s not forever. Even if it hurts when it’s over.”
Your chest tightens.
“You’re not weird for liking it here,” he adds, a little softer. “You’re just human.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
He bumps your knee under the table. “Anytime.”
And for the first time in a long while, the silence that follows isn’t heavy.
It feels like space.
Like safety.
You wake up later than usual. No alarm. No schedule.
Just stillness.
The kind that creeps in when the world isn’t expecting you anywhere, and for once, you don’t feel guilty about it.
Sunlight pours through your curtains, catching the particles in the air like glitter. You blink slowly, turn your head on the pillow, and reach for your phone—not out of urgency, but habit. Not at all expecting a text that you know deep down would never come.
But there’s a text from Jimin.
[Jimin 10:17 AM]:
You awake, sleeping beauty?
You smile.
[You 10:18 AM]:
Barely.
[Jimin 10:19 AM]:
That’s progress. Want to meet later? We could get coffee. Or ramen. Or cake. Or all three.
[You 10:20 AM]:
Tempting. Let me see how I feel after I pretend I’m a functioning adult for an hour.
You drop the phone on your chest and stare at the ceiling, still smiling faintly.
There’s something strange about how good that feels. A message. A check-in. The easy, steady presence of someone who isn’t trying to fix you—just letting you be.
You think about the other night. How you’d told Jimin things you hadn’t even told Evi. How he’d looked at you like you weren’t hard to understand. Like your sadness wasn’t inconvenient. You knew she would never do any of that. But sometimes she had a habit of blowing things a bit out of proportion.
You sit up slowly and start moving around the apartment—put on music, open the windows, wash your face with cold water that shocks your nerves awake. You don’t feel happy, exactly. But you feel okay.
And these days, okay feels like a win.
You tell Jimin you’re in. He sends back a dancing bear sticker and a voice note that makes you laugh because it’s just him humming aggressively off-key to some old ballad he probably heard in a random video online.
You meet at a small café tucked into a quieter side of the city. No crowds. Just the two of you in oversized hoodies, both wearing sunglasses like you’re famous and mildly hungover.
He makes you laugh. Constantly. You talk about nonsense—cereal brands, your irrational fear of jellyfish, his totally rational fear of ghosts.
“You always eat so fast,” you say through a mouthful, watching him finish his sandwich in record time.
“I was a growing boy,” he shrugs. “Still am.”
You laugh, flicking a crumb off his jacket. “Sure, Jimin.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second, then nudges your foot with his. “You’ve been less... storm cloud-y this week.”
You pause mid-bite. “Storm cloud-y?”
He grins. “Yeah. You usually walk around like you’ve just remembered an embarrassing moment from 8 years ago.”
“I have.”
“That’s fair.” He laughs leaning back on his chair.
“You just… you looked lighter today.”
You tilt your head. “Lighter?”
“Yeah. Like something’s changed. In a good way.”
You look down at your coffee. Then back at him. “Maybe it has.”
That night, you get home early. The city’s quieter on weekends in your part of town. You’re brushing your hair out when your phone buzzes again.
[Jimin 7:42 PM]:
I meant it, by the way.
[You 7:43 PM]:
Meant what?
[Jimin 7:44 PM]:
That you deserve to feel like you belong. You’re good at what you do. But more than that—you’re a good person.
[Jimin 7:44 PM]:
And I’m glad you’re here.
Your chest squeezes unexpectedly.
You stare at the screen for a long moment, thumbs hovering.
You don’t know what to say.
But you type anyway.
[You 7:47 PM]:
I’m glad I’m here too.
You hit send. Then turn your phone over, heart a little louder than before.
You declare it before your feet even touch the floor: today, you will take no more than 100 steps. Maximum. It’s a vow, whispered into the quiet of your bedroom like a sacred promise between you and the corners of your house.
Your limbs feel like noodles—soft, limp, and unwilling to engage with the outside world. You stretch, yawn, and flop back onto the mattress, tugging the blanket up to your chin like a barrier against anything productive. Sunlight is peeking through the blinds in lazy slants, catching dust motes that dance in the quiet. You blink slowly. There's no rush.
No alarms. No texts. No notifications. Bliss.
You reach for your phone out of habit and check. Maybe Jimin sent something that will have you going against your promisse in the next 15 minutes.
But…nothing from Jimin.
Odd.
Normally, he sends a meme. A dumb selfie. A random message like “Do bees have knees?” or “You think rabbits ever get tired of hopping?”
But today, your screen is quiet.
You tell yourself not to overthink it. Maybe he’s taking a real day off too. God knows he needs one more than you do. You picture him somewhere in his apartment, wrapped in a blanket burrito with his hair all fluffed out, scrolling endlessly through TikTok while sipping something way too sugary.
You smile at the thought.
The first half of the day passes exactly how you planned. You eat something microwavable, shuffle around the apartment with socks so fuzzy they could double as small animals, and stare at your ceiling more than any emotionally stable person probably should.
You do yoga. Not actual yoga, but the kind where you lie flat on the floor and call it “restorative.” You even light a candle and feel proud of yourself for not burning anything down.
By the time 9 PM rolls around, you’re about 78 steps into your 100-step limit. Victory is in sight.
Then your phone rings.
Evi.
You smile and answer immediately. “Hey. Don’t you have a hot social life to be living right now?”
“You know I’m a grandma after 7 PM,” she shoots back, voice crackling with laughter. “Besides, I needed to hear a familiar voice.”
You melt a little. You missed her. You always do.
“I’m honored,” you say, settling deeper into the couch. “But if this call needs any sort of effort, I’m hanging up.”
“Understood. Minimal movement. Maximum gossip.”
What was meant to be a quick check-in turns into a four-hour marathon.
You talk about work. About Seoul. About the café that put pickles in your grilled cheese and how traumatized you still are. Evi tells you about a guy who tried to flirt with her using a PowerPoint presentation on why they’d make a good couple.
You snort so loudly you scare yourself. “Please tell me he included transition effects.”
“He had star wipes,” she says solemnly.
“Oh God.”
It’s easy. It’s comforting. You forget the time.
Until Evi gasps so loudly you think something’s exploded.
“Oh my god, did you see what’s trending?!”
Your brain scrambles. “What? No. I’ve been horizontal all day.”
She’s already typing. “I’m sending it. Check Twitter. Now. Now.”
“Why are you being dramatic?”
“I’m not. This is a cultural event. Look.”
A notification pops up. One link. No caption.
You tap it.
It takes a second to load. Then—
Your stomach flips.
There’s a photo, blurry but unmistakable. It looks like it was taken from a distance, probably by a phone hidden behind a plant or something equally stalkerish. The lighting is dim, but the person in the picture is clear as day.
Jungkook.
Even with his back turned, you’d recognize that frame anywhere. The black cap pulled low. The shoulders. The way his hands are tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
But that’s not what makes your heart lurch.
It’s the girl beside him.
She’s leaning in, her hand lightly brushing his arm. Her face is half-turned toward him, lips curved in a way that feels too familiar. Too… intimate.
Ji-a.
Your breath catches.
Your throat goes dry.
You don’t realize you’ve gone silent until Evi speaks again, voice cautious.
“You saw it?”
You swallow. “Yeah.”
“Is that—?”
“Jungkook.” You don’t even try to soften it.
There’s a long pause.
Evi doesn’t have to ask why you sound like that. She already knows. You told her about Ji-a in one of your late-night rambles. You said her name the way people say ghost stories—quietly, like saying it too loudly might summon her.
Evi inhales. “It could be nothing.”
You nod even though she can’t see you. “Yeah.”
“He’s not facing the camera. I don’t even know its him”
“It’s him.”
You don’t know how you know. You just do. It’s the way he’s standing. The slope of his shoulders. That slight inward tilt of his head when he’s listening to someone speak. You’ve seen it in real life now. Once. Twice.
Enough times for it to be burned into your brain.
Evi sighs. “I hate that people sneak photos like this.”
“Yeah.”
“And post them like they’re prizes. Like human beings are trophies to be dissected online.”
You nod again, lips pressed tightly together.
You know she’s right.
But still.
Something twists in your stomach. Jealousy? No. You don’t have the right to feel jealous. Hurt, maybe. Disappointed. Or just… embarrassed. You remember the way Jungkook looked at you Friday. Like he saw you. Like he remembered everything.
Like it mattered.
But maybe it didn’t.
Maybe it was just a moment. And this is real.
Your chest tightens.
“This is going to be a shit show. Thank God you are not in PR, bestie” She adds trying to lighten the mood.
You say goodnight soon after. Evi offers to stay on the phone longer, but you politely decline.
When the call ends, silence floods your apartment like rising water.
You stare at the photo again.
You wish you hadn’t.
The comments are worse. Speculations. Ship names. Theories. Some fans defending him, others demanding explanations. And some people—because the internet is the internet—talking about how perfect Ji-a is.
You put your phone face down.
You’re at step 96 now. You know because you count the four steps it takes you to crawl into bed and cocoon yourself in blankets. You stare at the ceiling.
What did you expect?
Jungkook is… Jungkook. He’s allowed to date. Allowed to be seen with whoever he wants.
Authors note: Its a big one hahah my hand slipped
You are not exactly sure how you ended up here. You are sitting in the middle of Yoshi and Seo-Jun while Sana throws her head back laughing and leans against Mitsuki. You became friends during the week that had passed, as Yoshi was in the same position as you — but for another group.
The room buzzes with easy conversation and half-eaten snacks scattered across the low table in front of you. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker is playing some upbeat music in the background, the kind that makes everything feel like a movie montage.
You glance at Yoshi, who’s balancing a chopstick on her upper lip like a walrus. She grins when she catches your eye and leans closer, whispering, “You realize we’ve completely infiltrated their inner circle, right?”
You snort. “You make it sound like we’re on a spy mission.”
She raises a brow. “Aren’t we?”
Seo-Jun, catching your exchange, shakes his head with a smile and passes you the last shrimp chip. “Better eat it before Mitsuki sees.”
“Hey!” Mitsuki calls from across the couch. “I heard that!”
Sana giggles harder and nearly spills her drink, slapping Mitsuki’s arm like it’s her fault she finds everything this funny. You realize your cheeks hurt from smiling, which surprises you. You hadn’t expected this — to feel so relaxed, so included — not insuch a short time.
For a moment, you let yourself soak it in: the warm press of Yoshi’s shoulder against yours, Seo-Jun’s dry humor, Sana’s uncontainable laughter, the distant sound of someone starting to sing along off-key.
You met Yoshi first — your unexpected lifeline in a sea of chaos, when both of you showed up on site for a dance challenge between one of ‘your boys’ and hers, you both wide-eyed and unsure where to even stand. She was going through the same thing but just with another group, and instantly took you under her wing, as the social butterfly she is.
Through her, you met Mitsuki — warm, naturally chaotic, and somehow always both the loudest and most observant in the room. Mitsuki brought you into the fold without hesitation, acting like you’d always been part of their circle.
And with Mitsuki came Seo-Jun and Sana.
Seo-Jun, calm and a little blunt, had seemed intimidating at first. It took you a while to realize his quietness wasn’t disinterest — just that he didn’t feel the need to talk unless he had something worth saying. He’s already a full-time employee, someone who knows the ropes and looks at your current internship with a quiet sort of amusement.
Sana is different. Sunshine with a sharp edge. She works with BTS too, but in a role that doesn’t have her glued to them 24/7 like yours. She's seen things, knows things, but never flaunts it — instead, she focuses on everyone else, drawing people in with ease, like laughter is something she hands out on demand.
A beat passes. Then two.
And just when the moment starts to settle into a comforting kind of quiet, Sana suddenly gasps. “Truth or dare.”
Groans ripple around the room. Seo-Jun immediately throws his head back against the couch cushion. “No.”
“Yes,” Sana insists, sitting up and pointing at him with dramatic flair. “You are too mysterious for your own good. I need answers.”
“I vote yes,” Mitsuki says, raising his hand like they’re in a board meeting.
“Traitor,” Seo-Jun mutters.
Yoshi’s already grinning and sitting up straight “Alright. But if we’re doing this, we go full chaos mode.”
“I’m scared,” you say, laughing.
“You should be,” Yoshi replies without missing a beat.
Before long, the circle is formed. Someone dims the lights. Sana finds a bottle to spin — of course she does — and the first few rounds are harmless: sing the chorus of a guilty pleasure song, show the last meme you saved, attempt to do a handstand (which goes horribly for Mitsuki and earns loud applause anyway).
Then the bottle spins and lands on you.
“Truth or dare?” Sana asks, eyes twinkling like she’s already plotting your downfall.
You hesitate. “Truth.”
Groans again. “Boring!” Yoshi yells, but you shrug at him. You’re still trying to preserve what little dignity you have left.
Sana doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright,” she says, smirking. “Who in this room did you expect not to like when you first met them?”
The room erupts in oooooohs.
You freeze, mouth parting slightly. “What kind of loaded question—?”
“Answer it!” Mitsuki cackles.
Your gaze flicks to Seo-Jun, who’s watching you calmly over the rim of his drink. To Sana, who’s definitely enjoying this. To Yoshi, who just looks way too entertained.
You inhale, then blurt out, “Seo-Jun.”
More gasps. Even a bit of fake betrayal from Mitsuki, though he wasn’t even mentioned.
Seo-Jun raises a brow. “Fair. I thought you were too polite to be real.”
You blink. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah,” he says, setting his drink down. “But then I heard you curse under your breath in the elevator on Thursday and figured you were human.”
The group erupts into laughter again, but this time, it feels warmer. Softer.
Your shoulders relax without you realizing it.
You catch Seo-Jun looking at you, though not saying anything more — just watching, like he sees something that makes him smile quietly to himself.
You’re not sure what that means.
But the bottle is spinning again, and for now, you don’t ask.
As the bottle lands on Mitsuki, who groans dramatically as Sana claps like a game show host.
“Truth or dare?” she asks, grinning wickedly.
“Dare,” Mitsuki says, sitting up straighter like she’s bracing for impact.
“I dare you,” Sana says, eyes gleaming, “to post an Insta story with the caption ‘catch flights not feelings’ while holding Seo-Jun’s hand.”
The room erupts. Even Seo-Jun laughs, half covering his face with his sleeve.
“Oh my God,” you wheeze. “That’s so 2016.”
“But kind of iconic,” Yoshi adds, snorting into her drink.
Mitsuki plays along, grabs Seo-Jun’s reluctant hand and strikes a peace-sign pose while Sana fumbles for her phone. You swear your cheeks ache from how much you’ve smiled tonight.
When it’s Yoshi’s turn next, she picks truth. Sana narrows her eyes like she’s about to ask something deeply invasive, but instead says, “What’s something you haven’t told anyone since arriving here?”
Yoshi falls quiet.
Not in a tense way — more thoughtful. She stares at the ceiling for a moment, then says softly, “That I almost didn’t come. I was scared I’d mess everything up. That I wouldn’t find anyone who… got me.”
No one says anything right away, and the silence feels delicate. Then you reach over and squeeze her hand, and she looks over with a soft smile.
“Well, that was dumb,” you say, teasing gently. “You’re everyone's favorite already.”
“Speak for yourself,” Seo-Jun mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.
Yoshi squeezes your hand back.
It’s odd, you think. How fast people can go from strangers to comfort zones. How easy it is to laugh with them like you’ve known them longer than a week.
Sana yawns loudly and announces, “Alright, I’m claiming this couch and Mitsuki is my pillow.”
Everyone begins shifting around, the game dissolving into sleepy chatter and late-night laziness. You find yourself tucked next to Yoshi again as the group stretches out across the room in various stages of exhaustion.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says suddenly, just loud enough for you to hear.
You glance at her, a little surprised.
“Me too,” you say, quieter still.
And for the first time since you got here, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you belong too.
Monday hits hard, but the studio buzzes with energy before you’ve even had your coffee. Comebacks do that, apparently—everyone’s running on nerves, caffeine, and a little too much hairspray.
You’re balancing a tablet and three paper schedules when someone taps your arm.
“Are you part-time barista now, too?” Jin jokes, eyeing the coffee tray in your other hand.
You laugh. “Only for the cranky and the overworked.”
“Perfect,” he says, snagging one before you can answer.
Jungkook’s sitting on the couch nearby, hoodie up, absently watching rehearsal footage on a monitor. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch him glancing your way. When you set a coffee beside him, he looks up—brief eye contact, a quiet “thanks,” and then back to the screen.
Jimin walks in a minute later, beaming like he hasn’t just danced for six hours straight.
“Morning,” he says brightly, and your name rolls off his tongue like he’s said it a hundred times. “You survived the weekend?”
“Barely,” you say. “I think Yoshi broke my spine. Or maybe Mitsuki’s couch did.”
He laughs, leaning in like it’s a private joke. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve rescued you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “With what? Your limited cooking skills and anime recommendations?”
“Exactly.”
Behind him, Taehyung’s dragging a chair into the corner. Sana stands beside him, flipping through notes, her eyes narrowing in concentration. You catch her eye, and she gives you a quick, subtle nod—shared understanding between coworkers in the same storm.
Namjoon enters mid-call, Yoongi trailing behind him with a snack in hand. Hoseok’s already stretching out by the mirrors. The energy shifts when they’re all in one space—bigger, louder, like the air itself rearranges to make room for them.
You hover near the monitor, watching choreography edits with the rest of the team, but you feel it when someone steps beside you.
Jungkook.
He doesn’t speak, just folds his arms and watches the footage like you do. You steal a glance at him—his profile calm, unreadable—and then look away again.
It’s like that with him. Presence without pressure. Silence that feels just full enough.
“Make sure they get a water break in ten,” Sana says, nodding toward the guys. You nod back and pull out your phone to set a reminder.
Jimin’s voice carries from across the room, teasing Hoseok about his messy bun. The others laugh.
You’re seated on the floor near the back wall of the dance studio, finishing up notes on your tablet when Hoseok flops down beside you, dramatically wiping sweat from his forehead.
“You survived,” he says, voice breathless but teasing. “We almost didn’t.”
You glance up from your screen. “You say that every rehearsal.”
“Because it’s true every time,” he grins. “This choreo is no joke. Try doing it yourself them come talk to me.” You roll your eyes playfully at his comment and go back to what you were working on.
On the floor nearby, Jungkook is lying flat on his back, shirt damp, chest rising and falling steadily as he recovers from the last run-through. Jimin’s sitting beside him, chugging water while teasing Taehyung about a missed count. Namjoon scrolls through something on his phone, and Jin’s rifling through the snack box like it owes him something.
You’re technically not needed for another fifteen minutes, but no one seems to mind you staying.
“You’ve got the look,” Yoongi says from across the room, pointing a finger at you without looking up from his notes.
“The look?” You question him, your gaze curious to what hes so entertained by his notes.
“The ‘what did I sign up for’ look.”
You smile. “You mean the ‘I’ve never sweat this much from watching other people dance’ look?”
He lets out a low laugh. “Yeah. That one.”
Jimin, overhearing, scoots a little closer, pointing at the notes in your lap. “Are those for the team or for us?”
“Team. But I can make a few copies if you promise not to crumple them into your bag.”
“No promises,” Jin calls from the snack pile.
Jungkook finally sits up, arms propped on his knees. “She’s already better than half the staff we’ve had.”
You blink at the unexpected compliment, and he meets your eyes just briefly before looking away again, like he didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly.
Taehyung nudges your foot with his own, grinning. “Look at you, making fans.”
“Should I start a club?” you tease trying to go back to what you were doing.
Hoseok lifts his head. “Too late. We’ve already named it.”
“Oh?”
“The Y/N Protection Squad,” he says proudly. “It’s exclusive. Invitation only.”
“She didn’t even ask to be protected,” Namjoon says without looking up.
“Exactly,” Taehyung adds. “That’s why it’s a squad. She doesn’t even know we’re protecting her.”
They’re all talking at once now, bouncing off each other like it’s just another inside joke in a long list you haven’t fully caught up with yet—but the difference now is that they’re pulling you into it. Not watching from a distance. Not treating you like a nobody, which is exactly like you thought it would be. Its exactly what internships are, right? You are the corporate slave that does the job nobody wants to do. Like making photocopies of useless papers. But here…. Its comfortable. Letting you exist in their space as one of them.
Even Jungkook, who doesn’t say much, offers you his unopened bottle of water before getting up and muttering something about changing his shirt.
You take it, not because you’re thirsty—but because it’s the first time he’s handed you something without being askedsince you arrived.
Later, as they trickle out one by one, Jimin lingers.
“You staying late again?”
“Probably,” you say, glancing at the untouched parts of your schedule.
He offers a sympathetic smile. “Don’t work too hard. You’re allowed to like this, you know.”
You nod, unsure of how to answer that. Because you do like it.
You like them.
And you’re starting to think they might like you too.
It’s late. The kind of late where most of the building has gone quiet, lights dimmed in the hallways, and even the vending machines seem like they’ve powered down for the night.
You were just coming back for your badge—you’d left it in the sound room during the last meeting. It should’ve been a two-minute detour. In and out. No big deal.
But then, you hear something.
Low voices. Close. Around the corner near the back stairwell—the one barely anyone uses unless they’re avoiding being seen.
You pause, footsteps going still against the polished floor.
“Come on,” a girl’s voice says—soft but sharp at the edges. “You said tonight.”
“I didn’t say yes,” Jungkook’s voice answers, and your chest goes still. “I said maybe.”
There’s a shift in the air, like you’ve walked into something private. And yet, your feet don’t move.
The girl scoffs, not loud enough to echo. “You always say maybe. Then you disappear.”
“I told you,” he says, quieter now, like he’s trying not to be overheard. “I don’t want anyone finding out.”
“So you are embarrassed.”
“No.” The word comes fast. Too fast. Then slower: “It’s not like that.”
It’s hard to tell what exactly stings in that moment—but something does. A prickling behind your ribs, heat rising slowly in your chest like a wave you weren’t expecting. You don’t understand why you’re still standing here. Why your legs won’t move. Why hearing his voice like this makes your throat tighten.
The girl speaks again. “Then what is it like, Jungkook?”
There’s silence for a beat.
And then, almost reluctantly, he says, “It’s just not… serious.”
Something drops in your stomach.
The girl lets out a sigh—a little too theatrical—and steps closer. You hear her heels click softly. “Well, if it’s not serious,” she murmurs, “then why do you always act like we’re doing something wrong?”
You lean the slightest bit forward, and your shoulder brushes the wall. A quiet sound—but enough.
Jungkook turns.
His eyes find yours immediately, and something in his expression shifts—like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, even if technically, he hasn’t done anything at all.
The girl follows his gaze and straightens, smoothing her shirt like it matters.
You don’t say anything.
You just stand there, caught in the strangest emotion you can’t name. You aren’t angry. You aren’t hurt. Not really. But there’s this weird hollow ache spreading in your chest—something close to disappointment, maybe. Or confusion. Or something heavier that you don’t want to examine too closely.
You force yourself to nod with a very weird and fake smile. Not cold, not warm. Just… neutral. Like you didn’t hear enough to matter. Like you’re okay.—You’re not sure if you are.
You walk away before he can say anything. His voice catches on your name, soft and uncertain.
But you don’t turn around.
You keep your head down when you walk into the BTS floor the next morning, hoping no one will notice the way you didn’t sleep much. There’s a dull pressure behind your eyes, but you’ve tucked your hair neatly back and thrown on a clean hoodie, so maybe that’s enough to make it through the day.
Most of the guys are already there—scattered across the space, talking over breakfast or lounging on the couches with their phones. The usual quiet chaos.
You pretend not to scan the room.
He’s there.
Jungkook’s standing by the fridge, bent slightly as he digs around for a drink. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, headphones looped around his neck, hair pushed back like he didn’t try too hard—but not messy, either.
He looks like he always does.
Except he doesn’t.
Because he’s watching you. Quietly. From the corner of his eye, like he’s been doing it for a while.
You make the mistake of meeting his gaze.
It’s brief—half a second, maybe less—but your stomach twists anyway. He straightens up quickly, drink forgotten in his hand, lips parting like he’s about to say something.
But you turn away.
You’re not trying to be dramatic. You’re just not ready.
Not for his explanation, not for his shrug, not for whatever careful thing he might say to smooth it over. You don’t want to hear him say its nothing, not when it clearly meant something that he didn’t want anyone to know.
You slide into your usual spot near the monitors and pull out your tablet, focusing on anything but him.
The air feels weird all morning.
He doesn’t come near you.
But you feel him. His glances. His hesitation. The way his voice drops when he talks to other people near you, like he’s careful not to be too loud. Like if he sounds normal, it might make everything worse.
Jimin ends up next to you at one point, joking about how tired he is, and when you laugh—just enough to be polite—you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s posture tightens across the room.
You don’t know if it’s guilt or something else.
And you don’t ask.
Because if he really wanted to talk to you… he would’ve done it by now.
You’re sitting on the far side of the room, headphones half-on as you skim through a rough cut of their behind-the-scenes footage. They’re gathered just across the room on the lounge couches, sprawled out and tossing snacks between themselves like it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, not a packed weekday.
It’s nice. Comfortable. Loud.
Until it isn’t.
“Hyung,” Taehyung says around a mouthful of chips, “didn’t Jungkook sneak out after dinner last week?”
You don’t react.
At least, not on the outside.
Namjoon looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah, you disappeared. You were gone like an hour.”
“An hour?” Jimin laughs. “Bro was gone the whole night.”
You keep your eyes on the screen, tapping your stylus like nothing’s shifted. But the room tilts slightly—something inside you shrinking, pulling taut like a wire.
Jungkook groans softly, but there’s a note of defensiveness under it. “Don’t start.”
“Wait,” Jin says, leaning in. “Was it that girl? The one from—what was it—like a month ago?”
You pause your video. Just for a second. Then restart it. Keep pretending.
“Not important,” Jungkook says quickly. It’s not embarrassed. It’s… careful.
No one’s being mean. No one’s trying to hurt anybody. It’s just boys talking.
But still, something inside you curls in on itself.
You don’t know why your fingers feel colder. Why your throat’s dry. Why every version of “not serious” echoes louder than the last.
You hadn’t thought about him much today. Had buried it, tucked it neatly behind to-do lists and edits and that new note you made for their stage lighting.
But now he’s right there again. Not looking at you. Talking like you’re not listening.
And maybe that’s the part that stings the most.
Not because you wanted him to like you.
You swallow and adjust your headphones higher on your ears, blocking out the rest of it.
The screen in front of you flickers into a new frame. Taehyung laughing into the camera, someone offscreen cracking up behind it.
You force yourself to focus. Pretend you didn’t hear anything at all. -- You’re getting good at that.
It’s weird how easily Jungkook slips back into being himself.
The next day, he’s in the studio early, hoodie slung loose over his shoulders, hair still wet from a rushed shower. You spot him the second you walk in—he’s balancing a paper cup of iced coffee on his knee, headphones around his neck, half-humming something under his breath while scrolling through his phone.
He glances up when you enter.
And smiles.
Not forced. Not apologetic.
Just—bright. Like nothing’s strange. Like you’re still in that awkward-soft place from a week ago where you were just getting used to each other.
“Morning,” he says, sing-song and cheerful.
You blink. “Morning.”
You sit at the far end of the work table and open your laptop. He doesn’t move toward you, but he watches. Just for a second. Then glances away like he doesn’t want to make it weird.
Later, he offers you a snack—just slides it across the table with a nudge and a grin.
You nod politely. “Thanks.”
Still no eye contact.
He keeps trying, though.
Little things.
He tosses a foamball at you when the room gets quiet. It bounces off your desk and lands at your feet. You blink down at it, expression unreadable, and when you look up, he’s waiting with that sheepish smile, like come on, smile back.
You don’t.
Not because you’re mad. You just… can’t.
It feels strange. Too familiar.
He doesn’t stop, though. Not even when it becomes obvious that you’re not meeting him halfway.
At one point, when most of the others are gone, he passes behind your chair to get to the water dispenser. You feel him slow. Hover.
“You okay?” he asks.
It’s soft. Kind. Genuinely concerned.
And it makes your chest ache.
You force a tiny smile, eyes still on your screen. “Just tired.”
He hesitates. Then lightly taps the back of your chair with his knuckles. “Don’t burn yourself out.”
You nod once.
He walks away.
And that’s the thing—you want to believe he means well. That he’s just being friendly, that this is who he is.
But it’s hard to separate his warmth from the ache he left in you.
Harder still to pretend that his attention doesn’t feel like salt on a wound you’re trying not to name.
The thing is—he doesn’t stop.
Over the next few days, Jungkook finds little excuses to be around you. He’s not pushy. He’s not obvious. But he’s there.
And he’s always nice.
Too nice.
He compliments your hoodie on thursday, even though you’re pretty sure you’ve worn it before and he’s never mentioned it.
He brings in an extra drink “by accident” and just happens to hand it to you.
He jokes with you when the group teases Jin. Bumps your shoulder when something funny happens. Looks your way first when Taehyung says something ridiculous, like the two of you are sharing a private joke even though you’re barely reacting.
It’s not overbearing.
But it’s constant.
And it’s confusing.
Because now your stomach twists for a whole new reason. Not from seeing him with someone else. Not from the ache of being invisible.
But from the way he keeps acting like you’re not.
Like he wants to be close. Like he’s trying to pull you back in without ever saying anything out loud.
And you hate that it’s working, even just a little.
You hate that when he calls your name in that soft, playful way—“Y/N-ahhh”—you still look up without thinking.
You hate that you want to ask him why he’s being so warm when he knows you caught him red handed.
You hate that you don’t even know who she was.
And you really hate that it doesn’t make it easier.
Because you’re still just the girl in the room who’s not supposed to feel anything.
You’re supposed to be invisible.
Professional.
Neutral.
But your smile is thinner now. Your replies quieter. And sometimes, when you laugh at one of his jokes because everyone else is laughing too, you catch him looking at you like he’s waiting for more.
Like he can feel it too—the distance that wasn’t there before.
But he doesn’t say anything about it.
He just keeps showing up, softer than he needs to be, kinder than you know how to accept.
And you keep pretending that it doesn’t affect you at all.
It Friday and guess what? You are doing over hours again. “at least its some extra money” you think to yourself.
Most of the staff have trickled out, but a handful of you are still in the studio, waiting for a delivery, finishing edits, or—if you’re Taehyung—sitting upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest like it’s the most normal way to exist.
Jungkook’s nearby too, playing with a Rubik’s cube like it owes him money. You’ve barely spoken today—just your usual hello, a shared glance across the room when someone spilled coffee, the kind of silent acknowledgement that you’ve both become good at.
You’re typing notes into your laptop when Sana walks past, tossing a grin your way.
“She’s still working,” she calls out to the room. “Y/N wins Employee of the Month.”
Taehyung peeks over the couch. “Only because Jungkook’s not eligible. Too much favoritism.”
Jungkook makes a mock-wounded sound. “What? I’m a model coworker.”
Taehyung smirks and points his Rubik’s cube at you. “Nah, he’s just trying to stay on Y/N’s good side. Ever since she tamed the dragon.”
Someone snorts—maybe Sana. Maybe Hoseok, who just walked in with a snack.
You smile without looking up. “Right. He’s terrified of me. That’s why he brings me coffee. Classic fear response.”
Taehyung cackles. “See? You admit it!”
You glance up then, just in time to catch Jungkook watching you, that boyish grin already tugging at his lips.
He shakes his head. “You’re so dramatic.”
You flash him a crooked smile. “I’m just saying—if I had a fan club, I think you’d be president.”
“Wow.” He leans back in his chair, feigning offense. “Didn’t realize I was so obvious.”
You shrug, turning back to your screen. “That’s okay. I’m used to being everyone’s emotional support intern.”
More laughter.
The moment passes.
But when you sneak a glance at Jungkook again—he’s still smiling.
Still looking at you.
Like the cold air between you never existed.
And somehow, that smile stings worse than silence.
Your weekend passed too fast even though you were doing absolutely nothing just rotting in bed, watching bad movies while facetiming with Evi. And now you’re in one of the conference rooms, folding over a stack of notes while your phone buzzes uselessly beside you. Another group rehearsal is happening a few floors up, but you weren’t asked to be there today. You tell yourself that’s a good thing.
You don’t really believe it.
“You okay?”
Seo-Jun’s voice cuts through the silence gently, like he’s already halfway sure you’re not.
You glance up. He’s leaning in the doorway with two coffees in hand.
You try for a smile. “Am I that obvious?”
He shrugs and walks in, offering you one of the cups. “Only when you stare at the same sticky note for five minutes straight.”
You accept the drink with a quiet “Thanks,” then nod toward his work badge. “Shouldn’t you be off being administrative somewhere?”
He grins. “Delegated. Perks of being useful.”
You laugh, just a little. He’s always been easy to talk to—funny without pushing, smart without showing off. He sits across from you now like he has all the time in the world.
“I’m fine, by the way,” you say after a beat.
“Uh-huh.” He sips his coffee, eyes still on you. “Fine with a capital not.”
You roll your eyes but don’t deny it.
He doesn’t push, just lets the silence stretch out, quiet and unthreatening.
Eventually, you sigh. “I’m just…a bit tired.”
“From what? Work?”
You shrug. “Everything. I don’t know. It has been a lot to process”
There’s a beat of quiet.
He nods like he understands anyway. “Well… maybe you should try not carrying all of it alone.”
You glance at him. He’s not joking. There’s a softness in his eyes, calm and steady.
You smile, small. “Was that supposed to be deep?”
He smirks. “Give me a break, I don’t do this kind of pep talk often.”
You shake your head, but the smile lingers a little longer this time.
Later that day, you’re in the break room with Sana and Mitsuki when the topic circles back, as it always does.
“He’s cute, you know,” Mitsuki says, nodding toward the hallway where Seo-Jun had just walked by.
You feign ignorance. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb.” Mitsuki nudges you with her shoulder against yours.
Sana nudges your side. “He’s been circling for weeks. He even offered to help you carry equipment last time. Voluntarily.”
You groan. “You’re both terrible. Hes just being nice. And it was heavy.” You try to defend it.
“Terrible and correct,” Sana says with a grin. “Look, maybe it’s okay to let someone be good to you.”
You don’t respond right away.
Mitsuki raises an eyebrow. “You always act like you’re waiting for some other shoe to drop.”
“I’m not,” you say. Too quick. Too defensive.
Sana gives you a look—soft, not judging. “No one’s asking you to fall headfirst. Just… don’t shut the door before it opens.”
You nod, but your stomach twists.
Not because of Seo-Jun.
But because you don’t know what it means to be open anymore. Or what version of yourself you’d even let someone get close to.
You don’t see Jungkook until the next day, when you’re walking out of a team meeting and Seo-Jun jokes quietly beside you about running off together to avoid editing deadlines. He says it loud enough to get a laugh—and you catch Jungkook just a few feet away, pausing mid-sentence with Taehyung.
His eyes flick to you. Then to Seo-Jun.
His smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes.
Later, Jimin is quieter than usual too. Especially when Seo-Jun shows up again with extra snacks “just in case you skipped lunch.”
You say thank you.
You see it in Jimin’s face—that flicker of something.
But no one says anything.
Not yet.
You’re walking alongside Seo-Jun after a team sync, arms full of folders and checklists. He’s making some ridiculous joke about running away to Bali with company funds and blaming it on a scheduling error. You roll your eyes, laughing, and nudge him with your elbow. He nudges you back, playful, easy.
It’s the kind of banter that’s harmless on the surface. But you feel the eyes on you the moment you round the corner.
Jungkook is standing near the door to the main rehearsal room, talking to Taehyung and someone from sound.
He’s mid-sentence when he sees you.
His gaze flicks down to the way your arm brushes Seo-Jun’s, then back up to your face. You’re still smiling when you meet his eyes—until you realize the smile isn’t mirrored.
Not fully.
Taehyung says something that makes Jungkook blink, refocus. He nods, laughs a little, but it’s off. Like a scene slightly out of sync.
You keep walking, heartbeat suddenly not where it belongs. Seo-Jun doesn’t seem to notice the shift in you.
But Jimin does.
Later that afternoon, you’re back in the editing suite sorting through a cluster of schedules when the door cracks open.
“Yo,” Jimin says, poking his head in. “Got a sec?”
You motion to the mess in front of you. “Technically, no. What’s up?”
He slips inside anyway and drops into the chair across from you. “Just hiding. Hobi’s making us do bonus choreography and I didn’t stretch today.”
You huff a laugh. “You didn’t stretch yesterday either.”
He grins. “Wow. So observant. Are you always watching me, Y/N?”
You blink, caught off guard.
He’s clearly teasing, but the words land awkwardly in your chest. You shift your focus back to your laptop. “You’re hard to miss.”
Jimin watches you for a second, the mood thinning just slightly. Then, without warning, he gestures to the pile of empty snack wrappers at your side.
“Are you and Seo-Jun, like… working late nights together or something?”
The question is too casual. His tone too carefully light.
You shrug. “He just shows up sometimes. He’s nice.”
“Mm,” Jimin hums, gaze flicking back to the hallway. “He’s also really there lately.”
You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “Is that a problem?”
“Nope,” he says quickly. “Just… curious.”
The silence stretches.
You tap your pen against your notepad. “It’s not like that.”
Jimin looks at you for a moment longer—like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t. Finally, he stands and stretches.
“Cool,” he says lightly. “Just checking.”
He leaves with a crooked smile that doesn’t feel quite right.
You stare at the door for a long while after it shuts.
You didn’t plan to stay this late.
Again.
The hall lights have gone into energy-saving mode, leaving a soft dimness that reflects the end of the day. Your monitor glows faintly through the half-open office door, and you rub your temples, exhaustion settling in behind your eyes like a weighted curtain.
There’s a light knock on the doorframe.
You glance up, a little startled.
Seo-Jun.
Holding two cups of something hot.
“I guessed wrong once already,” he says, holding both up. “This one’s tea, the other’s some kind of sugary latte situation.”
You blink. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he says simply. “But your eye twitch was getting louder and it started to bother me.”
You huff a tired laugh and take the tea. “How observant of you.”
He shrugs, settling onto the edge of the desk next to yours. “I’ve got a good eye for overachievers on the edge of burnout. Especially the ones who pretend they’re fine when their voice gets all chirpy and fake.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “That’s oddly specific.”
“You’re oddly easy to read, sometimes,” he says, not unkindly.
You glance back at your screen to avoid that look—the way his face softens when he talks to you like he knows there’s something hiding underneath all your composure.
For a minute, you sip your tea in silence.
Then he says, carefully, “You’ve been a little quiet lately. Quieter than usual.”
You hesitate. “I’ve just been thinking a lot.”
“About?”
You shrug. “Work. Life. The occasional existential spiral.”
“Any particular reason you don’t talk about it with the rest of them?”
You lift a brow. “Why, when I can trauma dump on you for free?”
He smirks. “Exactly.”
But then his tone shifts, just slightly. “I mean it though. I see the way they look at you sometimes. Like they’re trying to figure out where to place you. Like they still don’t know if you’re one of them or just… someone passing through.”
You feel something flicker in your chest.
He’s not wrong.
And the worst part is—you’re not sure either.
“Sometimes I don’t think they know what to do with me,” you admit. “Like I’m too involved to be uninvolved… but not really part of the circle either.”
Seo-Jun nods slowly, like he’s been waiting for you to say that.
“I know that feeling,” he says. “Floating somewhere in between. Close enough to hear everything, but far enough to pretend it doesn’t affect you.”
You glance at him, your defenses dipping just a little. “Is that why you’re nice to me?”
He grins. “No. I’m nice to you because you’re funny when you’re pretending not to be overwhelmed.”
You snort.
“And because I like your face,” he adds, more casually than you’re ready for.
You almost choke on your tea. “Okay. That’s enough honesty for tonight.
“Was it too much? Should I have texted it instead?” he teases.
You don’t know what to say. Your heart thumps awkwardly in your chest—caught off guard not by what he said, but how easy it felt coming from him.
And maybe that’s what scares you a little.
You glance at the time.
“You should go home.”
“You too.”
You both stand, but neither of you moves.
Then Seo-Jun says, quieter this time, “You don’t have to always be half-in, half-out. With anyone. Including me.”
You nod.
But you don’t promise anything.
The day drags on slower than you’d like, filled with meetings and fleeting moments where your attention drifts toward your phone. Between glances at the time and half-hearted attempts to concentrate on the project in front of you, the weight of reality starts to press down on your chest.
You don’t know when you started to dread the idea of returning to university after the internship ends. It should feel like a break—getting back to what was familiar—but somehow, the idea of leaving this behind doesn’t sit right. The longer you’re here, the more you wonder whether you belong with this group of people—or if you’re just in the way.
It’s not something you’ve shared with anyone, but the unease lingers quietly in your thoughts. You’re here. But not for long.
You let out a breath and turn your focus back to the group.
The boys are clustered around, a mixture of friendly banter and half-distracted comments as the team finishes setting up for another session. It’s chaotic in the best way, but something’s different today. As the conversation shifts and the focus drifts toward the work, you catch Jimin’s eyes across the room. He gives you a smile, a little brighter than usual, but there’s something else in it, too—something you can’t place.
Then, Seo-Jun enters the room, his usual confident gait making its way to the group of managers in the back. He waves at you, and instinctively, you wave back, a smile tugging at your lips as you exchange a quiet greeting.
You don’t see it immediately, but you sense the change. Jimin’s gaze sharpens, his attention switching between you and Seo-Jun in a way that makes your pulse pick up.
You ignore it, busying yourself with some notes, but you feel the tension shift in the room. Seo-Jun’s presence never fails to bring an ease to the space, yet today it feels like something else lingers—like the air is thickening with unspoken thoughts.
Jungkook, who’s been quiet all morning, suddenly clears his throat. “I didn’t know you two were so close,” he says, his tone casually off-handed.
You glance up, feeling something you can’t quite define. Jungkook isn’t looking at you—he’s still focused on whatever conversation he was having with Taehyung, but his words hang in the air, a little too pointed.
Seo-Jun chuckles, the sound easygoing. “We’re not that close,” he replies with a grin, but the look he gives you—almost teasing, light-hearted—makes your chest tighten.
Jimin, who had been smiling just moments ago, suddenly shifts. His expression darkens, just slightly, as he looks at you and Seo-Jun. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something you can’t decipher.
Jimin’s smile tightens, and he raises an eyebrow at you in a way that feels like he’s asking a question that you don’t have an answer to.
You’re caught in the middle, and for the first time, the weight of it feels heavier than it has before. They’re noticing you and Seo-Jun. The growing tension between you and the two boys has only escalated, and now, Seo-Jun’s casual proximity to you in the group feels like a spark in the room.
Jungkook, picking up on the shift, leans back in his chair, throwing a glance your way. “Don’t tell me, Y/N,” he teases, “someone already trying to steal my coffee buddy, too?”
You force a laugh, though it comes out a little more strained than you intended. “It’s not like that.”
It’s a deflection.
It’s always easier to hide behind humor.
Seo-Jun glances over at you, his grin softening. “No stealing involved.” he says, making sure his voice is light. But something about the way he’s looking at you—almost too knowingly—sends another ripple through the room.
The boys don’t let it drop, though. Jungkook raises an eyebrow, his usual playfulness tinged with something sharper, and Jimin, ever the observant one, quietly observes.
“You sure about that?” Jimin’s voice carries a quiet edge, and you notice the way he’s looking at Seo-Jun, his expression unreadable.
Seo-Jun’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something passing between him and Jimin. It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it—a quiet challenge, an unspoken question.
“Don’t worry, Jimin,” Seo-Jun says lightly, though his words feel heavier than they should. “We’re just having some tea and talking about work. Nothing to steal.”
Jimin watches him for a moment longer, and you can see the tension in his jaw. But he doesn’t say anything else.
You don’t know what’s happening—whether it’s just the stress of the day or the weight of all the things you’ve been carrying, but it suddenly feels like everyone’s watching you. Their eyes on you, but their minds somewhere else. The air’s too thick, the silence too loaded.
Seo-Jun doesn’t seem to notice it, and Jimin doesn’t address it further, but you’re painfully aware of how your presence in the group feels like it’s shifted, and maybe not in a way you can control.
It was finally the weekend.
After the whirlwind of awkward silences, confusing tension, and long days of tiptoeing around unspoken things at work, the neon lights and music felt like another universe. The girls had practically dragged you out of your apartment—and you were glad they did.
You weren’t sure what to wear. You’d stood in front of your mirror too long, trying on outfits you didn’t even care about, until Yoshi yelled through your door, “You look hot in anything! We’re late!”
Now, an hour in, you were letting yourself breathe for the first time in days.
The bar-turned-club pulsed with bass-heavy music and flickering strobes. Sana was already tipsy and dancing with someone she swore she didn’t like. Mitsuki was talking with a cute bartender, and Yoshi kept bouncing between the group and taking pictures of the night.
Seo-Jun stayed close.
Not hovering—but always within reach.
He was comfortable to lean on. A familiar, steady kind of presence in the chaos. You’d caught him glancing at you more than once, but he didn’t act on it. Just stood nearby with a lazy grin and a drink in hand, answering your sarcastic comments with his own dry humor.
“You okay?” he leaned in to ask, his voice almost drowned by the music.
“Yeah,” you shouted back, nodding. “I’m good.”
You wanted to be good.
So when a remix of an old song you loved started playing, you grabbed his hand for a second and spun toward the dance floor with a “Come on!” before letting go and disappearing into the crowd. He hesitated, watching with that unreadable look again, but didn’t follow.
You danced with Yoshi at the edge of the crowd. Song after song it was only hits, songs that you knew way to well. You danced with also the strangers around you sometimes singing with them and feeling yourself in this moment. And you loved doing this. Dancing.
Not for anyone, not for attention—just because your body finally felt light again. Like you could shake off the complicated week, the stares, the weird feeling in your chest every time one of the boys looked at you like they knew you too well—or not at all.
And then… you realized something.
You were alone. Somehow you had drifted into the crowed and Yoshi had vanished. Maybe she went to the toilet?
You turned slowly, blinking through the red and blue haze. Your friends were still on the other side of the dance floor, but now you were in a patch of strangers. Faces you didn’t recognize. Bodies too close.
That’s when it happened.
A hand touched your waist. Too low. Grabbing you in and pulling you close.
You flinched, turning, only for the guy to smile—drunk and overconfident.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said whispering in your ear, clearly not meaning it. His other hand moved like it wanted to find a place on your back.
You sidestepped pushing yourself away. “I’m good, thanks.”
He didn’t let go. Gripping now your arm.
“C’mon, don’t be like that. You’re out, right?”
You tried again to pull away, but his grip firmed. “Hey, I said—”
“She said she’s good.”
The voice cut through the music like a switchblade.
Familiar.
Low.
Commanding.
You froze, the guy startled enough to back off a step, and that’s when you saw him—Jungkook.
Sweat dampened the strands of hair stuck to his temple, his jaw clenched. Behind him, Taehyung had a drink in his hand and a frown on his face. Jimin stood close too, his eyes fixed on you, unreadable.
You didn’t understand.
They weren’t supposed to be here. Why would they be here?
The guy mumbled something and disappeared before any of them could say more. Jungkook didn’t chase. He turned to you instead, gaze running down your arms as if checking if he’d gotten too rough.
“You okay?” he asked, voice lower now. Less anger. More… shaken?
You nodded, barely.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure—”
“I said I’m fine.”
It came out sharper than you meant, the panic still fresh in your chest. You weren’t mad. You were just embarrassed. The adrenaline still hummed in your blood and now all three of them were watching you like you’d broken.
“I didn’t need a rescue,” you added, softer.
“No,” Jimin said from behind Jungkook, voice quiet, “but you got one anyway.”
You blinked.
It was only then you realized how close they all were.
The three of them.
Watching.
Hovering.
And suddenly, you felt more exposed than you had all night. The walls felt like closing in and suddently you couldn’t completely cacth your breath.
“Thanks,” you said quickly, stepping back. “But I’m fine now. I should get back.”
“To Seo-Jun?” Taehyung teased gently, but something in his tone hinted he wasn’t just joking.
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t need to.
Jungkook’s jaw ticked.
Jimin looked away.
You turned before you could unravel.
You blinked again.
Gone.
The boys were nowhere.
Where Jungkook had stood, there was only a flicker of shifting lights and unfamiliar faces. No Jimin. No Taehyung. It was as if the moment hadn’t happened—if not for the thrum still in your ribs and the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, like they were still on edge.
You pressed your lips together and turned away away again
No one needed to know. Not Seo-Jun, not the girls. Not anyone.
You pushed your way back through the crowd, forcing yourself to walk like you hadn’t just been rattled. Like you weren’t fighting a war between embarrassment and something colder.
“Hey!” Yoshi waved you over as soon as she spotted you. “Where’d you go?”
You gave her a faint smile. “Just wandered off. I’m back.”
She passed you a half-finished drink. “Mitsuki left with that bartender.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Sana chimed in with a giggle, “She texted ‘Don’t wait up’ and a heart emoji. I think she’s fine, but you know. Classic Mitsuki.”
You nodded, pretending to laugh with them. But the night suddenly felt thinner. Less electric.
You glanced toward the bar where Seo-Jun stood talking to someone from another department. As if sensing your gaze, he looked over. His face shifted the second he saw you—shoulders straightening, mouth tightening a little.
He walked over, brushing his knuckles lightly against your arm. Which had you frowning and stepping away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just over it. .”
“Want to go?” His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to pressure you but wouldn’t take no for an answer.
You paused.
“I think I’ll just head out,” you murmured. “You don’t have to leave. Stay and have fun. I’ll be okay.”
He frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you going home alone.”
“I’ll take a taxi,” you said gently, cutting him off before he could insist again. “Seriously, Seo-Jun. I’m just not feeling it anymore.”
He hesitated, clearly torn. But you looked away before he could protest, already pulling your coat off the back of a chair.
You stepped outside a few minutes later, the air cool and damp against your skin. The noise of the club melted into a low hum behind you. You were halfway toward the curb when a voice behind you made your heart lurch.
“Hey.”
You turned, startled.
Jungkook.
He was standing a few feet away, hoodie up, his hands in his pockets. You hadn’t seen him come out, hadn’t even known he’d stayed.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same.”
He smiled faintly. “Taehyung wanted to stay. I just needed air.”
You glanced toward the sky, then back at him. “Yeah. I get that.”
He took a step closer, but not too close. “About earlier…”
You shook your head quickly. “Don’t worry. It was nothing. Leave it be”
That made him pause, caught somewhere between a smile and something sadder. “That’s not what I—”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted, gently but firmly.
Jungkook nodded. He looked down, scuffed the toe of his shoe against the sidewalk. “You’re not hurt, right? From the guy?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Silence.
He keeps staring at you trying to see through whatever you were trying so hard to cover. His jaw tense and his face more serious than you have ever seen him.
You didn’t know what to say. Everything was so heavy suddenly. Like your body had already left the club, but your mind was still playing catch-up, trying to understand the strange looks, the timing, the strange ache in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
“I should go,” you mumbled, stepping off the curb.
He nodded again, slow this time.
But just before you opened the taxi door, he spoke again.
“Y/N?”
You glanced over your shoulder.
“…I don’t like seeing you look at someone else like that.”
The words knocked something loose inside you, something small and quiet and stubborn.
He must be drunk and doesn’t even know what hes saying anymore.
You didn’t answer.
You just slipped inside the cab and shut the door.
Each time your phone lit up with her name, it was like bracing for impact. The first time was at 9:42 a.m., and you stupidly answered, thinking maybe someone had died. Cause would she be awake in the middle of the night in her own timezone?
Instead, it was her voice—sugary-sweet and absolutely unhinged:
“How is Yoongi? Like, in person. Is he as emotionally unavailable as he looks or are those just his stage eyes?”
You’d groaned so loudly your neighbor probably heard it through the wall. “Evi. Goodbye.” Click.
That should’ve been the end. It wasn’t.
The next call came fifteen minutes later.
“I’m serious. Are they actually that pretty? Like normal human pretty or are they glowy and like Gods in real life too?”
You hung up again.
Another call.
“Okay but like… if I write a letter—nothing weird, just, you know, soul-bearing fan admiration, could you casually slide it to Namjoon? Like leave it near a coffee machine or something?”
That one got a hard click and an eye roll so dramatic it gave you a headache.
But it didn’t stop.
By the eighth call, you stopped saying anything altogether and just sent her straight to voicemail.
By the tenth, you blocked her calls — temporarily. You were still polite. Ish. Or at leas that’s what you keep telling yourself
She texted instead.
[My one and only true love] : Y/N, you’re literally the key to world peace right now. Don’t be selfish.[My one and only true love] : Did you breathe the same air as Jungkook today? Did he smile? Did his eyes crinkle? I just need to know if they crinkled.[My one and only true love] : I KNOW YOU READ THIS.
You tossed your phone across the bed and buried your face in a pillow.
The worst part wasn’t even her questions. It was the fact that you wanted to answer them. You wanted to tell her how surreal it was. How Yoongi was intimidating at first but warm in a blink-and-you-miss-it way. How Namjoon gave a small, surprised nod when you held the studio door open. How Jimin was... flirtier than expected. And how Jungkook-
Your phone buzzed again. You reach over lazily, fully expecting to flip Evi off for the last time. But then you see it: Park Jimin
Your heart stumbles just a little and you have no clue why.
[Jimin] : Are you surviving the weekend, or should we send a rescue team?
You snort. Of course he would text like that.
Over the past week, you’d found yourself growing unexpectedly closer to Jimin. He had a way of just being around. He was never imposing, but always present, sliding into conversations with that easy charm of his. He’d casually ask about your day, your favorite coffee order, the friends you missed back home, or what music you listened to when no one was watching. Sometimes, he’d sit nearby and let comfortable silences fill the space, occasionally staring out the window like he was watching something only he could see.
You type back:
[you] : Barely. I’ve had 13 missed calls from my best friend who may or may not be trying to bribe me into smuggling a letter to Namjoon.”
A bubble pops up immediately.
[Jimin] : Namjoon-hyung? She has good taste. 😂
[Jimin] : What did you tell her?
You pause, then:
[you] : I told her she’s delusional and hung up. Then she called again to ask if Yoongi bites.
[Jimin] : Okay now I have questions.
[Jimin] : What’s her theory on me?
You can’t help but smile at your screen. Of course he would like to know.
[you] : She hates you. Says you're the worst.
You send it and you can immediately imagine him frowning and pouting on the other end of his screen.
[you] : She thinks you’re the dangerous flirt. Her words, not mine.
Three dots appear, disappear. Then reappear.
[Jimin] : Dangerous, huh? That’s a first. Most people just call me cute.
You roll your eyes.
[you] : Don’t let it go to your head.
[Jimin] : Too late. I’m dangerously flattered.
You laugh quietly, kicking your blanket up over your legs. It’s strangely comforting. Light, teasing, normal. Almost what you felt while talking to Jungkook when you didn’t know he was… well, Jungkook. He has been treating you with a cold shoulder until yesterday, when he suddently decided to mess with your head even more by saying all that stuff.
Then comes the next message:
[Jimin] : Anyway, just wanted to check in. You’ve had a crazy first week. Everything okay?
Your fingers hover over your screen for a moment. It feels like a casual question, but you know Jimin, not long, but long enough, to know he wants to know something else.
[you] : “It’s a lot. Not bad, just... a lot. Still wrapping my head around everything.”
[Jimin] : Yeah, I figured. You’re handling it better than most would, though. The last girl almost had a heart attack before she even entered the building.
That makes your chest tighten a little. You weren’t expecting sincerity after all the playful back and forth.
[you] : Thanks. That means more than you know.
[Jimin] : Don’t overthink stuff too much, okay? If you need someone to talk to... I’ve been told I’m a great listener. 😉
You shake your head, smiling.
[you] : I’ll keep that in mind. But only if you promise not to flirt mid-therapy.
[Jimin] : No promises. I multitask like a pro
You toss your phone onto the pillow beside you and cover your face with your hands, grinning like a complete idiot.
God help you.
Because if Jungkook made your heart stumble, Jimin made it dance.
Your phone buzzes again.
[Jimin] : So
[Jimin] : you doing anything this weekend?
You stare at the message. Your brain screeches to a halt.
Wait - what?
You sit up a little too fast, nearly knocking your phone off the bed.
This is not happening. Or at least not happening how you think it is. You try to play it off.
[you] : Why?
[you] : Planning to send that rescue team after all?
He replies instantly.
[Jimin] : Was thinking more like… coffee? A walk? Something to help you forget your job involves dodging fangirl mail and existential dread.
You blink at the screen, rereading it. Once. Twice.
[Jimin] : . If that helps you breathe.
You don’t answer right away.
Because your first instinct is to say yes. Not because any other reason then hes just been a friend lately and he’s nice to be around. Having a friend is nice and you are craving the company if anyone at your side. Even though that person is Jimin.
But your second is to slam your phone face down and pretend you never saw the message.
[you] : Maybe that's not such a good idea.
And then immediately regret sending it. He takes a moment.
[Jimin] : Too soon?
[you] : No, not that.
[you] : It’s just… you’re not just anyone. You’re… you.
[you] : And I don’t know if you are aware, maybe hanging out with a girl would be putting my head in a spike withing 10 min..
He doesn’t leave you hanging long, but the wait for his new message to show up feels like forever.
[Jimin] : Y/N, I’m not announcing it on Weverse.
[Jimin] : Plus, its just coffee.
[Jimin] : And maybe muffins.
[Jimin] : Unless you're anti-muffin, in which case this friendship is doomed.
[Jimin] : Its just… a moment to breathe. That’s all.
You bite the corner of your lips as his chat bubble comes on and off. Like he is unsure of what he is typying and keep rewriting the message.
[Jimin] : Maybe its more for me then you, to be honest.
You stare at the screen, your fingers frozen over the keyboard.
You want to believe it’s that simple. That he is that simple.
But nothing about this job has been simple since the moment you walked in. And the man behind the other phone, of all people, definitely isn’t.
[you] : I just don’t want to do something that ends up hurting you later.
[you] : Or makes people talk. I’ve seen what they do to girls who so much as blink near you guys.
The typing bubbles appear, then vanish. Then appear again.
[Jimin] : I get it.
[Jimin] : I really do.
[Jimin] : But I also know what it’s like to feel like you're constantly holding your breath.
[Jimin] : I’m not trying to make things complicated. I’m just trying to be your friend.
You bite your lip, tension winding in your chest.
Friend.
Right.
Just friends.
You glance around your room like the walls might offer advice. They don’t.
[you] : …Okay. But it has to be low-key. Like, “no makeup, hoodie, cap pulled low” kind of low-key.
[Jimin] : That was the plan.
[Jimin] : We’re not going to Paris.
[Jimin] : We’re going to a café that doesn’t even serve milk alternatives.
You huff a soft laugh despite yourself.
[you] : Fine. But if this turns into a headline, You are paying for my moving to Iceland.
[Jimin] : Cool. I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. 😉
[Jimin] : Pick you up at 11?
[you] : 11 works. You better not bail.
[Jimin] : Please. I put “dangerous flirt” on my calendar and everything.
You roll your eyes toss your phone onto the bed and fall back with a sigh that turns into a small, helpless smile.
Just friends.
Just coffee.
Totally manageable.
...Totally.
Sunday. 10:58 a.m.
You’ve changed outfits three times.
Not because you’re trying to impress him - no, definitely not - but because “low-key” is an annoyingly vague instruction when the guy you’re grabbing coffee with is literally Park Jimin. You’ve quickly came to realize theres not a single moment of the day that he is not stunning. Sometimes cuter then he is hot but stunning nonetheless.
You settle on jeans, a hoodie, and a cap pulled so low you can barely see your own reflection. Besides it being what you had previously agreed on it was perfectly invisible.
Totally inconspicuous… if no one looks at your face. Or voice. Or existence.
Your phone buzzes.
[Jimin]: I’m outside. If you don’t come out in 60 seconds, I’m filing a missing person report.
You peek out the window and immediately duck back down like you’re in some kind of spy movie.
He’s leaning casually against a nondescript black car, wearing oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap, dressed in all-black with the relaxed confidence of someone who knows they look good doing absolutely nothing.
Cool. Great. This is fine. You’re calm. You’re so calm. Since when you got the nervs around him? Maybe it was Evi getting to your head.
You grab your phone and bag and hurry down, shoving your keys into your hoodie pocket and whispering a quick prayer to the gods of awkward social encounters.
When you reach the car, he spots you instantly and grins - this slow, cheeky thing that spreads across his face like sunshine and amusement rolled into one.
“Well, well. You clean up nice for someone trying to go incognito.”
You scoff, tugging your cap down lower. “I look like a sleep-deprived raccoon.”
He opens the passenger door for you. “A cute raccoon. Very urban. Very now.”
You roll your eyes but get in anyway. The car smells like citrus and fabric softener and something unmistakably him. It’s dangerously comforting.
As he slides into the driver’s seat and pulls away from the curb, he glances at you sideways.
“Nervous?”
You snort. “What, about being seen with you? Not at all. I thrive on public scrutiny and mild panic attacks.”
He laughs, warm and unguarded. “Well, good. Because we’re going to the world’s chillest café. I doubt other people truly even know about that place. Just overpriced muffins and the worst coffee chairs in Seoul.”
You raise a brow. “Are the muffins worth the spinal injury?”
He grins. “Guess you’ll find out.”
Twenty minutes later, you’re seated in a tiny café tucked between a used bookshop and an abandoned florist. True to his word, it’s quiet. Unassuming. The kind of place where no one looks twice. Especially not at two hoodie-wearing, sunglasses-inside weirdos sharing a corner booth and a plate with 3 different types of muffins.
“This place is cute,” you say, peeling the lid off your coffee.
“Told you.” Jimin sips his drink and scrunches his nose. “Still terrible coffee though.”
You laugh. Taking a sip of your own coffee. It indeed is terrible. “Then why do you come here?”
He shrugs, looking out the window for a beat before glancing back at you. “It’s quiet. And I like the light.”
You follow his gaze, drawn to the soft warmth of the sunlight spilling through the glass. It pours in gently, casting golden stripes across the table, dancing over the worn wood, glinting off the rim of your cup, and settling in a delicate pattern across the backs of his fingers. His hand doesn’t move—he just lets the light touch him like he’s used to observing rather than participating.
It’s peaceful. Still.
And it hits you, in a way it hadn’t before. This is probably what peace looks like to him. Not the loud cheers of crowds or the frantic energy that buzzes around his name, not the stages or the flashing lights or the cameras always trying to catch him mid-breath. Just this. A quiet table. Warm sunlight.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, nudging your foot under the table, “you’re not overthinking again, are you?”
You jolt, blinking. “I - no. Maybe. Just... it’s weird.”
“What is?”
“This whole thing…” you motion off to the air around you and looking at him for some sort of understanding but finding none “This whole week. It’s like I accidentally walked into someone else’s life and now I’m just... pretending I belong here. Crazy imposter syndrome I guess.”
Jimin’s expression softens, all teasing vanished. He leans in a little, voice lower.
“You do belong here, Y/N. You didn’t walk into someone else’s life. I believe we all are exactly where we need to be. Maybe we don’t know yet the purpose but eveything has a reason.”
You blink at him. Taking in his expression as he continues to sip his coffee.
Then shake your head laughing. “That was surprisingly profound for someone who puts ‘dangerous flirt’ on his calendar.”
He grins again, flashing those trademark eye-crinkles that Evi would absolutely scream over.
“Multitalented,” he says with a wink. “Told you.”
You’re halfway through your muffin—blueberry, surprisingly good—and mid-story about Evi trying to flirt with a guy at a gas station while wearing a werewolf onesie when the café door swings open with a soft ding. You don’t pay attention at first, until Jimin stops laughing and glances over your shoulder.
It’s subtle, but you came to know him well enough now to clock it.
You twist in your seat, turning toward the entrance.
And your stomach drops.
There, framed in that golden end of morning sunlight and looking like he walked straight out of a fever dream, is Jungkook. Black hoodie, sleeves pushed up. Messy hair under a beannie. Bag slung over one shoulder like he’d just rolled out of bed and remembered he existed. He looks sleep-soft, a little puffy around the eyes, but still unmistakably him. And unfortunately for you, unfairly attractive. He doesn’t spot you at first. Greets the barista with a quiet, “Morning,” and a smile that barely tugs at the corner of his mouth.
After placing his order, his eyes flick to the seating area.
And land on you.
He pauses. Just for a second. His expression doesn’t shift much. Jungkook is always hard to read when he wants to be. But there’s the smallest flicker of something in his eyes. Like surprise and amusement and-
Oh god hes walking towards you.
You don’t know whether to panic or laugh at how surreal this moment feels. There’s no way he could have known you were here, right? You were just talking to Jimin like everything was completely normal.
You try to look cool. Nonchalant. Why are you that bothered anyway? You mentally cringe at yourself. Jimin, however, is grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly having caught the slight shift in your expression.
“Oh,” Jimin says casually, glancing over. “Looks like someone’s popular.”
You try to hide the flush rising in your cheeks, glancing back at Jungkook. He’s almost there now, and your stomach tightens. It’s ridiculous. This is just... another chance encounter, right? Another coincidence. Except, your heart doesn’t seem to think it’s a coincidence. It’s beating a little faster, and you are totally blaming it on the coffee and sugar treats you are having.
“Didn’t know this place had a fan club,” he says, stopping just beside your seat.
Your pulse skips.
Jimin leans back in his seat, one arm slung casually over the back of the chair. He’s smiling, but it’s a touch cooler now. “Didn’t know you were stalking my Yelp reviews.”
Jungkook huffs a small laugh, eyes still on you. “Didn’t know I needed to.”
You try not to fidget under his gaze.
“We’re just grabbing coffee,” you say, keeping your voice neutral.
There’s a pause. Heavy, weighted.
You glance at Jimin, but he’s watching Jungkook now with a look you can’t quite decipher.
Jungkook clears his throat. “Mind if I join?” He grins, leaning against the table, his gaze flickering to Jimin for a moment before returning to you.
Jimin immediately gestures to the empty chair next to you. “Come on, sit down! We’ve got muffins, coffee and Y/N telling embarrinsing stories of her best friend.” He flashes a teasing smile, obviously enjoying the moment far more than you’re capable of right now.
Jungkook pulls up a chair and sits, but not without giving you a playful glance, as if he can sense your awkwardness. His eyes soften for a brief second, but then the playful smirk returns. “I didn’t expect to see you here... but I’m not complaining.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know why it feels so different when he says it. Maybe it’s because you’re so used to the version of Jungkook who’d been distant all week- the one who was so hard to read and had you over analizing every breath he took when in the same room as you.
But this? This Jungkook feels... lighter. Less guarded. Like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, and in a way that makes your heart race.
You clear your throat, attempting to sound casual, but the teasing tone in your voice betrays you. “Is there a VIP section for BTS members I didn’t know about?”
Jungkook chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that bunny smile that makes you forget what you were even talking about. “Maybe we should make it a thing, Jimin” He says face turning more serious as he turns to his friend. Jimin laughs and shrugs making the expression on Jungkooks face soften again “Just happened to walk by and saw you guys.”
“Lucky me,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intended, but there’s no taking it back now. Your face betrays you, coloring a little too much as you glance down at your coffee cup.
Jimin watches this whole exchange with a barely-contained smirk, clearly enjoying the subtle back-and-forth between you and Jungkook. He leans back in his chair, popping a muffin bite into his mouth as if he’s watching a movie.
Jungkook, noticing your hesitation, changes the subject, ever the sweet, playful force of nature that he is.
He glances at your plate. “Blueberry?”
“Yeah.”
He hums. “Thought so.”
You tilt your head. “Why?”
“You just seem like the type.”
You open your mouth to respond but realize you don’t know what that even means. He doesn’t clarify either, just smiles at his cup like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
The three of you chat, and it’s casual. On the surface. Jimin is his usual playful self, asking Jungkook if he’s ever actually finished a full muffin in his life that it wasn’t just a “boring chocolate muffin”. Jungkook fires back with something dry but grinning, and the banter goes on like they’ve done this a thousand times.
But beneath it, there’s a quiet undercurrent you can’t ignore.
Jungkook keeps glancing your way when he thinks you’re not looking. You catch him once, and he doesn’t look away. Just holds your gaze for a second longer than is safe.
And then he smiles.
Soft.
Your breath catches before you can stop it.
You glance away first.
Because it’s safer. Because looking at him too long feels like falling in his gravity and you don’t even know how deep the drop goes.
Jimin’s still talking, teasing Jungkook about something-some inside joke about trainee days and an incident involving a blender and soy milk. You try to follow, you really do, but the air between you and Jungkook has shifted again. Not heavy. Just… charged. Like the moment before rain when everything is too still.
He reaches for your coffee cup without asking, pulls it a few inches toward him, and squints dramatically at the foam heart on top.
"That’s it? You didn’t ask for any whipped cream? No chocolate drizzle?” He pouts, mock-offended. “Where’s the joy, Y/N?”
You blink at the sound of your name. He’s never said it like that before. Like it belongs in his mouth. Like he’s tasted it before and liked the way it settled on his tongue.
You try to play it off. “I didn’t realize I was contractually obligated to order dessert in a cup.”
“Oh, you are,” Jimin says, still chewing muffin. “Jungkook’s a dessert tyrant. He once called my black coffee ‘emotionally unavailable.’”
You laugh under your breath as they bicker, the banter light but threaded with something else—something that doesn’t quite settle. Because even as they go back and forth, Jungkook’s attention keeps drifting. Small, fleeting glances. The kind that most people wouldn’t notice. But you do.
He watches your hands, the way your fingers curl around your cup. The shape of your mouth when you smile. The curve of your cheek in the afternoon light. His eyes always find their way back to yours, lingering there just a moment too long. Again, only when he thinks you’re not watching.
And you feel it. Every glance. Every pause. Like your body is tuned to a frequency only he broadcasts on.
Jimin’s phone buzzes, sharp and insistent, and after a glance at the screen, he sighs and excuses himself to take the call.
And then it’s just you two.
You look at Jungkook—really look this time—and the playful edge in his features is gone. What’s left behind is sharper. Focused. There’s something alive in his expression, something that simmers just below the surface.
You lower your cup, lean back slightly in your seat, and arch a brow—just enough to make him wonder what you’rethinking now.
The corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he knows.
And then neither of you says a word.
But suddenly, silence feels louder than conversation ever could.
His gaze drops for the briefest second—to your mouth, then back to your eyes—and this time, it’s not subtle. Not pretending to be accidental. It’s intentional, and he knows you saw it.
Your breath catches, just barely. Enough for your body to register the shift before your mind catches up.
Jungkook leans forward slightly, his forearms resting on the edge of the table, voice low enough that only you can hear.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, but I am happy that I did” he says. Not casual. Not friendly. Something else.
Before you can answer - before you can even think of how to respond - Jimin’s voice cuts back in, light and unbothered as he slides into his seat in front of you.
“Sorry. That was Mr. Kim. I truly believe he never sleeps.” He says still focused on his screen.
You blink, moment broken. Jungkook leans back like nothing happened, like the air between you didn’t just shift on its axis.
But your heartbeat is still racing. And when your knee brushes his under the table-by accident or fate or something in between-you don’t move it.
You shift your focus to the rest of the room, trying to regain some sense of control. Everyone else seems oblivious to the tension settling uncomfortably in your chest. Mr. Kim motions for you to take a seat at the table, and you do—choosing the spot farthest from Jungkook that still feels natural. You can feel him there, just out of your direct line of sight, but you keep your eyes forward. You’re here for work, you remind yourself.
“This is where we’ll start. You’ll be working with me directly, Ms. Y/L/N,” Mr. Kim says, his voice smooth and professional as he moves into the briefing. “Mostly scheduling, helping with day-to-day tasks, and organizing some of our meetings. You’ll be working closely with me, but that means that you’ll also be working directly with them.” He gestures toward the seven guys seated around the table.
You nod, doing your best to keep your expression neutral, but your thoughts are anything but steady. Jungkook hasn’t looked your way once. He sits relaxed, focused on the screen in front of him, reacting to Mr. Kim’s words with quiet nods and the occasional thoughtful hum. If he recognized you, he’s doing a damn good job of pretending otherwise.
You watch him from the corner of your eye. Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition. And maybe he didn’t recognize you. Maybe it’s been long enough, or maybe you just remember it more vividly than he does. You talked like 3 times? Maybe that is even a stretch. The conversations that stuck with you more than they ever might have stuck with him.
Still… there’s something in the way his jaw tenses for a split second. The smallest shift in his posture when you first entered. You could be imagining it. You probably are.
Focus. You pull yourself back into the moment, scribbling down notes like your life depends on it. The conversation flows around you—project timelines, scheduling conflicts, goals for the next quarter—but your mind keeps drifting. Jungkook remains quiet, engaged, but distant. Like every other guy at the table. Like a stranger.
And maybe that’s all he is.
The meeting finally winds down. Chairs shuffle, voices rise in casual chatter as the group starts packing up. You keep your movements slow and measured, trying not to seem flustered even though your heart’s still pounding.
Then, as you reach for your folder, you feel it—that subtle shift again. Jungkook walks past your chair, and for a moment, it feels like the air stills between you. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t stop. But he nods once in your direction. Polite. Distant. Just enough to acknowledge your presence, like he would with anyone else new on the team.
You don’t know what to make of it. Maybe that’s just how he is. Maybe it was recognition. Maybe it wasn’t.
Mr. Kim claps his hands once, drawing your attention. “All right, that’s it for today. Y/N, stay behind for a few minutes. Everyone else, you’re free to go.”
You stay in your seat, pretending the knot in your chest isn’t growing tighter. The room clears. Jungkook doesn’t look back.
Mr. Kim gestures for you to come over. “Y/N, I just wanted to go over a few more things. We’ll start your tasks tomorrow, but for now, any questions?”
You shake your head, managing a small smile. “No questions, Mr. Kim. I’m ready to get started.”
“Good,” he says, handing you a folder. “I’ll send you some more details over email, and we’ll catch up tomorrow morning to go over your tasks.”
You thank him and leave, folder tucked under your arm, nerves still buzzing beneath your skin. You try not to think too hard about Jungkook. About whether he recognized you and chose not to say anything—or if he really didn’t remember you at all.
Either way, one thing’s clear: this isn’t going to be as easy as you thought.
Your second day starts with your heart pounding and your breath catching in your throat as you clock in. You do your best to steady yourself, rolling your shoulders back, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your shirt. . You do your best to steady it as you swipe your ID and clock in.
You’re here to work, you remind yourself. Just breathe.
The morning drifts by in a rhythm that’s starting to feel familiar. A few members pass by your desk to say hello—short, polite greetings that are more routine than personal. Everyone’s friendly, sure, but busy. No one lingers.
By lunchtime, you’re halfway through your onboarding when you finally push away from your desk, blinking away screen fatigue. You’re scrolling through your phone as you head down the hallway, half-distracted, when you turn a corner and bump into someone.
A surprised breath escapes you as your phone wobbles in your hand—but before it can fall, a hand reaches out to steady you by the elbow.
“Whoa—careful,” a smooth voice says, laced with laughter. “You always move this fast, or am I just lucky today?”
You look up and find Jimin standing close, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He’s holding a half-peeled tangerine in one hand, but it’s not the fruit that catches your attention—it’s him.
His scent hits you first: something unexpectedly soft and warm, like vanilla or sugar, but layered with something darker underneath—subtle, smooth, almost like whiskey left to settle in old wood. It clings to him in the way perfume never quite could. Like it belongs to him, like it is him.
You blink, trying to regain your footing. “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
His smile widens just slightly. “I noticed.”
You step back, embarrassed, but he doesn’t move
“Not that I’m complaining,” he adds, biting into a slice of fruit. “Most people take a few days before they crash into me in the hallway. You’re ahead of schedule.”
You let out a soft laugh. “Guess I like to make an impression.”
“Oh, you’re doing great,” he says, voice light but eyes steady. “Top-tier hallway collision.”
There’s a pause, just long enough for something to pass between you—something amused, curious, maybe a little interested. He leans casually against the wall, unhurried, like this is just where he felt like being today.
“You settling in okay?” he asks, tone still easy, but more sincere now.
You nod. “Yeah. Everyone’s been really kind so far.”
“Good.” He pops the last slice of tangerine into his mouth, then tilts his head slightly. “Still smiling on day two—that’s a good sign.”
You smile, maybe a bit softer than before. “It’s good. Trying my best.”
“Good,” he echoes, popping a piece of tangerine into his mouth. “If it ever stops being good, or just gets too… much, you can always find me by the snacks. Or near a window dramatically staring into the distance, depending on the mood.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, your voice quieter now, but still amused.
He tosses the peel into a nearby bin without looking and gives you a lazy little wave as he starts walking backward. “Don’t be a stranger.”
And just like that, he turns the corner and disappears.
But even after he’s gone, his scent lingers in the air—sweet, soft, and just a little dangerous. Like something you might dream about and wake up still tasting.
By mid-afternoon, the office is buzzing in that post-lunch lull where people are either too energized or too sleepy to stay quiet. You’re organizing a stack of papers for Mr. Kim when your email dings with a calendar update. You glance at the subject line:
"Recording Session - Studio A. Please attend."
Your eyebrows knit together. This wasn’t on your schedule earlier.
A quick message from Mr. Kim pops up in your inbox seconds later:
Y/N, I want you to start shadowing some of the production-side logistics. Head to Studio A, take notes, get familiar with how sessions are run. Don’t worry, you’re not expected to do anything yet—just observe for now.
You grab your tablet and notebook, heart picking up again as you make your way through the maze of halls. You’ve only passed Studio A once during your tour—it was quiet then, doors shut, lights dim. Now, music seeps into the hallway before you even reach the door. Bass low and steady.
You knock lightly before pushing the door open.
The space is larger than you expected. Dark walls, ambient lighting, and a glass panel separating the control room from the recording booth. Inside the booth, someone’s already in the middle of a take—voice rich and smooth, floating effortlessly over the track.
You freeze for a second when you realize it’s Jungkook.
He’s standing in front of the mic, sleeves rolled up, headphones on, head slightly tilted as he sings with his eyes closed. The track behind him is unfamiliar—low, sultry, almost haunting—but it fits him too well.
You weren’t expecting this.
He looks… different here. Less polished, more raw. Focused in a way you haven’t seen yet. And for a moment, you forget you’re supposed to be invisible in the room.
You feel someone step beside you, and Jimin appears with a quiet nod. “Didn’t think they’d throw you into the deep end this early.”
You blink, trying to look casual. “I’m just observing.”
“Mm. Good place to start,” he says, leaning his arms on the back of one of the chairs, watching the booth through the glass. “He’s recording something new. No one’s heard it yet, except maybe Namjoon and the sound engineer.”
“Oh,” you say quietly, letting yourself sit down beside him.
Another take starts. Jungkook’s voice dips into a deeper register, laced with something unfamiliar—emotion, maybe. Or memory.
Suddenly, halfway through the verse, he stumbles. Not vocally—his tone is fine—but he falters just slightly. Opens his eyes. Looks through the glass.
And his gaze lands right on you.
Your breath catches.
It only lasts a second—maybe less—but it feels longer. His expression doesn’t change, not really. No shock. No flicker of recognition. Just… that same calm, unreadable focus. And then he looks away, gesturing for the track to start again.
The session continues, and you scribble down notes to distract yourself, but that one moment stays burned into your mind—unexpected, quiet, and somehow louder than anything else you’ve heard all day.
Not much later, the session winds down slowly.
Jungkook removes his headphones, murmuring something to the engineer, his voice low and muffled through the glass. The room starts to shift back into motion—buttons clicked, files saved, people standing and stretching. You pretend to be preoccupied with your notes, scribbling more than necessary, anything to avoid making eye contact.
Jimin stretches beside you with a soft sigh. “Not bad for your first backstage experience, huh?”
You hum in response, still staring down at your page. “He’s… talented.”
“Mm,” Jimin says, amused. “That’s one way to put it.”
Before you can ask what he means by that, the door to the booth opens and Jungkook steps out. His hair’s a little tousled, his sleeves still rolled up, a water bottle tucked under his arm. He walks straight past you both to speak briefly with the producer—but you feel it. That quiet awareness of someone being near. The slight shift in the air.
Jimin notices it too, judging by the way his head tilts slightly as he watches Jungkook from the corner of his eye. But he doesn’t say anything.
Not yet.
Mr. Kim arrives a few minutes later, clapping his hands together. “Great work, everyone. Y/N, you can wrap up your notes and send me the summary later. Thanks for sitting in.”
You nod, standing and gathering your things quickly. You’re about to head out when Jimin gently bumps his shoulder into yours.
“Careful walking down those hallways,” he says softly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Never know who you might crash into.”
You laugh quietly, shaking your head, and step into the hall. It’s empty now, quiet in a way that feels like a breath finally released.
You’re halfway down the corridor when you hear footsteps behind you.
You turn, and there he is—Jungkook.
He’s walking slower than you expected, expression unreadable but calm. Not intense. Not distant. Just... quiet.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stops a few steps away, looking at you like he’s still trying to decide something.
You grip your tablet a little tighter, not sure if you should speak first.
Then he nods—barely—and says, “Thanks for sitting in.”
His voice is smooth, low, and polite. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You swallow. “Of course. You sounded... really good.”
A beat. Then a soft, almost imperceptible lift at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.”
And that’s it. No lingering stare, no knowing glance. He turns and walks past you, one hand slipping into his pocket like this was just another normal end of afternoon.
But as you stand there, heart tapping quietly against your ribs, you realize something:
You still don’t know if he recognized you.
But he’s really, really good at making you question it.
Later that night, you’re curled up on the edge of your bed, hair piled messily on top of your head, laptop open as you review the notes from the day. The studio session still replays in your mind in flashes—Jungkook’s voice, that glance through the glass, the moment in the hallway.
You sigh, stretching your arms overhead before pulling up your inbox to send the session summary to Mr. Kim.
But that’s when you notice it.
A new email. No subject. Sent just a few minutes ago.
You almost skip it, assuming it’s junk—until you notice the sender.
It’s from a private company address you don’t recognize. But what catches your eye is the name:
JK_ProdTeam
Your heart skips.
You click.
Inside, there’s no text. No greeting. No explanation. Just a single audio file attached, titled:
“Alt_Take_03_mixdown.mp3”
You hesitate, hovering your finger over the trackpad.
It could be an accident—maybe someone from the production team mistook you for a staff contact. But you’ve only been here two days. You’re not even on the official production list yet.
Still, curiosity wins.
You click play.
The audio file is short. Raw. No polished mix, no harmonies — just Jungkook’s voice and a quiet, looping piano.
You listen with your heart in your throat.
The first verse is familiar, close to what you heard in the studio earlier. But the second verse… shifts.
He sings softer now, like it’s just for him.
And then you hear it:
“Didn’t expect your shadow to pass me again / I thought the silence would be forever.”
The words land like a dropped pin in your chest. You sit frozen, barely breathing.
You’re almost sure this wasn’t in the original version. At least… not the one you were meant to hear.
But you can’t be sure. Maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe it means nothing.
Your stomach flips.
You pause the track, heart racing now.
Was this... meant for you?
Or is it just a coincidence? Accidentally forwarded?
You glance at the sender again, debating whether to reply. Ask. Pretend you never saw it. Or maybe… listen one more time, just to be sure.
But you don’t press play again.
Instead, you close the lid of your laptop slowly, pulse still fluttering in your throat.
You’re not sure what this means. Or if it means anything.
But that line?
That line sounded like a memory—one he didn’t think anyone else would hear.
The next three days passes like any other. You try to focus on your tasks - organizing schedules, setting up meetings, helping wherever you’re needed - but something about Jimin’s presence lingers.
It starts innocently enough. He stops by your desk every so often, offering a smile and a quick comment here and there. Sometimes he just lounges on his phone next to you. But nothing out of the ordinary.
But then, during lunch, as you’re sitting at a table near the window, you feel the weight of his gaze on you again.
Jimin slides into the chair across from you, his expression soft but mischievous.
“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he says, his voice teasing, but his eyes searching, like he’s trying to figure something out. “Is something on your mind?”
You force a smile, trying to sound casual. “Just tired. A lot of things to do.”
He leans back in his chair, tilting his head as if he’s considering you closely. “I get that. But you know, if you ever need someone to talk to... I’m always around.”
The words are innocent enough, but the way he says them - soft and sincere, yet with that familiar playful edge - makes you pause.
Something in his tone feels different today. More intentional, maybe.
He’s not quite flirting like before, but there’s still that warmth in his voice, that glint in his eyes. You wonder if he’s being just a little more forward than he usually is, or if you’re just reading too much into it.
Before you can respond, he winks. A little too casually, like it’s nothing at all, but the moment lingers longer than usual.
But as Jimin gets up to leave, you notice him glance back over his shoulder with that same playful smile - but there’s something about it now that makes you want to shake yourself back into reality.
The office is quieter than usual on Friday afternoon, with people heading out early for the weekend. The usual hum of activity is replaced by the soft sound of footsteps and muffled conversations, but you’re too absorbed in finishing up some last-minute tasks to really notice. Your mind is still spinning from the week’s events, your thoughts tangled in a mix of confusion and anticipation. Then, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, the sound familiar enough to make you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see someone else.
But it’s Jungkook.
He’s standing there, casually leaning against the doorframe, his posture relaxed yet somehow carrying a sense of purpose. His usual calm demeanor hides something else — a spark in his eyes, a glint that makes your heart skip a beat. You try to keep your composure, to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his presence, but it’s harder than you thought.
You’ve been used to seeing him around all week, but something about today feels different. His eyes meet yours, and he doesn’t look away. You’re not sure why he’s come over, but you can’t help feeling that whatever he says next is going to make everything feel different.
“You know,” he begins, his voice soft yet deliberate, drawing your attention completely. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something all week.”
You hesitate for a moment, your heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. You set your pen down carefully, trying to steady your hands, and look up at him. “Yes? How can I help?”
Jungkook steps into th room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that sends a wave of tension through the air. He crosses his arms, his gaze still fixed on you, as if he’s sizing you up in a way that makes your insides flutter nervously.
“I’ve been watching you all week,” he says, his voice low with a teasing edge that you don’t quite expect. “You really didn’t recognize mefrom the airplane, did you?”
Your heart stutters for a second, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t expect him to bring it up, especially not like this. But you don’t let your guard down. You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool. “I really didn’t know,” you answer honestly, your voice steady despite the way your heart is thumping in your chest. “I had no idea.”
You shake your head. “I didn’t. You were just... another person on the plane to me. I you didn’t recognize me either when I arrived. ”
A soft chuckle escapes him, and he steps closer, the space between you both feeling smaller with each movement. Jungkook shakes his head, as his playful grin returns. “You really thought I wouldn’t? Y/N, if you think that I didn’t recognize you the second you walked through that door, you could not be more wrong.”
There’s a moment of silence where your heart pounds in your ears, and the world feels like it’s standing still for a second. You just honestly didn’t think he remembered you. The idea of him being the person you thought he was, someone untouchable, had made you second guess everything. But now, in this moment, with the way he’s looking at you, all of that uncertainty is starting to fade.
“Well,” Jungkook says, his tone lightening again, a teasing grin to his face, “now that that’s out of the way, I’ll let you get home. But I’ll see you Monday, yeah?”
You nod, still trying to process everything he just said. “Yeah. Monday.”
As he turns to leave, the soft click of the door behind him sounds louder than it should. You sit there for a moment, your mind racing as you try to make sense of everything. The conversation, burning a whole on your skull.
Your phone feels like it’s burning in your hand as you stare at it, debating whether to call Evi. You’re itching to talk to her about everything that’s been happening, but you have no idea how to tell her. How do you explain it all without accidentally breaking one of the million confidentiality agreements you signed?
You imagine telling her: “Hey, remember that hot guy from the plane that I had to drink to get the courage to text? Well, turns out, he’s my boss. Big B, and an international idol. The same one who has girls fighting over his number – which is casually sitting on my phone. But anyway, how’s your day?”
You laugh to yourself, but it’s a nervous laugh. You wish it were that easy.
As if through whatever type of which craft she practices, your phone lights up with her picture as her call comes through. Your stomach flips, and with a deep breath, you answer. "Hello?" Her image showing up on your screen.
"Y/N!" Her voice rings through, filled with that familiar enthusiasm you’ve missed. "I’ve been dying for this call! You’ve got to tell me everything about the new job! How’s it going? Give me the details!"
You rub your forehead, glancing out the window at the city skyline. How do I even begin?
“Well... it’s not exactly what I expected," you start, trying to sound nonchalant. "I mean, I knew it was going to be big, but... maybe not this big."
Evi’s voice sharpens immediately. “What do you mean by that? What’s going on? Who are you working for? Spit it out, girl.”
You hesitate, your mind racing. This is where it all starts to get complicated. "Well, about that," you begin, trying to sound calm. "You remember that guy from the plane, the one I was all nervous to text? The guy I had to drink to get up the courage to text?"
You hear her breath hitch on the other end. "Wait, wait. Are you telling me he’s... your boss now?" she asks, disbelief lacing her voice.
You chuckle dryly. “Hypothetically speaking, if he’d be an international idol. A big one.” You pause for a second, trying to gauge how this is all going to land. “But I didn’t think he remembered me. I mean, why would he?”
Evi doesn’t say anything for a moment, probably taking it all in. Then, she bursts into laughter. “Oh my god. Are you telling me the hot guy from the plane—the one you were too nervous to talk to- is an idol, actually remembers you and is your boss now?!”
You wince, rubbing your forehead. “Well, hypothetically speaking he would be my boss’s boss.”
Her laughter dies down, but you can hear her grin through the phone. “Y/N, girl, you are living my dream. But seriously, this is wild. So who is it? Because I’m dying to know. This is like a drama, but for real.”
You groan, letting your head fall back against your chair. "I don’t know. They might show up to your house to kill you if I tell you who it is/"
There’s a pause on the other end, and then Evi speaks, her tone suddenly serious. “Ok. I’ll drop some names and you just nod?"
You freeze, blinking in shock. "Wait, what?"
“Stray kids?”
I frown and that for her is enough of an answer
“What gen are they?” She continues to try to guess
“Evi, how would I even know? You are the one obessed with Kpop”
“Is it Seventeen? TXT? Is it even a group?” she stops for a moment clearly trying to connect all the dots and coming up with another guess “Is it BTS?”
“Evi, it doesn’t matter I could not tell you even if I really wanted to”
“Oh. MY. GOD.” You notice her screen being almost being thrown around as she screams and squirms on the other end “IT IS FUCKING BTS. HOLY SHIT YOU LUCKY BITCH!” She continues screaming and laughing.
“Evi, You are making assumptions over nothing it really is not – “ She cuts you off swiftly
“So hypothetically speaking, the guy you met on the plane, and you didn’t recognize is in BTS and now you work with him everyday?”
You groan, feeling the weight of her excitement press down on you. "Evi, calm down, you’re making me stressed out. It’s not like that. I can’t tell you anything specific. I really, really can’t."
But Evi, as usual, doesn't listen. "I don't care! Just the idea of it being BTS is insane! Y/N, do you even know who you’re talking about right now? Do you understand what you just said?"
You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to keep yourself from losing it. “I know what I said, but I’m not confirming anything. This is literally not something I can talk about. I signed my life away to this job. If anyone finds out, I could get in so much trouble. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to say anything, even if I wanted to."
She goes silent for a moment, and you can almost hear her brain processing the information. Then, in a much softer tone, she says, “So... you’re saying you can't tell me, but you’re Hypothetically working with one of the biggest names in the world right now. And he's the guy from the plane."
You’re biting your lip now, frustrated but also kind of in awe of how quickly she’s pieced it together. You don’t even want to think about how close she is to figuring it out.
“Yes,” you mutter. “And it’s way more complicated than that. I didn’t think he even recognized me. I thought I’d just be some regular person to him. But here we are."
Her voice drops to a whisper, almost like she’s scared to say it out loud. “You’re really working with BTS, huh? Just... just don’t do anything crazy, alright? This is your job now, Y/N. Don’t let the craziness mess with your head.”
You exhale slowly, trying to steady your nerves. “I know. It’s just... everything’s so much. He’s... he’s normal one minute and then he’s not the next. I never imagined anything like this could happen."
Evi lets out a little laugh, her excitement still lingering. “Girl, you’re living in the plot of a K-drama. Just don’t fall for him too hard, okay? I know how these things go.”
You snort, rolling your eyes. "Don’t worry, I’m not the one getting my hopes up here. And anyway, he is an Idol. There are probably girls out there who would commit murder to breath the same air as him for longer than 5 min.” I say “hypothetically” I try to add for plausible deniability.
There’s a long pause before she says softly, “Yeah, but you’re still gonna have to tell me everything you can, okay? I’m living vicariously through you right now, so I need all the details, even if I have to swear off celibacy for the rest of my life.”
You can’t help but laugh, though it’s more out of nerves than anything. “Yeah, I’ll keep you posted. But for now, let’s just... let’s just keep this between us. You know how these things go. I can’t risk anyone else finding out.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll zip it,” Evi says dramatically. “But just know this: If you’re really working with BTS, you’re gonna have to at least send me one picture. Just one.”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “I’ll see what I can do. But for now, it’s just... just keep it quiet, okay? No crazy theories, no going wild. I need to focus.”
“Got it,” Evi says with a wink you can practically hear.
You hang up the phone, your heart still racing. The weight of everything is starting to sink in. You have no idea what’s going to happen next, but for the first time in days, you feel like a weight went of your shoulder.
The day passed on, and the only thing you could think about was jungkook and how nice he was to talk to. You two had a instant connection that you havent felt even with most of your friends back home. Its true you had his phone number but it felt weird to just send a random hi. You thought it would be better if you texted him with actual question or something important. So you were waiting for that to happen, but soon you came to notice that, it would be more difficult to just come up with something and left the napkin with the handwritten note on a drawer in your new house.
Even though you were jet lagged like there was no tomorrow you still had a couple of days before you started your new job and wanted to explore a bit of the city.
You went around, did some shopping, mainly for the new appartment, and was just enjoying a nice day out. You found a coffee place not too far from your house that you will definetly be coming back again. You were reading your book when suddently you see movement from the outside and raise your eyes to catch what it was… You saw a slight crowd forming outside, curiosity piqued, you closed your book and leaned slightly forward to get a better look. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, a mix of excited chatter and hushed speculation. A tall figure in a black hoodie and mask stood at the center of the commotion, their presence clearly the reason for all the attention.
You furrowed your brows, trying to place them. Something about their stance, the way they moved—almost too effortlessly—felt familiar. But before you could think too much about it, someone else stepped in front of your view, blocking the figure from sight.
The small crowd shifted, laughter and whispers mixing in the air, and by the time you had a clear view again, the person in the hoodie was already walking away, disappearing around the corner. You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to get up and see what the fuss was about, but ultimately decided against it.
The lady sitting next you leans in slightly and says in your direction, she probably noticed the confused look on your face.
“It’s probably an Idol. They show up at the most random places with the fanbase behind”
“Ahh I see” I nood to hear and with a small shrug, you went back to your book, not giving to much though about it.
Reaching home you decide to create a game plan for what the few days off you have before starting should look like. Pullling your computer you start researching what are nice things to do in Seoul, and the thought of that piece of paper Jungkook just feels to burn on the drawer of your dresser. But still think its silly to text him over this. So you settle against it. You decide that maybe going to a museum is a nice idea, and since its still during the week you plan then to do that in the afternoon and just explore the area afterwards.
Friday the plan should be, go out. Or that’s what Evi had been tormenting you to do. You even though like to party, don’t feel comfortable to do so in a city that you don’t know yet, something about the fact seems weird, and during the phone call with your Friend you decide – or she does for that matter – that you should still take yourself out and get some nice korean food.
“I am telling you, I had so many spots saved already, you can log into my account and see what you like the most” Evi says from the other side of the phone. “Theres this korean barbecue place that apparently is loved by celebrities and supposed to be the it place to eat. So if you are going somewhere you should go there”
“Sounds nice Evi” I kinda shrug back not feeling li
“What is it? I know that face” she says back
“ I don’t know, I just find it weird to not have any one here. I hope to make some friends at some point”
“Didn’t you say you met someone at the plane? Why not text him?”
“Evi, besides the point that he also has a life, what if he is a total creep? I rather not get kidnaped in Korea… Have you never seen Taken?”
She rolls her eyes. “Seriously Dude, just go out! That’s how you meet people and make new friends.”
The morning unfolded in that slow, unhurried way that made everything feel softer, like the world itself had decided to take a breath. Sunlight filtered lazily through your curtains, casting long streaks of gold across your sheets. There was no alarm blaring, no urgent schedule pulling you out of bed. At least not yet. Just the quiet hum of the city outside, the occasional distant honk of a car, or the siren of an ambulance rushing.
You stretched, savoring the weightlessness of the morning before finally pulling yourself up and after a long shower and a moment spent deciding what to wear, which eventually resulted in you picking the same as you always wear, a pair of jeans, sneakers and a light jacket, you finally stepped outside. The air carried a crispness, not quite cold but fresh, like the perfect balance between the lingering warmth of summer and the early whispers of autumn. It made you inhale just a little deeper than usual. You thought long after the call with Evi yesterday, and you decided it was good that you could start fresh even for just a bit, and even if it was just for a short time. And who knows what could come out of this opportunity.
You walked without much of a plan, letting your feet decide your destination in the morning. The streets were alive, but not in an overwhelming way, just enough movement to remind you that the city was awake, that life was happening all around you, and you welcomed it.
You decided to stop for coffee which was necessary, not only because you didn’t have a machine yet but whithout caffeine you don’t think you could function past this point. Slipping into a seat by the window, the world outside felt like a moving painting—people weaving through crosswalks, a couple laughing over something only they could hear, older ladies walking side by side carriying a bag of fresh vegetables. You sipped slowly, flipping through your book, losing yourself in the quiet comfort of the moment.
From there, the day unfolded in small, gentle moments. Until you found yourself in front of the Museum you have been wanting to visit more then you showed.
So, with your book tucked under your arm and the city humming around you, you started walking toward the Museum which was quieter than you expected for a weekday afternoon. The high ceilings and marble floors create a certain stillness, making every footstep sound deliberate. You’ve spent the last hour wandering through the exhibits, taking your time with each display. You always enjoyed visiting the museum not only to learn a new thing or two, but to also reflect on what the artists tried to express through their art.
Deciding to check out the rooftop terrace, you find the elevator tucked into the corner of the main hall. The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you step inside alone. The faint hum of movement fills the space as you watch the floor numbers light up one by one.
When the doors finally open, you step out, greeted by a soft breeze and the wide-open view of the rooftop terrace. Your focus is already shifting to the skyline stretching beyond the museum walls, so you don’t notice the person waiting just a few steps away.
Dressed in a dark hoodie, hands tucked into his pockets, he steps into the elevator just as you exit. The doors slide shut behind him without a sound, enclosing him in the same space you occupied only seconds ago.
You never turn around. Never glance back.
The moment passes, unnoticed. You too focused on getting to the railing and enjoying the new view.
The weekend arrives, and a quiet sense of anticipation fills the air. You’ve spent the last few days thinking about what Evi suggested—Korean BBQ. She made sure to remind you, several times, that you deserve it before the hectic pace of your new life sets in on Monday. And, in her usual manner, she promised that you could definitely meet new people if you went alone, giving you that much-needed push.
You chuckle at the thought of it. It’s just like her to be so optimistic about everything. The idea of diving into a night out with strangers, in a city that still feels unfamiliar, is daunting. But you don’t let yourself linger on the hesitation for too long. The thought of spending another evening alone in your apartment doesn’t seem appealing, and Korean BBQ was something you always loved back home. It could be the perfect distraction from the quiet corners of your mind, the ones still dwelling on the uncertainty of this move, and, of course, the odd, lingering presence of Jungkook in your thoughts.
Evi’s voice echoes in your mind as you get ready: “Go! Meet people! Who knows? Maybe you'll make a couple of friends!” Her enthusiasm is infectious, even if you're still not entirely sure how meeting new people is supposed to work here and you doubt that a random restaurant it will be it. It’s not the same as back home, where you could rely on shared connections, on friends you’ve known for years. Here, you’re starting fresh. Alone. But you try not to overthink it.
The restaurant is bustling when you arrive, the scent of grilling meat and spices filling the air, making your stomach growl in anticipation. You settle into a booth by yourself, the atmosphere lively but welcoming. You’re here, and that’s enough for now.
As the waiter brings over the first round of meat and sides, you pull out your phone, feeling the familiar nudge of homesickness. The screen lights up with Evi’s message, as usual, a series of excited exclamations.
[My one and only true love] : I bet you’re going to have fun! And you will eat well! And send me all the updates later! I’m rooting for you!
You smile, trying to ignore the pang of missing her. It’s hard, being on opposite sides of the world, but you remind yourself that you’re still connected, even if it’s just through text and video calls. You send her a quick message back:
[you] : It’s just me tonight, but I’m doing it! Korean BBQ for the win.
The night feels like a blur of flavors and sounds—laughter, chatter, the clink of metal chopsticks, and sizzling meats on the grill. You catch snippets of conversations around you, but you stay within your own world, finding comfort in the familiarity of the food. It’s not the same as being with Evi or friends back home, but it’s enough for now.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, Jungkook’s name lingers, Evi not helping by mentioning him every given chance. Making you decide his morning to add his phone number, on Kakao Talk, which resulted in you doubting if it was really him.
The profile picture seem a capture of a peacefull and private moment, where a figure, dressed in dark clothing with a beanie pulled low, kneels in the grass, his face partially obscured by a mask. He leans in close, his forehead gently pressed against the head of a large dog, their silhouettes blending into the golden light. There’s something unspoken in the image - something tender yet distant, as if caught in a world of its own.
The name on display doesn’t say a lot either but at least it can help you assume its him by the ‘JK’ letters displayed on the place of his name.
But as you take another bite, your eyes hovers over your phone once again which was resting on the table. You glance at the bubble for Jungkook, knowing that at some point, you’ll have to make a decision.
You don’t know if its one of the 4 beers you had already or just pure restlessness but you decide that you will in fact text him. And you should do it right now. I mean what could go wrong. The worst that can happen is that he doesn’t reply, right? Or worse, maybe it’ll be awkward, but you’ll live.
You type and then delete, type and then delete again. The words feel too loaded, too significant. Do you start with something casual? A simple "Hey"?
Stop overthinking this you think to yourself.
[you] : Hey! “
[you] : It’s Y/N! We met on the plane! How is it going?
You cringe the second you hit sent immediately regreting this and you decide to lock your phone. Not wanting to deal with it anymore you leaning back in your seat as if that somehow makes the moment less real. The seconds drag on, your phone still and silent. Your heart beats louder in your ears. What if he doesn’t answer at all?
Then, the screen lights up.
You grab your phone so quickly that it almost slips from your hand. Your thumb hovers over the notification, the weight of his response still registering in your mind. You swipe it open.
[JK] : Oh hey, you actually texted.
The words are short, casual. It’s not the enthusiastic response you might’ve expected, but it’s enough. He’s seen it. He’s acknowledged it.
You sit back, tugging at your lips, even though you're not entirely sure what comes next. You didn’t plan this ahead.
[you] : Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was actually you or just a random number.Your picture doesn’t give a lot
You wait. The moments stretch. You glance around the room, feeling the warmth of the grill and the hum of the conversation around you, but this time, it’s different. You’re waiting for something else, something that might make this night feel less like a solo mission and more like an unexpected start to something.
Your phone buzzes again.
[JK] : It’s definitely me. 😆 Nice to hear from you, though. How’s the new job?
And just like that, the nerves you hadn’t even noticed fade a little. He’s actually talking to you. Like a normal person. Your heart flutters, but as it was on the plane, it feels easy.
You lean forward, tapping out your reply, wondering where this will go, but for now, the night is unfolding in a way that feels right.
[you] : Haven’t really started yet, officially starting on Monday 😅
As you wait for his response, the restaurant doesn’t seem as loud anymore. You can’t help but feel like you’ve just made a little bridge to something unknown, and maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you needed tonight.
[JK] : I hope everything goes well!
[JK] : And how is Seoul treating you?
[you] : Great, honestly! Been to a few cute coffee shops, read a bit of some books, went to a museum! Just feels weird to not have any friends in this time zone lol
[JK] : I get that
[JK] : But I am glad that you texted me, so at least we can chat, and you don’t have to feel so alone in the city!
[you] : thanks! I was actually wondering what were you doing on such a Saturday night?
Oh god, you actually feel like dying. You close your eyes. And when you open it again you see the message bubble coming and going multiple times and it honestly feels like absolute torture. Such a smooth way, smartass you scold yourself. .
You try to shake off the feeling of discomfort as you sit there, phone now laying on the table, screen off, for you to feel your shame through your reflection. You can feel the weight of it, hanging between you and the phone, almost like it’s daring you to check it. But you don’t. At least, not right away. Instead, you try to focus on the food, the gentle hiss of the grill, the savory scents swirling around you, trying to ground yourself.
But the quiet hum of conversation around you grows louder, and without meaning to, your eyes drift toward the door.
That’s when you notice them—three figures stepping out of the restaurant, laughing quietly amongst themselves. They’re not loud, not drawing attention, but the soft murmur from the nearby tables makes it clear that something’s happening. You catch snippets of conversation, voices dropped low, but not enough to hide their excitement.
"Is that really them?"
"Yeah, I think it is… they just left."
“Isn’t that—?”
You can’t help but glance over, even though you’re trying not to. The momentary curiosity gets the best of you. The group of three is calm, collected—so much so that it almost feels like they’re just regular people, out for a night out with friends. But something about the way others are talking, the hushed tones, the recognition in their eyes, tells you that they’re far from ordinary.
For a split second, you almost catch their eyes, a fleeting connection across the room. You look down quickly, pretending to focus on your meal again, but it’s impossible not to acknowledge it. They're probably idols, the thought flits through your mind, but you don’t give it much weight. It’s not like you’re here to fawn over strangers, no matter who they are.
Still, your heart beats a little faster. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of new faces, but deep down, you know that the pull is something more. You wonder if they ever get tired of people whispering about them, watching them so closely.
You hear the soft shuffle of their footsteps as they move closer to the exit, and for a brief second, your curiosity gets the better of you again. You sneak a quick glance. The person leading the group—he looks a little familiar. His features are sharper, a little more defined. But you shake it off quickly. It could be anyone.
The group exits, and as the door closes behind them, the soft murmurs in the restaurant continue. You see a few people reaching for their phones, probably already uploading photos or trying to find out if it was them.
Your fingers hover over the phone screen, the silence between you and Jungkook’s unread message now feeling like an unbearable weight. You suddently don’t feel hungry anymore and just want to go back home and call Evi and tell her that it was just all a stupid idea. You ask for the bill and make your way back home. Maybe you did have too much too drink and its time to call it a night.
You take a deep breath, trying to clear your thoughts. And just as you finally start to refocus, your phone buzzes. It feels like you’re being pulled into some kind of emotional spiral, like a magnet drawing you in too fast. You wait a beat, then tap it open.
[JK] : Sorry, I was in the middle of something. What are you up to tonight?
For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the message, the light from your phone flashing against your face. And then it hits you—he’s replying. Finally.
But before you can get too comfortable with the relief, the anxiety from earlier surges back.
Your finger hovers over the keyboard again. You have no idea how to respond. The words feel like they’ll come out wrong, like they always do when you overthink them. You should play it cool. Safest option.
[you] : I was just having some food 😋
[you] : going back home, so I have all the time to stress about work until Monday
[you] : Back to your Spy stuff?
Again, you don’t know what it gets to you but you decide to joke again about his mysteriousness like you did on the plane. It must be the beer. You decide to leave messaging away for a moment. As this could only lead to further embarassement.
You reach home searching for your keys. Even though the door had one of those fancy keypads to put a password you haven’t really memorized it the 6 digits yet.
Everything is dark and you decide to just slump on the couch and text Evi on how bad of an idea it actually was to text him.
You are in the middle of the rant to Evi when his initials pop up again. You stare at the screen for a moment, wondering if you should even reply. Your thumb hovers the message, but before you can do anything, your phone buzzes again, startling you a little.
You quickly check, hoping for something that’ll make this situation feel a little less ridiculous.
[JK] : Haha, not quite.
[JK] : But yeah, always on the move 😉
[JK]: Anyway, what’s stressing you out about work? Maybe I can help take your mind off it a bit.
His offer is unexpected, but not unwelcome. You weren't sure what to expect when you decided to text him, but this? It feels genuine. Like he's trying to keep the conversation going, trying to connect.
You pause, finger hovering over the screen again. You could tell him about the usual work anxiety—about starting this new chapter in a different country, feeling like everything’s up in the air. Or you could brush it off and keep the tone light.
After a brief moment of hesitation, you type your response:
[you]: It’s just the usual. New job, new place... lots of things to figure out, I guess.
You pause, thinking for a moment, then add:
[you]: But it’s not all bad. Just the nerves. You know how it is. 😅
You hit send, and for some reason, this message feels like the one that matters most. It’s the first time you’ve been this open with him, and part of you feels a little vulnerable. But it also feels... right. Like this is the way things are supposed to be, like this conversation might actually lead somewhere.
The phone buzzes again, and your heart skips a beat as you check his reply.
[JK] : I get it. Starting fresh can be intimidating, especially when you’re not sure where to start. But you seem pretty cool, so I’m sure you’ll find your way.
He adds a simple smiley face at the end, but it’s enough to make you smile too. His words are comforting, and for a moment, the weight of the day lifts.
[JK] : Plus, you already nailed the whole "spy" thing by texting me. So... looks like you're ahead of the game. 😉
Your smile widens at his playful tone. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
You bite your lip, pondering for a moment.
[you] : Yeah, I guess we all need a little break from the chaos. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your spy work now. 😅
You hit send and lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. It’s probably nothing, just one of those random conversations you’ll look back on and laugh about later. But right now, in this moment, it feels... easy.
It feels a little less lonely.
Monday comes and the weight of it presses down on you almost immediately. You jolt out of bed before your alarm even goes off, a rush of stress shooting through you. Jet lag is no longer an issue today, even though it had been a constant companion for the past week, dragging your body through foggy mornings and restless nights. You’re up now, heart pounding in anticipation of what’s ahead.
The plan for the day is clear: head to the office, sign a mountain of paperwork, and begin your new role. A role you have no idea how to actually do but are pretending you can manage. You grab the address you’d received over the weekend, fold it carefully, and tuck it into your pocket as if somehow that will make things easier.
The morning is a blur of names and numbers, meeting after meeting, all taking place in a small office tucked away on the farthest corner of a massive building. The hum of printers and the low murmur of employees on their calls almost blend into the background as you sign paper after paper - your hand cramping as you try to keep up. It feels like you’re signing your name on an endless stack, each one blending into the next until it feels like you’re signing away your very soul. At some point, you even stop paying attention to what you're actually agreeing to.
There’s a part of your brain that’s still processing all the information that’s been thrown at you today - the company rules, the regulations, the non-disclosure agreements, the reminders about the confidentiality of everything. The word "confidential" seems to echo in your head, louder than anything else. If you say the wrong thing, if you spill a single piece of information, even by accident, you might as well be signing your own resignation papers and basically a prison sentence. The paperwork is ridiculous, and half of it feels like it was written in a code you’ll never fully understand, yet you nod, smile, and keep signing.
By the time it’s over, you’ve got your new employee badge clipped to your lanyard, the weight of it suddenly making everything feel official. It feels like a strange kind of milestone, but also like a reminder of just how little you know about this new life you’ve stepped into. Your brain is overwhelmed, buzzing like a bee trapped in a glass jar, leaking information at the edges, none of which you can process.
As you walk out of the office, the weight of it all sinks in. You feel like your head is about to explode, not from stress, but from all the things you’re now supposed to know but can never actually talk about. You picture the list of things you're not allowed to share—trade secrets, proprietary information, and apparently, even talking to the wrong person in an elevator could end your time in Korea before it starts. They might as well have written “creature” in bold letters in the fine print - like you’d casually spill everything you’ve learned to someone’s cat who would then spill all the tea on their trade secrets.
You shake your head at the absurdity of it all, but the fact remains: you’re in. You're now a part of something you don’t fully understand yet. As you make your way out of the building, you glance at your new employee ID one more time, your name written beneath a logo that feels far too official for your taste. It’s real now. You’re in it. And somehow, you survived the first step. But there’s so much more to come, and you can’t help but wonder just how long it will take before you start drowning in all of it.
In the afternoon, after a quick but surprisingly pleasant lunch with the other new interns, you find yourself back in the lobby, making your way toward the elevator. The lunch had been a mix of awkward introductions and tentative smiles, each of you trying to find common ground while also silently acknowledging that, despite being in the same boat, you’re all heading in different directions. Some of the interns will be working on projects you’re sure you’ll never hear about, others will be in departments you’ll likely never cross paths with. The thought leaves you feeling a little deflated. You had imagined forming some tight-knit group, but it’s clear that’s not going to happen. Not here. Not yet, anyway.
You press the button for the 7th floor, the elevator’s chime ringing in your ears as you watch the numbers light up one by one. Your heart beats a little faster with each passing floor. You don’t know what to expect when you meet your assigned supervisor, Mr. Kim. You’ve heard his name mentioned in passing, but that’s about it. Everyone has been warning you that each department operates differently, and you have no idea what “different” might look like here.
The doors finally open with a soft ding, and you step out into a hallway that feels both familiar and foreign. The carpet beneath your feet is plush, and the walls are adorned with sleek, minimalist artwork—nothing too extravagant, just modern and clean. It almost feels like a waiting room, even though it’s not. You walk down the hall, looking for the office number you were given earlier.
When you finally reach the door with Mr. Kim’s nameplate on it, you knock softly before stepping inside.
"Come in," a voice calls from the other side.
You push the door open and step in. Mr. Kim is sitting behind a desk, his eyes lifting from a stack of papers as you enter. He’s a man in his early forties, dressed in a well-tailored suit that looks almost effortless. He looks at you with a polite, but not overly warm smile—professional, yet distant. His eyes seem to take in every detail of you in an instant, though he doesn’t make you feel judged. He’s the kind of person who probably has a thousand things going on at once, but knows how to make you feel like you’re the only one in the room.
“Ah, you must be Beatrice. I’m Mr. Kim,” he says, his voice smooth and calm, though there’s an undertone of authority there. “Welcome.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kim,” you reply, stepping toward the desk and offering a small smile of your own. You try not to let the nerves show, but they’re there, just beneath the surface.
“Please, take a seat,” he gestures to the chair opposite him, and you sit down, your hands folding nervously in your lap.
“We’re just going to go over a few things today, and then I’ll give you a rundown of what to expect for your first project,” he says, opening a file on his desk and flipping through the papers.
You nod, trying to focus on his words, but your mind is still partially occupied with the interns from lunch. You hadn’t expected to feel a pang of sadness, but there it is—realizing that these people you’d shared a meal with would be working elsewhere, on their own paths, while you’re here, standing in front of a man you barely know, in a position that still feels so new and uncertain.
Mr. Kim continues to talk, explaining the details of your role, the expectations for the upcoming weeks, and the types of projects you'll be involved with. You nod along, absorbing what you can, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’re still trying to catch up to this world.
As he finishes talking, he directs you to go meet the group you will be working with. The door to the conference room slides open smoothly as Mr. Kim gestures for you to enter. You follow him into the room, your heart pounding in your chest, though you try to keep your steps steady. This is it - the real start of your role. This is where it all begins.
The room is spacious, with a large oval table in the center. Several people are already seated around it, engaged in quiet conversations or shuffling papers in front of them. You can’t help but feel a little out of place as you step into the room. You’re still adjusting to everything - your new surroundings, your role, and now, a team you’re about to become part of.
“Everyone, this is Y/N,” Mr. Kim announces as you enter, his voice steady and authoritative. “She’ll be working with us directly, helping with scheduling and various tasks. Y/N, this is BTS. I trust you’ll all help her feel welcomed”
You nod politely, offering a small smile, but your eyes are already scanning the room, trying to take everything in. You can’t help but notice the two people sitting next to each other on the far side of the table - one is a tall, sharply dressed man with glasses, who looks professional and composed, while the other is… him. Jungkook.
Your heart skips a beat.
His gaze lifts from the papers in front of him, and your eyes meet for a fraction of a second. Time seems to slow, the air between you thickening. His expression is unreadable, but you notice the slightest shift in his posture, a barely noticeable stiffening. He blinks and looks away quickly, but not before you see the flicker of recognition in his eyes.
You don’t allow yourself to linger on the moment. You turn your attention back to Mr. Kim, keeping your expression neutral, though you can feel the weight of that moment still hanging between you and Jungkook.
Authors note: Been having a lot of fun writing this one. Hope you enjoy it too! :) Let me know what you think <3
Chapter 1
You are midway through your flight, almost getting back to Seoul after so long apart. You are going back to live there for your internship, which you got very last minute as one your best friends, and the one who was supposed to come, had a family emergency which didn’t allow her to come. You are Korean, spoke solely at home too with your parents as you imigrated to Europe when you were young, but this is the first time actually visiting the coutnry you heard so much about. You were a mere baby the last time you were in your home country, so you had to live your whole life through the telling of others.
The seats on this plane are set weird for business class. You definetly wouldn’t be able to afford to sit here normally, that’s for sure. So you are very thankfull the misterius company that works with your school is paying for everything during this internship.
You unfortunetly didn’t get a window seat and had to settle to following the plane in the small map screen as you are sure that is the best enterteinment on a flight anyway. The man sitting next you arrived late almost as the doors where closing to sit down and sink into his chair.
Suddently the plane starts shaking and you grasp your seat tighter. The signs in the cabin together with the annoucement of the pilot of “fastening seatbelts and put your chairs in upright position” make you more anxious as this means more is to come. You are not a terrible flyer but you definetly cannot handle turbulances very well.
You whine as brace again as the airplane shakes and your tension only rises.
The guy in nexy to you looked up and into your seat “You don’t have to worry about it. It always happens around this time of the flight”
“Yeah, I try to tell myself that but it’s a bit hard” you close your eyes again whining more “when the plane feels like this” I look at him as he takes his mask. his face is familiar but cannot quite place it. He feels bad for you, and understands your situation.
“I am arriving in seoul for the first time in a long timeand I really dont know where to go haha do you have any tips? I am a nervous flyer I talk a lot when im nervous sorry you seemed approachable”I blurt out fast as I try to look at him with a nervous smile forming on my lips
He is suprised that you didn't recognized him and as he thinks about how to answer, he finds it cute how nervous you are
"Oh, okay. Don't worry about it, I don't mind. To which area of Seoul do you go? There are many good hotels around."
“Uhh.. I’m not sure yet? I’m going there for an internship and I’m not familiar with the areas yet, not really had a lot of time to research it either.” I tell him. He nods and thinks for a moment*
"I see. Well, if you are looking for a good location, I would recommend Hongdae. It's a trendy district and is surrounded by many hip restaurants, bars, shops and all. The clubs there are actually quite nice.”
“Cool! I heard its full of fuckboys though” You immediately want to cover your mouth with your hand for speaking maybe too much but they are rather busy with you holding for your life
He laughs a little which surprises you and he shakes his head. "Yeah, you're not wrong. Hongdae are full of boys who love to flirt." He couldn't help but smile, he could tell that you were a nervous but he thought it’s cute. “But, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll be popular there.” He’s smiling now, clearly entertained by your bluntness. "But I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ll probably be popular there."
You raise an eyebrow. "Thanks?" You’re not entirely sure if he means popular in Hongdae or just in Korea in general, but you chuckle anyway. For Jungkook, It’s rare for him to meet someone who talks to him so naturally, without hesitation. He finds it refreshing.
"I hope to make friends soon," you add, realizing you’ve been oversharing but unable to stop yourself. "It feels weird moving across the world, but I’m happy I did it."
"That’s a good mindset. It can be hard, but it’ll be worth it. You’re brave. I like that."
You smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m sorry—I won’t interrupt your flight anymore."
He shakes his head. "It’s okay. Talking to you was… nice. If you need anything, you can text me." He pulls out a small piece of paper and hands it to you.
You blink down at it. That was smooth.
"You’re not one of those Hongdae boys, are you?" You narrow your eyes playfully, waving the paper slightly. "Because this? This was a pro move."
He laughed again and shakes his head no, clearly amused. “No, I’m not.” He answered and found it funny that you questioned that. He was used to have girls swarming around him but he found you different and interesting.
“Good because I dont save number of” I do air quotes as I say this “boys who love to flirt with anything that moves”
He laughs at your behaviour since he thinks it’s adorable. “Is that so? Well, I’m glad I passed your test then.” He said jokingly and tilted his head.
I smirk “well see about that….?” I say with a tone waiting for his name at the end of the sentence.
He smirks as he realized what you’re trying to do, he couldn’t deny that it’s making him a little excited. You really didn’t know him?
He said in a low voice, making sure no one else could hear them “Well, my name is Jungkook.”
I smile and raise an eyebrow. Also whispering in reply “Nice to meet you Jungkook. Why are we whispering?”
“Nice to meet you too.” He said softly before he answered your question “Well, you see, if other people found out I’m giving my private number to someone… I’m going to get a lot of questions.”
“why would it matter?” Suddenly the plane goes through a rough patch of turbulence again and I shriek grasping the seat once more.
He couldn’t help but chuckle before gently putting a hand on your hand “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry, it’s just turbulence, it’s harmless.”
“Its like jelly right?” I try to laugh it off with a joke I saw on a video before boarding
He smiled as he heard your joke, clearly amused. “Yeah, that’s right.” He replied and chuckled before continuing “The plane is made to endure the turbulence as it's completely harmless. Although it can be scary at first, but you will get used to it.”
“Thanks Mr Aviation. Are you a pilot or something?” I sit back on my seat as the seat belt sign turns off and smile at him.
“No I just travel a lot” Jungkook says brushing it off.
“wow I wish I traveled a lot. I dont think I could ever get used to turbulence even if I flew every week” you smile but get a bit shy. I wonder what he does to travel a lot
He nods and smiles at you, understanding your feelings, “It’s okay, not everyone enjoys flying and I understand, turbulence can still be intimidating even after you get used to it.” He notices that you seemed a bit shy, and he found that adorable.
“So, you said that you’re going to Seoul for an internship? What kind of internship is it, if I may ask?”
“Well I study management and” you lean closer to also make it sound like a secret like he did before “I will work for a big music label, don’t know which one yet cause they said we will get to know where we are assigned once we arrive. So I cannot give you any free concert tickets or anything” I say it whispering trying to sound nonchalant
He chuckled and shook his head at your attempt of sounding nonchalant. Also, he was a bit surprised that you don’t know which label you’re going to be assigned yet, since it was pretty unusual for companies to let the people they hire to work with them in the dark “Oh, you’re a management student? That’s great! But, I’ve never heard of labels hiring people before telling them what label they will be working for.”
I lean closer to say it in a low voice again “You see, the nature of my job will require top secrecy, and since I havent signed any documents yet as I need my korean IDs and all…so they haven’t said which one exactly I’m going to” you shrug “I am sure they have it all arranged but we just dont know it yet”
He leans in as well, his curiosity piqued by your answer. He found it intriguing and even a bit exciting, his expression showing interest “Top secrecy? That sounds pretty interesting. I take it that it has to do with a big Kpop label then huh?”
“Uhum … but as I say no free concerts mister” I laugh and lean back
He laughs and shakes his head, clearly amused by your response “Oh, come on, not even one ticket? Not even a single concert?” His big eyes sparkle, and pouting a little, making a show of being disappointed as he asks for a concert ticket and even though you know he is only playing your game your heart skips a beat for the beautiful man sitting next to you.
You am about to reply as a man approaches him and whispers something in his ear which I cannot understand. You take it as my cue to be silent again and stop bothering.
He nodded at the man who approached him and whispered something in his ear. His smile dropping and he looks a bit annoyed as the man was clearly informing him about something, he shook his head but said nothing to him. He then looked back at you and notices that you just went back to playing solitaire on your phone. He watches you for a second before continuing.
“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to be quiet, you weren’t bothering me.” He says, his eyes glued on you
“Oh no its ok! I mean you must be tired as well since you travel so much. I dont wanna interrupt anymore.” You smile but I also know when its my turn to stop talking
“No, really, it’s fine. Traveling a lot can be exhausting, but honestly, talking to you has been a pleasant break for me. I feel more relaxed” Jungkook reassures you, his expression soft and his eyes never leaving your face
You smile and give a small reverence with your head “I’m glad I could be of service”
He laughed softly at your little bow, enjoying the casual conversation he has been able to enjoy with you. No photos or autographs or nervous chat.
“Thank you for your service.” *he replies jokingly and smirks at you, his gaze locked on you, he was beginning to feel drawn to you, something he didn’t often feel, specially to people he just meet.
You keep smiling. Also enjoying the way Jungkook has been sharp on his tongue when replying and playing it off with you. Also, doesn’t hurt that he is gorgeous. “So, if you dont mind me asking what was james bond on about?” I ask again pointing for the few rows back where the man who came to talk to Jungkook came from
He laughs at your comment of the “james bond” nickname for the man who approached him, finding it witty. His bodyguard would probably laugh knowing that someone called him James Bond.
He leans a bit closer and replies in a low voice so only you could hear him “Well, it’s nothing really, just some management stuff about my job…” he shrugged, downplaying the issue, not wanting the conversation to take a more serious turn. Also hoping that you would not catch on to the fact that he is in Fact an Idol and suddently change.
“hmm I see… I hope everything is alright” You offer a small supportive smile “When you are back in Seoul what do you normally do?”
*he can’t help but return your smile, appreciating your concern. He thinks for a moment before answering your question, trying hard not to give away his job. “When I’m back in Seoul, I just do normal things like anyone else. Hang out with friends, explore the city, visit the clubs…” he replied and instantly cringing for his reply, but he also couldn’t help but be curious about you as well
I didn’t take you as I a party animal, jungkook” You say raising an eyebrow in a playfull way, teasing him for“visiting the clubs”
He feigns an offended look and places a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt, but still with the cheakiest grin playing on his lips as he looks your way unable to hide the amusement in his eyes “Oh really? And why is that? Don’t I look like a party animal to you?”
You laugh “hmm no you dont really… something about “Im not like the other hongdae boys” really stuck with me”
He couldn’t help but laugh as well, clearly amused by your banter. He raised an eyebrow at your comment and leaned back in his seat, a playful glint in his eyes “Well, I stand by my words, I’m not like those Hongdae boys.” he says matter-of-factly, his smile still present as he looked at you, his gaze a little intense.
“I’m glad you are not because otherwise there would be a minus chance of me adding your phone number” You also say matter-of-factly. It feels like shameless flirting and Evi, your friend who could not come, would be kicking her feet if she would be here seeing this interaction.
He couldn't help but burst into laughter at your response, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. There was something undeniably charming about the way you said it—equal parts witty and endearing, making it impossible for him to resist a smile.
“Oh, I see, so my chances would have gone down the drain if I were one of those ‘players,’ huh?” he said, his voice filled with humor, he was surprised how easy it was for him to banter back and forth with you
“yup. but I also only know you for an hour so you can still -unfortunately- prove me wrong.” we lock eyes and we both smile. before he can reply the pilot asking the cabin crew to take their seats as we are landing soon
Both of you couldn’t help but feel a hint of disappointment, wishing the conversation could last just a little longer.
As he buckled his seatbelt, he glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment before shifting forward. A small, knowing smile played on his lips.
"Looks like we’ll have to put our chat on hold for now. But don’t worry, I’ll try not to prove you wrong." he adds, still amused and clearly enjoying your company. Jungkook couldn’t shake off the feeling of wanting to know more about you
You smile at his comment but stay quiet as the plane begins its descent, the familiar weightless sensation making my stomach twist. The turbulence doesn’t help. Your fingers tighten around the armrest, knuckles turning white as you stare out the window, willing myself to focus on the glittering city lights below rather than the way the plane shudders.
Jungkook notices. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something reassuring about his presence beside you, like an unspoken understanding.
The moment the wheels touch the ground, he shifts. Gone is the relaxed, playful man you’d spent the flight talking to. Instead, he moves with quiet efficiency, reaching for his facemask just as a sharp-suited man—the one I’d mentally dubbed the James Bond type—steps into the aisle. Without a word, Jungkook nods, rises from his seat, and follows him.
No one else has even unbuckled yet.
And just like that, he’s gone.
A strange emptiness settles in my chest as you watch his retreating figure. It’s ridiculous—you only just met, barely spoke beyond a few hours, and yet… you already miss his company? There was something easy about talking to him, something warm. It would’ve been nice to have a friend in Seoul.
As you sit there, still processing the abruptness of it all, you feel it.
A fleeting moment.
Just before disappearing down the jet bridge, Jungkook glances back.
His dark eyes find yours across the cabin, unreadable yet lingering, like he wants to say something but knows he can’t.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he turns and walks away, shoulders squared, slipping effortlessly into whatever world he belongs to—one that, I suspect, is very different from yours.
And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time our paths will cross.
✵Summary: Y/N just move across the world to start her University. She is paired with a roommate who is complete social butterfly and makes a bet, Y/N needs to take more chances. And at the hint of her new found friend, her social and romantic life take a dramatic turn.
✵Tags/Warnings: Smut, College AU, red flag, sexual tension. angst, dirty talking, drinking, friends with benefits, full of cliches, friends to lover, temptation
✵Notes: Hello! Now that I somewhat have a vacation time and I could not stop thinking about this, my fingers slipped so here goes another chaper! And if you want to be added to the tag list and be notified when theres a new chapter please sign up on this link!
lots of love, Kiki
CHAPTER 5 - Guiding lights and shadows
The week was a relentless sprint, each day bleeding into the next in a haze of exhaustion.With finals approaching, it feels like every teacher is piling on extra work, making the days even more grueling. The highlights are lunch with the boys and the lingering memory of that kiss, which I am trying not to overanalyze. My heart is skipping a beat each time Yoongi’s name is appearing on my phone with a new message about a show or something he’s done. The conversation is always light and definitely far off from the moment we shared the previous weekend. So when he texts today asking if I want to join him in the city center to shop for headphones, I can’t resist. The stores are staying open later than usual, which works perfectly—I just need my finance teacher to let us out on time.
As the clock is ticking toward the end of the period, I am finding myself glancing at it repeatedly, willing it to move faster. When the bell finally rings, I am quickly gathering my things and rushing out, excitement bubbling inside me.
Yoongi is saying he doesn’t want anything serious. He has put the brakes on whatever we have, and I don’t understand why I am still hung up on him, other than the fact that he is clearly my type. When I arrive at the city center station, I spot Yoongi leaning against a lamppost, his gaze focused on his phone. He looks up as I approach, a small smile on his lips.
"Hey," I greet, slightly breathless from my hurry.
"Hey," he replies, his eyes lighting up. "Ready to find some headphones?"
"Absolutely," I say, matching his smile.
We are wandering through the busy streets, popping into various electronics stores and comparing different models. Yoongi is in his element, enthusiastically testing out headphones and discussing their pros and cons. I am admiring his passion for even the smallest things.
Eventually, he finds a pair he likes, and we make our way out of the store. The sky has darkened, with city lights casting a warm glow on the streets. We walk side by side, our conversation flowing effortlessly from one topic to another.
"Want to grab a drink?" Yoongi suggests. “We can get a bottle of something and take a walk by the beach?”
"Sure," I agree, glad for the chance to spend more time with him, though slightly concerned about the growing chill. The days have been warmer, but the nights, with the cold sea breeze, are frigid.
We stop by a nearby convenience store before heading back to our neighborhood bus, hoping to reach the beach faster. I can’t help but steal glances at Yoongi. Even in silence, his presence is comforting.
The city noises are fading as we reach the beach, the gentle sound of waves crashing against the sand taking over. We walk to the end of the beach, where a lighthouse stands amidst a stretch of rocks. It isn’t a long distance, but it feels removed from the city’s bustle. We drink from one of the bottles of wine we have bought, and conversation picks up again. Yoongi talks about his week and how he is grateful that his grade is based mainly on projects rather than exams—a luxury I am wishing for.
“I’m definitely a hands-on learner. It’s not my forte to just sit and absorb a subject,” I say as we reach the rocky path at the end of the beach. “So even though I have just started, I can’t wait for it to be over.”
“There’s definitely a strange feeling when you start,” Yoongi agrees. “Being away from home, studying in a different language... you grow up fast.”
His words are resonating with me. “Yeah,” I say softly, gazing out at the dark, rippling sea. “It’s like you’re forced to figure out who you are, but it’s hard to keep up.”
We are quiet for a while, sipping from the bottle of wine and watching the waves. A shiver is running down my spine, snapping me out of my thoughts. The cold is more biting than I’ve realized. I am stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets, desperate for warmth.
“You know, being cold is just a state of mind,” Yoongi says, breaking the silence. I shoot him a skeptical glance while blowing hot air over my hands.
“Yeah, sure. Try living your whole life in a warm country and then talk about cold being a state of mind,” I huff, making him chuckle. He takes my hands in his, warming them with his touch.
The contact is light, but it sends a jolt through me. Yoongi subtly moves closer, focusing on the sea ahead to distract from the growing warmth between us. “It’s strange how much can change in such a short time,” he muses, taking another sip from the wine bottle before handing it to me.
I also drink from it, feeling the warmth spread through me, but it pales compared to the heat between us. “You know, I never thought I’d be here, sitting with you like this,” I admit, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Dice…” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. It is as if everything suddenly crashes into his mind, and he pulls away, leaving me missing his warmth immediately.
I swallow hard, feeling the effects of the wine as my words tumble out. “I’ve never had a relationship before. But I think what’s important is doing things because you want to, not because someone told you to.” I look back at the sparkling city. “I don’t want to date someone who buys me flowers because they feel obligated. I want to live in the moment and enjoy whatever life throws at me.” I shrug, avoiding his gaze. I notice he is nodding slightly and taking a bigger sip from the bottle.
I turn to him to take my turn and realize it is almost empty. Have we drunk that much? I take a sip, feeling his eyes still on me. A smile starts forming on my lips. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but Gabi is right. I just want to roll the dice and see where it lands.”
He chuckles, his gaze lingering on my lips. I find myself unable to look away from the softness of his gaze and the smile playing on his face. The world around us seems to fade, leaving just the two of us in this moment that feels both exhilarating and intensely intimate. My heart is pounding, almost drowning out the distant city sounds and crashing waves.
I try to maintain my composure, but Yoongi’s gaze makes it difficult. Thankfully, the darkness hides my blush. “You know,” I say, my voice wavering slightly, “sometimes it’s easier to talk about things when you’re... a little tipsy.”
Yoongi’s smile widens as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. His touch is warm and comforting against the cold night air. I lean my head on him. “Yeah, I get that,” he says softly. “Sometimes it’s easier to say what you really feel when you’re not overthinking everything.”
We are sharing a moment of silence, just enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of our shared warmth against the cold. I feel like I could stay here forever, lost in this strange, captivating bubble we are creating.
“Dice,” Yoongi says, his voice barely more than a murmur. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes searching mine. “If you really want to roll the dice... what would you want to happen?”
I meet his gaze, and the question is hanging in the air between us. My pulse is quickening as I struggle to find the right words. “I guess,” I start slowly, “I’d want to take chances. Live in the moment.” I frown. Who would say that I would be thinking like that.
“What is it?” he asks, confusion laced in his expression.
“If you tell Gabi that I said that, I will have to kill you.” I chuckle.
Yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise, but he can’t hide the amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, so it’s that kind of secret?” he teases, his tone light but his gaze still intense.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t need her making fun of me for being all... introspective and sentimental. Especially when it makes her right.”
Yoongi chuckles, and his laughter seems to dissolve the last remnants of tension between us. “I promise, your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t dare spill it, especially not to Gabi.”
He leans back slightly, but his hand remains gently clasping mine. The touch is both grounding and electrifying. “So, you want to take chances and live in the moment,” he says more as a statement than a question, his voice softening.
I look down at our entwined fingers, feeling the warmth from his touch seeping into me. The silence is comforting, filled only with the gentle sounds of the waves and the distant hum of the city. Yoongi’s thumb is tracing small, soothing circles on the back of my hand, and I find myself leaning in slightly, drawn to the intimacy between us.
“Do you want to know something?” he asks suddenly, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of vulnerability and determination.
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yeah, tell me.”
Yoongi takes a deep breath, his expression serious but soft. “I don’t want to overthink things either. I’ve been trying to figure out what I want, but... being here with you, right now, it feels right. And I think maybe that’s enough for now.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my breath catch, and I can see the same longing mirrored in his eyes. The distance between us feels like it is shrinking with every passing second. I take a small, deliberate breath, feeling the weight of his words and the promise they hold.
Yoongi’s gaze remains fixed on mine, and I see his eyes soften with a mix of relief and affection. He leans in, his face close enough that I can feel his warm breath against my skin. The world seems to slow down, the only sounds the gentle rush of the waves and our quickened breaths.
Yoongi’s face is inches from mine, his warm breath mingling with the cool night air. Our eyes lock, and in that shared gaze, I can see a mix of hope and vulnerability. His lips are soft and inviting, and as he leans in, I feel a flutter of anticipation.
When our lips finally meet, the kiss is gentle and exploratory. There is no rush or intensity—just a tender connection that speaks volumes in its simplicity. I can taste the faint, tangy flavor of the cheap wine on his lips.
Yoongi’s lips are warm against mine, moving with a soft, deliberate rhythm. He doesn’t press too hard or deepen the kiss, instead keeping it light and delicate. His kiss is like a whisper, full of unspoken promises and gentle affection. I can feel the slight, hesitant brush of his lips, a caress rather than a demand.
The sensation is comforting, almost comforting in its tenderness. His hand, still holding mine, is providing a reassuring warmth that makes the kiss feel even more intimate. The touch of his fingers against my skin is gentle, almost as if he is afraid of breaking the spell of the moment.
When we finally pull away, our foreheads are resting together, and I can see the soft smile playing on Yoongi’s lips.
Yoongi’s arms are wrapping around me, drawing me into a close, comforting embrace. We stay like that for a while, our bodies pressed together, with the city lights twinkling in the distance and the cool sea breeze gently brushing against our faces. The night feels suspended in time, a quiet and intimate pause amidst the chaos of our lives.
His warmth is seeping through my jacket, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is a soothing rhythm against mine. We sit in silence, simply existing together in the stillness, the soft rustling of the sea and the distant hum of the city our only companions.
The kiss lingers between us, a tender moment. It is soft, fleeting—a brief spark that doesn’t demand anything more than what it is.
Yoongi’s gaze remains on the city, his expression contemplative but relaxed. His hand is resting lightly on my back, a casual touch that speaks of comfort rather than commitment. I lean my head against his shoulder, feeling a sense of calm wash over me as we share this peaceful moment.
“Cold isn’t so bad when you’re not alone,” he says softly, breaking the silence with a quiet, reflective tone.
I smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”
We remain there, side by side, wrapped in each other’s warmth and the tranquility of the night. The city lights continue to shimmer in the distance, a backdrop to our shared silence. It is a moment of connection, open-ended and unspoken, leaving the future uncertain but the present moment perfectly still.
The library is unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. The usual hum of activity is replaced by the soft rustling of pages and the faint tapping of keyboards. Eli, Gabi, and I have claimed our favorite study spot near the windows, the table covered in books, notes, and highlighters. Despite the serene setting, there is a palpable tension in the air, especially around Eli.
Ever since the club night last week, something has shifted. Eli is seeming distracted, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced with a more subdued, thoughtful one. I keep my head down, focusing on my notes, trying to ignore the undercurrent of awkwardness.
“So, Eli,” Gabi says, breaking the silence. “Any updates on the marketing project?”
Eli snaps out of her thoughts, blinking rapidly. “Oh, um, yeah. I think we’re almost done. Just need to finalize a few things.”
Gabi nods, looking satisfied. “Good to know.” She drops her head on her books. “I’m seriously stressing about this test.”
Eli forces a smile. “Yeah, me too.”
The exchange is polite but strained. I can feel Gabi’s curious eyes darting between us, sensing the awkwardness but not pushing for answers, even though we probably knew the answer to it. Yoongi. I also definitely needed to keep quiet as I have also been keeping things from my friends.
Just as the silence threatens to swallow us again, Jungkook and Taehyung arrive, their presence like a breath of fresh air. Jungkook’s warm smile and Taehyung’s energetic demeanor instantly lighten the mood.
“Hey, everyone,” Jungkook greets, pulling up a chair beside me and resting his arm on the back of it. “Hope we’re not interrupting.” He offers the brightest smile that doesn’t fail to bring up the mood.
“Not at all,” Gabi replies, her eyes lighting up. “We could use the company.”
Taehyung plops down next to Eli, grinning. “So, what are we studying today?”
“Marketing,” Eli answers, her smile returning a little. “Big test and deadline coming up.”
“Fun,” Taehyung says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Good thing I’m here for moral support.”
As we settle into our study session, the atmosphere gradually becomes more relaxed. Jungkook and Taehyung’s playful banter helps ease some of the tension, and even Eli seems to loosen up a bit. However, my phone buzzes incessantly, a series of messages from Jimin lighting up the screen.
Jimin: "Hey, what are you up to?"
Jimin: "Studying again? On a Saturday?"
Jimin: "C'mon, let's do something fun!"
I sigh and quickly type a response.
Me: "I really need to study, Jimin. Maybe later?"
But Jimin, being Jimin, was relentless.
Jimin: "Pleeeeease? I'm bored out of my mind."
I try to ignore the messages and focus on my notes, but my phone buzzes again.
Jimin: "Fine, if you're going to ignore me, I'm just going to complain in the group chat"
A few seconds later, the group chat litghts up with Jimin's messages.
Jimin: "Why are all my friends so boring? It's Saturday! Someone come save me from this boredom!"
Gabi snorts, reading the messages over her own phone. "Sounds like Jimin's having a meltdown."
I roll my eyes, a small smile playing on my lips. "He's just being dramatic."
"Isn't he always?" Jungkook says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
As we continue studying, the group chat buzzes with more messages, most of them teasing Jimin for his dramatics. Even Jungkook and Taehyung join in.
Taehyung: "Jimin, maybe you should try studying. It's very stimulating."
Jungkook: "Or you could come help us. Plenty of fun to go around here."
Yoongi: “Don’t you have a test to study for?”
Jimin: "Ugh, you guys are the worst."
I chuckle at the exchange. It was comforting to have these people around. I am deep down glad of the friend group we formed. I don’t know how I would’ve survived so far without them.
Eli catches my eye and gives me a small, appreciative smile, as if to say thanks for not pressing her about her unease. I return the smile, but feeling the heaviest feeling in my gut from also holding stuff from her.
After Jungkook and Taehyung joined us, I notice Eli glancing at her phone more frequently, her fingers twitching as if she was expecting a message. Each time it buzzed, she looked both hopeful and anxious, her eyes darting quickly to the screen and then away.
"Everything okay, Eli?" Taehyung asks gently, clearly clueless about all the slightly akward day we had so far.
She nods quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, just... family stuff."
He nods back, not entirely convinced but clearly willing to let it go for now.
Throughout the afternoon, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Yoongi's absence is unusual. He was usually a steady presence, especially during our study sessions. Even though quiet and burried in his computer. During the week he acted like nothing had happened after he dropped us off at the apartment. But I guess last night might have drawn him away.
As we take a break, Taehyung stretched and glanced at me. "By the way, have you heard from Yoongi today?"
I shake my head. "No, I haven't. It's weird that he's not here."
Taehyung leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and shruggs. "Maybe he needed some time alone. You know how he can be."
Eli's face tightens at the mention of Yoongi, and she quickly looks down at her notes, pretending to be absorbed in her work. The look on Gabi’s face came and went like lightning. She also saw how she reacted. And the quick glance we shared afterwords was enough to tell me we were going to be talking about this later.
"Yeah, maybe," I say, giving Taehyung a small smile. "He does like his alone time."
As the afternoon wore on, the group started to leave one by one. Leaving me alone with Jungkook at the library. He claims that he knows the subject by heart and that he already finished his part for the group project of the class. He was lucky. Unfortunetly the girl who decided to team up with me convinced me she was hardworking and that we would be done with it in no time. All lies as she would never show up to any of the meetings I tried to set up with her about this damn project.
“I can help you if you want.” Jungkook says looking up from his phone. “I hear the wheels turning inside your head from here”
I quickly throw him an annoyed look. “I just feel so overwhelmed. How am I supposed to present this with someone who didn’t even write a single word”
“Well she did write like 3 paragraphs?” He tries to comfort, but it doesn’t work.
“Yeah, that I had to re-write because it didn’t make any sense.” I can feel my shoulders drop as the realization that it will be my first failed report in school. Great.
Jungkook reaches over and gently pats my shoulder. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You're smart, and you'll figure it out. Maybe we can brainstorm some ideas together?"
I sighed, appreciating his constant attempts to lift my spirits. "Thanks, JK. I might take you up on that."
The library is starting to empty out, the quiet atmosphere becoming almost too peaceful. I glance at the clock, noting that we still had a few hours before closing time. I decided to take a short break and walk over to the vending machine to get a snack. Jungkook follows, his presence comforting in the silence.
As I feed coins into the machine, Jungkook leans against the wall, his eyes fixed on me. "So, what's really bothering you? I mean, besides the project and Eli."
I hesitate, not sure if I was ready to unload everything that had been on my mind. But Jungkook's earnest expression convinced me to open up, at least a little.
"It's just... everything feels off lately," I admitt. "Eli's been acting weird, because… well, you probably know why.” I have to bite my own tongue for not spilling out that Yoongi and I made out. Not once, but twice now. ”And this project is stressing me out. I feel like I'm drowning in everything."
Jungkook nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, I noticed Eli's been on edge... But you don't have to carry all this by yourself, you know? We're all here to help."
I give him a grateful smile, feeling a bit lighter. "Thanks. It helps to hear that."
We returnto our table, and I resume my work with Jungkook's support. His presence made it easier to focus, and I manage to make some progress on the project. We bounce ideas off each other, and I start to feel more confident about the upcoming presentation.
Just as I was starting to feel a bit better, my phone buzzes again. It was Jimin, of course.
Jimin: "Im still broed. Seriousljy, can't you come hangt out with mwe?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. He clearly had already his share of drinks tonight by the looks of it. "Jimin really doesn't know when to stop, does he?" I show the phone to Jk who is peeking above my shoulder.
Jungkook laughs. "Nope, but that's part of his charm. Maybe we can do something fun later, after you've finished studying."
"Maybe," I say, glancing at the time again. "I just need to wrap this up first."
As we continue working, I can’t help but think about Yoongi. His absence was gnawing at me, and I wondered what could have driven him away. Eli's reaction to his name had been telling, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I decide to check my phone once more and noticed that Yoongi had been active in the group chat earlier, but hadn't sent any messages since.
The evening progresses, and the library starts to fill with the low hum of closing announcements and the gradual packing up of students. By the time we wrap up, I feel much better about the project, thanks in no small part to Jungkook’s help.
“Ready to head out?" he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"Yeah," I said, feeling a mix of relief and lingering stress. "Thanks for staying with me."
"Anytime," he replied with a warm smile. "And remember, you're not alone. We can figure all this out together."
We exit the library doors, blinking in the sudden twilight. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of the faint tang of the approaching sea. Jungkook stretched beside me, his phone clutched in his hand.
"Well, that was productive," he says, more to himself than to me. "Hopefully, your teammate will magically appear before the presentation."
I offer a weak smile. "Yeah, hopefully."
Suddenly, my phone rings in my pocket. My heart leapes – maybe it was Yoongi, finally reaching out. I pull it out, a smile faltering as I see the name on the screen: Gabi.
I glance at Jungkook, who was still stretching and checking his phone. I pick up the phone with a soft smile on my lips. Jimin must have gotten into her head about going out and now its her turn to bother me.
“Hey thank God you picked up,” her voice is shaky at the other end of the line “I need your help. Jimin’s hurt. Can you come over right now? I’m worried.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her, frowning.
Jungkook notices my sudden change in demeanor. “Everything okay?”
My eyes lock with Jungkooks as he is quick to drop the attention from this own phone.
My breath catches. Something happened to Jimin? He had texted me not long ago about going to hang out with him. I feel a rush of panic and concern.
“We came to this new bar and Jimin got into a fight. Hes not looking too good. I’ll send you our location.” She rushes and before I get the chance to reply she hangs up.
“I—Gabi says Jimin’s hurt,” I say, my voice tight with anxiety. “We have to go.”
Jungkook’s expression shifts to concern. “Do you know where they are?”
I agree quickly, looking at the directions to the bar. “Yes, she just sent me their location.”
We hurry through the darkening streets, each step heavy with worry. I try calling Gabi, but her phone went straight to voicemail. As we approache the place, the music throbbed through the night and silhouettes move on the sidewalk. My eyes scan the area, landing on two figures – one slumped against the wall, the other pacing impatiently. Relief washes over me momentarily, but then I see Jimin.
He is sprawled on the sidewalk, his hair disheveled and his clothes askew. A grimace contorted his face, clutching his stomach with a groan. Gabi hovered beside him, her face pale and streaked with tears.
"He… he got beat up," Gabi stammers, her voice cracking. "I don't know what happened!"
Jungkook kneels beside Jimin, his brow furrowed as he assesses the situation. Thankfully, there was barely any blood, but Jimin definitely looked worse for wear.
"What the hell happened?" Jungkook asks, his voice laced with concern.
"I don't know," Gabi sniffles. "We were just leaving the bar when these guys started shoving him around. They kept calling him names…" Her voice trailes off, tears welling up again.
Jimin winces as he tried to sit up. "Ugh, my head…" he mumbled, his voice slurred, as he sat back down.
I kneel beside Gabi, my own worry bubbling up. "Are you okay, Gabi?"
She shakes her head, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I'm scared. What if they come back?"
Just then, a group of three young men emerge from the bar, their faces flushed and their voices loud. They spott us and start swaggering over, a menacing glint in their eyes.
"Hey! Looks like the little party's still going on," one of them sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Leave us alone," Gabi says, her voice trembling.
The leader of the group scoffs. "Not until we settle the score with your little boyfriend here."
Jungkook stands up, his jaw set in a hard line. He was a big guy, but you could barely notice underneath the jacket he wore. But he radiates a quiet intensity that made me feel a flicker of hope.
"We don't want any trouble," he says calmly, though his voice holds a steely edge. "Just let us go."
The leader barks out a laugh. "Trouble? You started the trouble when your friend got mouthy with us."
The situation was escalating quickly, and I know we were outnumbered. My mind races, searching for a way out.
The tension in the air is palpable, and the group's hostile approach sent a shiver down my spine. I glance at Jungkook, who was visibly bracing himself for a confrontation. My mind desperate to find a way to defuse the situation before it got any worse.
Jungkook steps in front of Jimin protectively, his posture solid and unyielding. “Look, we don’t want any trouble,” he states firmly, though the strain in his voice was evident. “We’re just here to help our friend.”
The leader of the group’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between Jungkook and Jimin. “Help, huh? Seems like you’re just trying to play the hero. You should have thought about that before your friend decided to act tough.”
The men behind him shuffle closer, their faces etched with aggressive intent. I could see the situation spiraling out of control, and my heart pounds with fear. I take a deep breath and tried to gather all the courage in me.
Squaring my shoulders, I rise to my feet, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. "Listen, gentlemen," I say, my voice surprisingly steady considering the tremor in my legs. "This is all a big misunderstanding. We're just leaving."
The leader's gaze flicks to Jungkook, who remains a stoic figure beside me. A smirk played on his lips."Misunderstanding, huh? Looks like your little boyfriend here needs a lesson in respect."
My smile falters. Respect? These guys were looking for trouble, and I wasn't about to let them take it out on Jimin. "He didn't do anything wrong," I counter, my voice gaining a touch of defiance. Maybe if I played it tough, they'd back down.
One of the guys snorted. "Yeah, right. Maybe you should teach him some manners yourself, sweetheart."
Their amusement fuel a surge of anger within me. They clearly didn't see the pepper spray nestled discreetly in the side pocket of my backpack. This wasn't a situation that called for playing nice.
With a deep breath, I reach back, my fingers brushing the cool metal canister. They didn't need to see it, just know it was there. "Look," I say, my voice dropping to a low growl. "We're not here to fight. But if you keep pushing, things could get messy. And trust me, you don't want that mess."
The leader's smirk falter for a brief moment, replaced by a flicker of something that might have been apprehension. He glances at his buddies, a silent question hanging in the air.
But then, as quickly as it appeared, the sneer returns. "Empty threats, doll?" he scoffs. "Let's see you back that up."
He takes a menacing step forward, his hand reaching out as if to grab me. It was now or never.
My hand shoots into my backpack, emerging with a hiss. The pepper spray gleams in the dim streetlight, a silent warning.
The leader freezes, his eyes widening in shock. His hand retreats as if burned. The air crackles with a different kind of tension now, thick with fear.
"Maybe you should reconsider," I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. “We’re not here to fight, but if you push it…”
The leader’s smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of hesitation. He glances at his buddies, weighing the situation.
Finally, he gives a dismissive wave. “Whatever. We’re done here. Get your friend out of here and don’t come back.”
The group turns and walk away, their retreating figures dissolving into the night. As the adrenaline begin to fade, I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of relief settle in. Jungkook takes away the can from my hand and quickly analyses if I am ok. He softly squeezes my hand in reassurance, before returning to Jimin’s side, helping him to his feet as Gabi wipes her tears away.
“Lets get him home.” He quickly says while leading the way.
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Honestly, I am quite excited with this story! Hope you guys are enjoying too! Anyway! Share your thoughts! It honestly makes my day hehe Hope you are liking it so far :)
✵Summary: Y/N just move across the world to start her University. She is paired with a roommate who is complete social butterfly and makes a bet, Y/N needs to take more chances. And at the hint of her new found friend, her social and romantic life take a dramatic turn.
✵Tags/Warnings: Smut, College AU, red flag, sexual tension. angst, dirty talking, drinking, friends with benefits, full of cliches, friends to lover, temptation
✵Notes: Hello! Sorry it took a bit longer than imagined! I am also writing my bachelor thesis together with this and its a whole lot of words hahahah Anyway hope you enjoy it and if you want to be added to the tag list please sign up on this link! (You must be over 18 ;) )
lots of love, Kiki
CHAPTER 3 - ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL
Jin is screaming at the TV as we play the video game he so desperately begged to play. "Seriously!? How can you be this good?! It's not fair! You said you never played it before!" He quickly restarts the game from the point where I finished, and he didn’t. I shrug it off, smirking. We've been playing every other day together, either through calls or him coming over. Normally, we play some co-op game where we can team up against what we swear are young boys, who we are sure are screaming behind every elimination point we get. But today, he wanted to try this new Mario game where we need to complete the courses against each other.
“What can I do if you keep falling over?” I say with a straight face and a side-eye when he restarts the same level we have been trying to finish for the past two and a half hours.
Jimin, sprawled on the couch next to us and entertained by his phone, just laughs off the misery of his friend, earning him a fast shush.
“Ahhh, shiiiiish,” he says, taking a deep breath before pressing play again. “You know, I think we finally found someone who's good at winning. I bet she’s better than JK….” Jimin says to no one in particular. But the one he was talking about, equally sprawled in a corner, is quick to glance his friend’s way.
“I would bet my chips on you, Dice,” Jimin says, poking my leg with the tip of his foot. The nickname, unfortunately, stuck. Not because I liked it, but because they thought it was hilarious—such a random word for a nickname. Gabi proved her point for the nickname not too many nights ago when we were at a bar and I refused to do more shots with her.
The nudge delivered by Jimin was enough to lose my timing and jump wrong, letting Jin follow on with the course.
“HA!” He jumps over the seat. “Who’s the best now?!” He is excitedly playing the game standing up now, getting the attention of the two other boys in the room.
“Clearly not her…” JK mumbles under his breath. I give him a bad look, sitting back on the couch. Not too many jumps later, Jin’s character follows suit, descending to the bottom of the screen with a sad losing music. Jimin laughs again at the situation and goes back to being on his phone.
They have been over almost every day for the last five weeks. Eli is also one that doesn’t miss an opportunity to be over. However, since Yoongi introduced Mina, he’s been a bit more distant. If he doesn’t say he’s busy trying to finish a project for whatever class he has, he vanishes, to the point that not even the others know where he went. Whenever we do get to talk, often just small talk when the others are choosing the movie, he seems to always go back to the subject of this girl in school that he thinks is adorable. Every time he mentions her, he manages to describe her loosely enough that I (Jimin, Gabi, and I) think that the only person he could be describing is me. Mina was ruled out as a suspect as she doesn’t go to the same school and doesn’t exactly fit the characteristics he keeps mentioning.
“Man, you need to jump literally two seconds earlier,” JK gets up, steals the controller from Jin, and drops in the middle of the two of us, breaking the zoning out that I was entering.
Before he presses start, he leans closer. “Sorry, but this one you're not gonna get lucky, Dice.” And turns back to face the TV.
The countdown starts, and we both get ready to try and not lose first. Even Jimin, who clearly doesn’t give a single care, sneakily puts his phone down to watch what is about to unfold.
The game starts, and we both are flawlessly jumping the boxes, each step closer to the point Jin and I couldn’t pass. Knowing the circuit better, I know when to run faster, so I end up in front of JK, who is now reaching closer and closer to the edge of the seat. Everyone is holding their breath as we both successfully pass the point where we were stuck, and we can clearly see the end of the course and the last jumps we need to make when the door slams open with an out-of-breath Gabi, breaking our concentration long enough that we cannot complete the almost-done course.
Jimin rolls his eyes. “What is it now?” he asks.
“Oh man! I have piping hot freaking tea,” she slams the door shut. “I just saw Yoongi!”
“Are you for real?” Jungkook jumps up and points to the TV. “We almost won!”
“If you let me finish, you would have the same reaction as me,” Gabi says, flicking him off. She locks eyes with me before she continues, “I saw Yoongi. With Eli. As in, them together, quite close, together.”
Jimin is now the one sitting up. “What the fuck? Are you serious?” And Gabi just nods, confirming it.
“Forget it. This is so stupid. And so what if they were together?” Jungkook sits back down next to me but receives a side-eye from all of us, without reply.
“Anyway… thought you should know that,” she looks at me and at Jimin. Us three have developed almost psychic abilities at this point. We all know now that she means that the mystery girl might, in fact, not be me, but Eli.
Jimin sits back, rubbing his temples, processing the revelation. The room falls into a heavy silence, the excitement from the game now a distant memory. Jin, sensing the tension, puts down the controller and turns to Gabi.
“Wait, are you sure it was Eli? Maybe it was someone who looked like her?”
Gabi shakes her head, her expression serious but still with wide eyes. “Oh, I’m positive. They were really close, drinking that coffee.”
I glance at Jimin, who looks back at me with an expression that mirrors my confusion and concern. Eli and Yoongi? The idea of it doesn’t sit right, but Gabi's encounter seems hard to refute.
“Maybe they’re just friends?” I suggest, trying to diffuse the situation, though I know it sounds weak.
Jin, always the peacemaker, tries to lighten the mood. “Yeah, maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. You know how Yoongi is, always friendly with everyone.”
But the seed of doubt has been planted. I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself growing more and more interested in Yoongi. His charm and the way he could always make me laugh—it was hard not to develop feelings. But now, knowing about him with Eli, of all people, it feels like a punch to the gut.
Jungkook, still beside me, is watching me closely. He’s become good at reading my emotions, even when I try to hide them. He shifts a little closer, his shoulder brushing mine, offering silent support.
Jimin, ever the skeptic, isn’t convinced. “Gabi, you sure you’re not jumping to conclusions? Yoongi’s always been a bit of a player, but this seems... different. I mean, I’m pretty sure that both of them know that you like Yoongi…”
Gabi crosses her arms, standing her ground. “I know what I saw. They were way too close to just be friends.”
The room falls silent again, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I can feel Jungkook’s eyes on me, and I know he’s worried. I can sense he wants to say something, but he holds back.
Finally, Jin sighs. “Look, sitting here speculating isn’t going to help. Plus, Jimin I might add that hes our friend for ages, so maybe lets not jump the gun here.” He says giving him a small side eye “Why don’t we do something to get our minds off this?” He suggests
Gabi nods enthusiastically. “There’s a party at this club in the city centre. We should go. It’ll be a good distraction.”
Jimin looks at me raising an eyebrow and smirking, waiting for my reaction. I take a deep breath, trying to push away the hurt. “Yeah, let’s go. Maybe a party is exactly what we need.”
As we start getting ready, the mood in the room shifts slightly. The anticipation of the party brings a sense of normalcy back, even if just temporarily. Jin and Jimin are quick to joke around, trying to lift everyone’s spirits. And starting the pre drinking that we normally do before going out.
The drive to the party is filled with laughter and light-hearted banter, a welcome distraction from the earlier tension. When we arrive, the thumping music and the buzz of people immediately envelop us.
Inside, we try to stay together. We find ourselves mingling with the people in the middle of the club. But my mind keeps drifting back to Yoongi and Eli. I spot Jungkook across the room coming back with a few more drinks, our eyes lock. He gives me a reassuring nod, and I feel a bit more grounded.
As the night goes on, Gabi, Jimin, and I find ourselves getting progressively drunk. We take shots, laugh at stupid jokes, and dance like there’s no tomorrow. For a while, it feels good to let loose and forget about the confusion and hurt.
“Another round?” Gabi shouts over the music, holding up her cup.
“Why not?” Jimin grins, already looking a more then just a bit buzzed.
I laugh, feeling the alcohol warm my veins. “Let’s do it!”
We clink our glasses together and down the shots, the burn of the liquor making me wince. But it’s a good kind of burn, one that makes me feel alive and carefree.
Jungkook watches from the sidelines, a small smile playing on his lips. He’s sticking to soda, playing the responsible one tonight. He catches my eye and raises his glass in a silent toast. I smile back, grateful for his steady presence.
Hours pass in a blur of music, laughter, and drinks. At some point, Gabi pulls me onto the dance floor, and we lose ourselves in the rhythm. Jimin joins us, his movements loose and carefree. We’re a trio of drunken joy, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Yoongi and not far behind, Eli. My heart sinks, and the carefree feeling evaporates.
Gabi, noticing my distraction, follows my gaze and frowns. “Ignore them,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Tonight’s about having fun.”
I nod, trying to take her advice to heart. But it’s hard to shake the image from my mind. Jungkook appears beside me, offering a gentle smile.
“Hey, wanna get some fresh air?” he asks, trying to talk over the loud music.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say, grateful for the escape.
We step outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stuffy, crowded club. The outside, filled with people smoking and chatting loudly in the street.
“You okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice soft.
I shrug, definetly feeling the alcohol in my system now and dulling the edges of my emotions. “It’s fine. Its not like we had anything anyway” I try to push away the conversation that I definetly don’t want to have right now.
He nods, understanding. “You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are.”
I look at him and raise an eyebrow. For the past weeks, he has kept to himself with the flirting. We all have been going out together and his presence ever so reasuring. I give him a small laugh and shrug away his statement.
He smiles, his eyes warm. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I swear I could see his eyes sparkle when looking back at him. My heart flutters and I definetly must be way more drunk than I thought. I need to go find Gabi. She must be drunk in a corner somehwere.
I quickly turn around and stumble and Jungkook quickly grabs my arm to bring me back to my feet. “Should we go home? I think you had enough of party today…” he says carefully. Damn that cold feeling on my stomach. I definelty don’t feel anything for him. But why do his lips look so pink and soft? I can only imagine what they would feel like..
I shake my head snapping out of it, catching his big round eyes staring back at me.
“No, I need to find Gabi. We always come back together.” We weave our way back through the throngs of people, the music thumping louder as we reenter the crowded club. My head is swimming, a mix of alcohol and emotions making it hard to focus. Jungkook stays close, his hand lightly resting on the small of my back, guiding me through the chaos.
As we make our way to the bar, I spot Gabi leaning heavily into Jin, laughing at something he said. Jin, ever the gentleman, is trying to keep her upright, a bemused smile on his face. Jimin is nearby, his gaze darting between Gabi and the crowd, looking slightly lost.
I manage to make my way over to Gabi, and she immediately latches onto me, her eyes bright and unfocused. “There you are! Let’s do more shots!” she exclaims, her words slurring together.
I’m about to agree when Jimin and Jungkook intervene. “Nop, no more shots for you” Jimin says firmly, gently prying Gabi off me. “You’re already drunk enough.”
Jungkook nods in agreement. “Let’s get you some water instead.”
Gabi pouts but doesn’t resist much as Jimin leads her away from the bar. I giggle but I feel a twinge of disappointment, part of me wanting to keep the party going, to drown out all the emotions bubbling inside of me right now. But Jungkook’s steady presence next to me is a reminder that I will not be taking anything else tonight other then water.
Just then, Yoongi and Eli approach our group. They don’t make it obvious that they arrived together, and no one brings it up. Yoongi’s eyes find mine, a mix of concern and something else in his gaze. Eli is by his side, but there’s a distance between them now that wasn’t there before.
“Hey,” Yoongi says, his voice calm and composed. “You guys okay?”
I nod, with a loose smile on my lips “Yeah, just trying to keep Gabi from getting too drunk.”
“I would say Jungkook and Jimin are trying to keep you both from getting more drunk” Eli jokes and I feel him tense next to me.
“It was his idea!” Gabi butts in the conversation and points to Jimin who, also drunkly, tries to steady her.
Yoongi glances at Gabi, who is now back to happily chatting with Jimin and Jin, then back at me. “I can take you guys home if you want. I’m heading out anyway.”
We leave the club, Yoongi and Eli flanking us as we make our way to the bus stop. Gabi and Jimin are in high spirits, though their drunken state makes it clear that they’re struggling to keep their balance. Gabi leans heavily on Eli, her laughter spilling out in bursts that mix with the cool night air. Jimin, also swaying slightly, is grinning like a fool and bumping into things as we walk.
Yoongi sticks close to my side, his presence steady and reassuring. Eli occasionally glancing back at Yoongi and me.
The bus ride is a mix of awkwardness and exhaustion. I notice that Eli is starting to fidget. Gabi and Jimin are getting more out of control, their drunken antics making it hard for me to keep a clear head. I try to help them find their seats, but Gabi keeps giggling and leaning against me while Jimin slumps into the seat, his head resting against the window.
Yoongi sits beside me, his arm brushing against mine. He leans in slightly, his voice soft. “How are you holding up?”
I glance at him, appreciating his concern. “I’m okay, looking forward to get home”
He nods, a small smile on his lips.
The bus jolts to a stop, and I watch as Eli exits, waving goodbye with a slightly disheveled look. The doors close behind her, and the bus continues on its route.
By the time we reach our stop, Gabi and Jimin are both in bad shape. Jimin stumbles off the bus and as Yoongi unlocks the door, as he is the who is the most sober between all of us, Jimin pushes him aside and crashes onto the couch in the living room, his body collapsing in a heap. Gabi, somehow finding the energy, manages to make her way to her room, though she’s swaying and mumbling incoherently.
Yoongi helps me get Gabi to her bed, making sure she’s settled before turning back to me. The apartment is quiet, the noise of the night replaced by a peaceful stillness.
I make my way back to the front door, feeling a wave of sobriety wash over me as the adrenaline from the night fades. The reality of the situation hits me hard. I’m alone with Yoongi, the person I’ve been trying to understand and connect with for weeks, but was just out with one who I tought was one of my best friends here.
“Thank you for everything tonight,” I whisper trying not wake up Jimin who was asleep not too far, I look up at him with a shy and grateful smile.
He takes a step closer, his eyes locking onto mine. “It was my pleasure. I’m just glad you are okay.”
There’s a charged silence between us, the air heavy with unspoken words and emotions. Yoongi’s gaze drops to my lips, and I can see the desire and warmth in his eyes. Without thinking, which I can only blame the 5 shots and the many cups of wine I downed this evening, I lean in, my heart racing.
Yoongi meets me halfway, his lips capturing mine in a heated kiss. The world around us fades away as the kiss deepens, his hands finding their way to my face, holding me close. The kiss is a mix of longing and relief, a culmination of all the emotions we’ve both been holding back.
When our lips finally meet, it’s a delicate, exploratory touch—soft and hesitant, as if we’re both savoring the moment of first contact. His lips are warm and tender against mine, sending a rush of sensation that makes my heart skip a beat. The kiss deepens slowly, becoming more passionate but still gentle, as if we are both savoring the newness of the moment.
His hands move to cup my face, holding me gently but firmly, as if anchoring us both in this moment. I respond, my hands resting on his shoulders, feeling the tension and warmth of his body. The kiss becomes a dance of give-and-take, each movement smooth and synchronized.
Suddenly, Yoongi’s hands slide down from my face to my waist, pulling me closer against him. The intensity of the kiss increases, and a soft moan escapes my lips as his tongue brushes against mine, teasing and exploring. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the firmness of his chest against mine, and it sends a shiver of excitement through my body.
I run my fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer, the kiss growing more fervent. His hands roam my back, tracing patterns that make my skin tingle with anticipation. Every touch, every brush of his lips feels electric, and I’m completely lost in the sensation, in him.
We finally break apart, gasping for breath, our foreheads resting against each other. Yoongi’s eyes are dark with desire, his breathing ragged. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits softly, his voice husky with emotion.
I nod, my heart pounding. “Me too,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of my racing heartbeat.
He smiles, a soft, genuine smile that makes my heart flutter. “I should go now. It’s late, and you need to get some rest. You’re definitely going to need some coffee tomorrow.”
I manage a small laugh, still feeling the aftershocks of our kiss. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, for getting us back here.”
He gives me one last, lingering look before stepping towards the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, watching him leave. The door closes behind him, and I’m left alone in the quiet apartment, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and nervous anticipation for what comes next.
I head back to my room, feeling completely sober now, the kiss still fresh on my lips. He’s right. I will definitely need that coffee tomorrow.
The sharp light of morning filters through the thin curtains, turning my small bedroom into a bright, albeit blurry, reality. My head is pounding with the remnants of last night’s revelry, and I feel a dull ache behind my eyes. I groan and stretch, hoping to shake off the fog that lingers from too many drinks.
I roll over to check my phone, squinting at the screen as I fumble with the brightness. The messages from Jungkook, sent in the group chat, catches my attention first, asking if we all made it back safely. Yoongi’s reply—a simple thumbs-up.
God. Yoongi. Did I actually kiss him last night? The reality of what happened last night comes crashing back. My heart skips a beat as I remember the kiss, the heat of his lips against mine, and the surge of feelings that accompanied it. The warmth of Yoongi’s touch, the intensity in his eyes—it all feels so vivid and real, despite the haze of alcohol that clearly clouded my judgment.
I sit up, shaking my head to clear the lingering grogginess. My fingers instinctively brush over my lips, still tingling from the kiss. Was it a mistake? Was it something real? The confusion and anxiety settle in as I replay the moments leading up to that kiss in my mind. The way Yoongi had looked at me, how our lips had met, the way his touch had felt.
I stumble out of bed, trying to piece together the fragments of the previous night. The sun’s rays are harsh against my eyes, magnifying the headache that pulses with each heartbeat. As I pad across the room, my reflection in the mirror catches my eye. My hair is a mess, and I look as disheveled as I feel. I reach for my phone again, scrolling through the messages to see if there’s any sign of further communication from him. But there’s nothing new.
I head to the kitchen, hoping that a strong cup of coffee will help me clear my head. The ritual of brewing coffee is a small comfort amidst the turmoil. As the aroma fills the kitchen, no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps returning to the kiss.
The way Yoongi’s lips had felt on mine was more than just a normal kiss— Had it been just the alcohol talking? Or was there something real beneath the surface? I keep replaying the moment in my head, his warm breath against my cheek, the way his fingers had cradled my face. But Gabi had seen him with Eli, not long before.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside me. I need to talk to Yoongi, but how do I even begin with a conversation like that? What if he sees it as just a mistake, or worse, what if he regrets it? Maybe he was drunk too and might not even remember last night.
The coffee brews slowly, giving me time to gather my thoughts. I decide to take a shower, hoping that the refreshing feel of water will help me clear my mind. As I let the hot water cascade over me, I try to focus on the present, on the routine of getting ready for the day.
Wrapped in a towel, I check my phone again. The lack of new messages from Yoongi only heightens my anxiety. I wonder if he’s also been thinking about what happened, or if he’s already moved past it. The uncertainty is eating at me.
“Hey, thanks for last night. I was wondering if you are free later? Thought we should talk”
I hit send and put my phone down. Now, it’s a matter of waiting for his response. I hear commotion on the living room as Jimin starts to come back to himself. I prepare an extra cup of coffe and head to the living room. I drop onto the couch next to Jimin, who’s already wincing at the strong aroma of coffee. He looks as rough as I feel—his hair sticking out in odd angles, and the dark circles under his eyes making him look like he’s been through a battle.
“Man I feel bad if you feel like how you look” Jimin grumbles, his eyes half-shut as he reaches for the coffee I’d prepared for him.
“If I were you, I’d keep quiet. You don’t look much better yourself,” I reply, trying to match his attempt at humor with my own. I lean back against the cushions, feeling the slight comfort of the soft fabric against my tired body.
Jimin takes a slow sip from his cup, grimacing as the bitter taste hits his tongue. “Ugh, I don’t even remember getting home last night. Was it really as crazy as it felt?”
“It was a pretty intense night,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. I don’t mention the kiss, not really sure why. I blame the hungover I’m nursing. “We all made it back somehow. Gabi’s still asleep in her room.”
Jimin nods, his gaze distant as he tries to piece together fragments of the previous night. “Yeah, I remember bits and pieces. I think I saw Yoongi...”
The mention of Yoongi makes my heart race a little faster. I try to push away the nervousness and focus on Jimin’s recovery from his hangover. “Yeah, Yoongi was a real lifesaver. He helped get us home and made sure everyone was okay.”
“Oh, nice of him,” Jimin replies, his voice a bit clearer now.
I manage a small smile and nod, though my thoughts are still consumed by the kiss and the uncertainty of where things stand between Yoongi and me.
The sound of my phone buzzing interrupts the quiet moment. I reach for it, my heart skipping a beat as I see Yoongi’s name on the screen. I quickly open the message, hoping for some clarity.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking about last night too. I’m free this afternoon. How about we meet up and talk?”
A mix of relief and anxiety floods over me. He wants to meet and talk—this is my chance to understand what really happened between us. I take a deep breath and compose my reply.
Sounds good. How about we meet at that? I’ll see you there around 3?
I send the message and set my phone aside, feeling a slight tremor of nerves in my stomach. Meeting up with Yoongi will bring everything out into the open. I glance at Jimin, who’s now scrolling through his phone and looking slightly more awake.
“Hey, I’m heading out this afternoon to meet up with Yoongi,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “Do you think you’ll be up for a little while? Maybe we can catch up after I get back?”
Jimin nods, managing a weak smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to get through this coffee and maybe a nap. You go ahead. I’ll be here.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a touch of gratitude. “let me know if you need anything else”
I’m not surprise that we were walking up late, way past noon. I get ready, throwing some casual clothes and leave the appartment, taking my time to reach the café. The sunlight feeling oddly warm and bright as I head towards the café. The crisp air helps clear my mind a little, though the anxiety about the upcoming conversation with Yoongi lingers. I keep replaying the kiss in my mind, trying to decipher its meaning.
When I finally reach the café, I find a quiet corner table and settle in, hoping that the ambiance and the soothing music will help calm my nerves. I order a drink and wait, my thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation.
Yoongi arrives right on time, looking casual but put-together. He spots me and gives a small wave as he walks over, looking not at all bothered by anything. Why do I have a feeling this might go south?
“Hey,” he says as he approaches, taking a seat across from me. “Thanks for meeting up.”
“Of course,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I thought it was important we talk.”
We both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the kiss hanging between us. Finally, Yoongi breaks the silence, his voice low and sincere.
“I’ve been thinking about last night a lot,” he starts, looking directly into my eyes. “I really felt something when we kissed,” he had said, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes. But then, he had added, “But I’m not looking for anything serious right now. So I would appreciate if we could keep it low what happened.”
Yoongi’s words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world around me seems to blur. The warm café, the chatter of other patrons, the gentle hum of the coffee machine—all fade as I focus on the unexpected turn in his confession
His expression is a mix of apprehension and regret, as if he’s bracing himself for my reaction. I sit there, trying to process the weight of his words. The initial rush of relief I felt when I saw his message this morning feels like a distant memory. The knot in my stomach tightens as I grapple with the reality of what he’s saying.
I’m still silent, struggling to articulate my thoughts. The brief silence feels interminable, filled with the noise of my own racing heartbeat and the hum of the café around us. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
“I’m ok with that.” I try to brush it off even though the only thing in my mind was that damn kiss. He still seems tense. “I mean it was just a moment of…intensity. You just want to forget what happened?” I ask him
Yoongi’s gaze drops to his hands, fidgeting with the edge of the napkin on the table. “Not exactly forget. More like…keep it as a moment that happened between us, but not let it change things or complicate what we have right now.”
I nod slowly, the disappointment settling heavily in my chest. “I understand. I guess I should’ve expected something like this. I mean, we were both drunk”
We sit in silence for a moment, the initial tension easing slightly as we both process the conversation. Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee, and I try to find solace in the soothing ambiance of the café.
Finally, I’m the one to break the silence. “Do you want to talk about something else? Or maybe just…hang out for a bit?”
“Uh, actually I’m a bit busy today. Maybe another day?”
I nod, trying not show the dissapointment that is brewing inside.
“Yup. Thanks for the talk today!” I say to him and he quickly finishes his drink and gets ready to leave.
Yoongi finishes his coffee quickly and stands up, his movements a little too eager as if he’s anxious to leave. He offers me a quick, somewhat awkward smile before gathering his things.
“Thanks for being chill about it,” he says, his voice filled with genuine relief. “I’ll text you later!”
I manage a small, forced smile in return. “Yup. Thanks for the talk today!” I watch him as he heads out, the door chiming softly behind him. The café feels emptier now, the absence of his presence leaving a noticeable gap.
As the door closes, the reality of our conversation settles heavily in my chest. I stare down at the remnants of my coffee, the once comforting aroma now a bitter reminder of our discussion. The weight of his words, the certainty of his boundaries, and the palpable sense of finality hang around me like a shroud.
The quiet of the café feels almost oppressive now, the gentle murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups a distant background noise. I glance around, feeling disconnected from the world outside, lost in the aftermath of our conversation.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my swirling emotions. I had hoped for more clarity, a resolution that would either move us forward or let me put the past behind me. Instead, I’m left with an uneasy acceptance of the boundaries Yoongi has set. It feels like a door closing softly, leaving me in a limbo between hope and resignation.
With a sigh, I gather my things and stand up, taking one last look around the café before heading out. The sunlight outside feels warm and bright, but it does little to chase away the lingering shadows in my mind.
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Don't be shy to let me know what you think!! Your feedback is important to me and honestly helps to keep writing :)) Drop by in the comments or send me a private message! Always down to chat! :))
im loving take a chance a lot, ur writing is amazing, can't wait to read more <3
Hi! Thank you for taking the time to send a message! Thats super sweet! Cannot wait to post more! My uni exams finish this week so my goal is to post more soon!!! Hope you enjoy it ✨🥰
✵Summary: Y/N just move across the world to start her University. She is paired with a roommate who is complete social butterfly and makes a bet, Y/N needs to take more chances. And at the hint of her new found friend, her social and romantic life take a dramatic turn.
✵Tags/Warnings: Smut, College AU, red flag, sexual tension. angst, dirty talking, drinking, friends with benefits, full of cliches, friends to lover, temptation
✵Notes: Hi guys! Took a while to update this on AO3 BUT here you go! Let me know what you think <3
lots of love, Kiki
CHAPTER 3 - DAWN
Once more I wake up with the worst hungover. But this time it feels even worse. What the hell happened for me to get like this? I am still wearing last nights clothes and with make up on. The last thing I remember is Gabi asking those stupid “Drink If” questions. I groan as I leave the bed holdind my head in between my hands. Ugh Im never touching alcohol again. I get up and go to the bathroom in hopes that washing my face with cold water would chase this terrible feeling away.
I reach the bathroom and splash the ice cold water on my face. The only thing that takes it away is the fogness of yesterdays events and everything comes all at once. Us all getting drunk and deciding to go for a walk at the beach late into the evening. Jungkook showing the constelations holding my hand. Coming back home worse. Falling asleep on the couch. Jungkooks strongs arms carring me to my room. Tucking me into bed and leaving shortly after. I look myself in the mirror with pure shock.
“Fuck…. Eli” I groan. I gamble that she would’ve slept over and go to Gabi’s room where I find them both laying bed looking at their phones. They both just look over their screens but don’t say a word.
Gabi moves over a bit and pats over the space in between the two. I crawl to the spot and lay face down on the soft and sweet smelling pillow. I let out a groan.
“I feel like dying” I say the sound muffled by the pillow.
“you are not alone sister” I receive gentle taps on my back. I sit back down on the bed facing both of them.
“I’m so sorry for last night, Eli. I swear I didn’t intend to any of that to happen” I say to her with sorrowfull eyes
“I mean, thank you for saying that. I guess hes not really into me anyway. So its fine. Don’t worry about it.” She shrugs
“I promise I will not do anything with him.” I offer.
“its ok if you do honestly. It good that this bandaid was ripped off sooner rather then later. It would’ve definetly hurt much more.” She shrugs it off.
“do you still feel like to have that movie night today?” gabi asks “We both totally understand if you don’t” I nod in agreement with her.
“I can text him not to come. I don’t feel very well anyway. I bet he might not be the best either.”
“I mean, we can still be friends. He geniualy seems like a nice guy, just not interested in me like that. So that’s ok. We can still hang out.” She adds, even though with a sad look on her face.
I give her a hug laying down on top of her. “Are we good then? I was honestly worried that you would be mad at me”
“We are good, don’t worry” she hugs me back laughing “now get off, you are smashing me” she taps my back and grunts.
With a smile I lay back down between them. Pulling my own phone out of my pocket.
My heart races as I see the message I received not too long ago. I gasp and both of them immediately look to find out what cause such a reaction. I spring up and scratch my eyes.
Gabi sitting next to me and pulling my phone out of my hand reading the text out loud.
“Good morning! I was wondering if you are up for coffee? I know a place nearby that is quite good”
She slaps my arm. “why are you not up yet!? Go get ready!” motioning me to hurry up.
“Gabi I feel like death has come for me this morning…. I don’t know If I have the energy to go out right now”
“Girl I don’t care, you are still breathing. Go brush your teeth and change.” She says giving a fake smile. “NOW!”
I look to Eli for support but she just shrugs and goes back to being busy with her phone.
“plus…” she says with her evil grin “I already texted him yes.” She shows me the phone “he says he will be here in 10 to pick you up”
My eyes go wide and yank the phone out of her hand. Reading back the messages. She really did send those messages. Oh my god.
“Im going to kill you” I say under my breath
“Well, better be after you get ready. Chop chop” she claps her hands.
I immediately get up and rush back to my room trying to fix something else to wear. I exchange the black fluff sweater for a hoodie and try to fix the eye liner from last night that makes me look more like a panda than human.
Once I think that is good enough I quickly brush my teeth and rush to the door to put on a pair of shoes and leave the house. My keys still in the pocket of my jacket from last night is a blessing. If I rush more then this I think I might be sick. I take a deep breath and get my composure back, taking it easy to reach outside.
I see Yoongi waiting outside the apartment with his phone in his hand.
“Hey stranger” I say leaving the building. He looks up and gives a small smile.
“Was about to text you” he shakes his phone and quickly puts back in his pocket.
It was a cold day but it was sunny, making it a more pleasureble temperature. The perfect day to not have a hungover. But here I was.
The walk to the café is pleasant. Indeed its not far from my place and the place looks quite cozy. It full of books and it leads to a nice garden. We find a place at a corner all the way at the end of the place overlooking the garden that must be beautiful during spring and summer. The café was quite busy having breakfast and chitchatting. The atmosphere was defintely inviting to stay hours on end.
“What is your poison?” he asks me before sitting down
“Honestly, a latte would be a killer right now.” I say following it with a quick thanks.
A few moments later he comes back with a tray with more stuff then I thought he would bring. He places my latte in front of me.
“I was not sure what you would like right now, but I also got a strawberry short cake. Its yours if you like it.” He takes the iced americano from the tray and the chocolate muffin.
The cake even though, simple looked perfect. Layers of cake, cream and straberries making the slice very appealing.
I bite my lip before removing the little plate from the tray giving him a smile “Its actually my absolute favorite. Thank you!” which I only receive a small grin in return.
“So what have you been up to this weekend?” I ask him between bites of the heavenly cake.
“Nothing much. I’ve spent most of the night busy trying to fix this track I started to make, other then that nothing much more exciting.” He counters.
“Yeah I wish…” I say sighing getting lost in thought from last night. My heart rushing at the thought of Jungkook. No, I tell myself. Nothing can happen. Even after Eli said it was fine.
“Rough night for you too?” He asks taking me back to reality.
“I swear I’m never drinking again” and rest my head on my hand. He chuckles
“Yeah JK said you guys were quite drunk” he says casually. But I almost choke on my hot drink
“Oh I didn’t know you were friends?” I ask him trying to sound casual but probably failing miserably.
“yeah we are in the same friend group. Well, that and we all share a house. We’ve all known eachother for some years now.” he says taking his attention back to his half eaten muffin.
I hope he didn’t see my absolute shocked face. But I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be that lucky. Great. Of course they were friends. Did JungKook say anything else to him? Was this why he was being friendly to me?
“Ah that’s nice…” which is all I can gather to say. He just nods.
After some small talk and finishing our food the place seem it got busier, with people coming for brunch. The headache still brewing in my brain not giving me pantience, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Yoongi seems to notice “ Hey are you feeling ok?”
“Not really” there is no use in lying right now “To be honest I have the worse hungover.”
“No worries we can hang out more on another day”
“I mean, do you want to come over?” I blurt out as we leave the place “Yesterday night, Gabi, Eli and Kook set up to have a movie chill day, I guess.” Now it was his turn to seem bothered. The frown quickly dissolved from his face as it foes back to its neutral face.
“What are you guys watching?” He asks
“Honestly, I don’t know… If it were by me I would stay hidden under my blankets and nap the entire afternoon.” I say to him “and I’m not even sure if he will show up, since I guess he also drank a lot last night.”
“Oh, he will” he quickly replies but before I can ask what he means we reach the apartmetn building again.
I arch an eyebrow at him after unlocking the door as in question “So are you coming or not?” Looking over my shoulder with the door open.
He doesn’t take long to react, following me back into the building. With a shy smile, I lead the way to the apartment in silence.
The living room is thankfully empty. Perfect. We sit next to eachother on the couch, and decide that the best thing for hungover cure is to watch random youtube videos. The late morning and afternoon passes fast, we left it to fate to decide what to watch, meaning the suggested tab. And after laughing over funny cats compilations, radom travel vlogs and deciding that Japan is should be everyones number one country in their bucketlist, Gabi comes out of her room walking loudly as if to annouce her arrivel and sporting a grin.
“Sorry, but you were not responding your texts” she smiles at me “Just to let you know JungKook is on his way, he just called me. By the way very nice to meet you! I’m Gabi” She makes her way to give him a small hug that takes him by surprise. His wide eyes looking over her shoulder in search for help, but all he got was a small chuckle.
Eli doesn’t take long to come to the living room, introducing herself too but this far with just a wave from her hand and a head nod. As if in cue with Eli sitting down, the doorbell rings. Gabi excitingly hops to the door to open it. On the other side, wearing some loose jeans and a long sleeve, was jungkook holding a tub of ice cream. Gabi is quick to give him a hug and his smile turns into a surprised look when he notices Yoongi in the living room.
“Let me put this in the freezer” Gabi takes out the ice cream from JungKooks hands and hops back to the kitchen, meanwhile JungKook greets briefly Yoongi and takes a seat on the empty corner of the couch. Trying to avoid much eye contact with either of us.
“Weren’t you guys all super drunk yesterday?” Yoongi asked to nobody in particular
“Yup” JungKook replies first
“Is she always like that?” He asks again pointing to where Gabi disapeared. Which gets us all agreeing at the same time
“She says her superpower is to not get hungover” I add while Gabi gets back to the living room.
“ All righty! Super fun!” She drops the small bowl of snacks at the centre table “I guess you guys know eachother?” she asks looking between JungKook and Yoongi.
“Yeah we are friends for a few years and we live together now that he is also is studying here” Yoongi replies giving a small grin to Jungkook who only smiles back in return, relaxing a bit more on the chair
“Great! So what do you guys feel like watching?”
The debate gets intense when Eli says she would like to watch a romcom and Yoongi suggests a new spy movie that just come out. Gabi sugests a Disney movie that gets quickly shut down by both Eli and Yoongi. For me, I honestly couldn’t care less about what we watch. Both me and Jungkook are watching the heated argument and when we lock eyes we both give a quiet laugh at the situation that we find ourselves in.
At the end, since it was hard to everyone accept the same movie, we ended up doing a quiz, which resulted in us watching both of the DeadPool movies. The entire time Eli was disgusted and just like Gabi was quick to be on her phone. Yoongi, JungKook and I would laugh and snort at the terrible jokes made throughout.
When the movies were finally over, Eli bids her farewells earning a pout from Gabi. Shortly after both the boys also leave together. They were definetly were good company, I think to myself. Even though it is a bit strange to have all that tension in the room in the beginning.
Once I start tidying up the living room I notice Gabi just staring with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, waiting to be acknoledged.
I roll my eyes and say my own good night and leave her. I definetly don’t wanna talk about it whatever she thinks we need to talk about.
Classes the next day are boring, and I cannot wait for this day to be over. Unfortunately, even though we are on the same course, Gabi and Eli are on different schedules then mine, leaving me to suffer by myself.
Lunch time couldn’t come fast enough. Lunch at school was quite fun. The food was made by the first years of our course and managed by the third years. In their semester they learn how to operate different departments and the third years how to run different outlets. After settling for a deliciously smelling creamy pasta, I spot Gabi and Eli searching for a spot to sit.
A hand shoots up and JungKook calls out for Gabi, which leads to us three sitting at his table with his friends. Jin and Taehyung are also there. I sit next to Taehyung, Gabi and Eli on the opposite side next to Jungkook and Jin.
Suddenly someone drops on the seat next to mine “You know, we are so hurt that we were not invited to your movie night yesterday.” I look to the person next to me, only to find Jimin pouting.
“The fact that Yoongi was there, makes it hurt even more” Jin says elbowing Gabi.
“Hey its not my fault” she says “Shes the one who invited him” motioning to me with her head while taking a bit of her sandwich.
Her call out earned some smirks from the others on the table except Jungkook who, normally is very talkative, staring at his own plate in silence.
I roll my eyes “It’s not like that.” Which only provokes a snort from taehyung. “Well if you all are so butt hurt, feel free to also join next time.” I try to ignore but my phone buzzes with a new notification.
JIMIN added you to a new group .
I roll my eyes but honestly finding it quite fun. I miss having the chaos of my friend group from back home, and I’m eager to create these new friendships here.
“Ok so next movie night is tomorrow at your place right?” Jimin asks cocking his head at me.
“You cannot just invite yourself” I say trying to shrug him off.
“Though luck” He says “I just did, sweetheart” JungKook laughs at the audacity of his friend.
“Can we please watch something else then?” Eli is the one to say now “Like some romantic comedy or even a Disney movie..” she tries.
“Yes!” Jimin jumps from his seat earning from me a side eye.
All of our phone’s buzz at once with a notification
Yoongi: ?
Jimin: Tomorrow movie night at Gabi and YN’s place
Jimin: Presence is mandatory.
“Don’t mind him” Taehyung says lower to me “If you guys don’t feel like it just tell him off” he shrugs, clearly his friends energy is something that sometimes needs to be ignored. Well, at this point, I can relate, since Gabi’s energy is much the same.
When I look back to them Gabi and Jimin are excitedly making plans about what we should eat and watch. Both matching each other’s energy, with Jin, Jungkook and Eli, casually adding or removing things from their plan.
Here we go, I think to myself.
Indeed, Gabi and Jimin are the on the same side of the coin. Their similarities don’t end at their energy to make plans with their friends. They burst out singing, dancing or their new favorite activity: bother each other.
It has almost been a week since the last movie night with all of them, and at this point Jimin is set in making this a tradition. Every Sunday, everyone gathers to watch a movie. The first time we all got together, was a bit strange. All of them showed up. Even Yoongi, who Jimin kept teasing that apparently never leaves his house during the week. The teasing earned him a flick on the forehead earlier in the day.
JungKook also back down on his flirting since the Beach Incident. Even though the way we held hands keeps finding its way back to my thoughts. Eli also seems to be over her crush on JK since apparently, she and Gabi saw him with another girl on last night, at a bar. Good for him, I guess.
I told myself that I would only let myself go out on weekends as I can just relax for the next couple of days, and that is how I managed to drag myself to this sports bar.
The same way Jimin has the same traits as Gabi, he also is earning a spot closer to me. Gabi swears she is not jealous of him stealing her spotlight, but that just adds fuel to his bickering. Which is exactly what is happening right now.
“I already told you to drop it Jimin. I - ” she then points to herself in a very dramatic way “am the best friend. You just arrived at the train and wants to sit at the window. I think not”
I roll my eyes “Or…. Hear me out….” I add like it’s a secret “We could all be best friends” I say with a fake smile
“No” they add in unison. Giving each other a side eye when they realize they said it together.
“Yeah, I will go get another shot” I say promptly getting up.
“I will go get it for you bestie” Gabis shoots up
“Sit” I say in a serious tone, and she immediately falls back to her chair with a pout.
The sports bar that we chose to spent Friday evening was not at all crowded. Jin suggested that we all get together at this sports bar close to campus as there were multiple matches they were interested in watching. Of course, most of them were late. The bar was actually quite cozy. The walls were nicely decorated, big TV’s divided the space with all sorts of sports paraphernalia. There was also a pool table, a tarts board and next to it sitting corner with brown leather couches, where we decided to wait for the rest.
As soon as I reach the bar, and lean against it, the bartender, a friendly-looking guy with a neatly trimmed beard, approaches with a smile.
"What can I get for you?" he asks, wiping down the counter.
"3 shots of tequila, please," I reply, glancing back at Gabi and Jimin, who are now engaged in a heated debate about who knows me better. Their antics bring a smile to my face.
As the bartender prepares my drink, I notice as familiar faces are entering the bar and make their way casually to the couches in the back. The bartender hands me the shots, and I nod my thanks and quickly pay before making my way back to our corner. As I approach, I catch snippets of conversation.
“Now, this is what im talking about!” Jimin eagerly takes the second shot from my hand and passes to Gabi.
“and where is our shot?” Jin asks with an eyebrow raised.
“This is their reward for arriving on time and hello to you too” I say and clink my glass with theirs before downing the strong drink while making a face. Gabi acts like she just had a shot of water. I honestly don’t know what type of mutant that she is.
We all settle into a comfortable rhythm of conversation and laughter, As the night progresses, the sports games fade into the background, and the focus shifts entirely to our group. We play a few rounds of pool, Jimin and JungKook teaming up against Gabi and me. Gabi’s competitive streak comes out in full force, and we end up winning by a narrow margin, much to Jimin’s mock dismay.
“Okay, okay, you win this round,” Jimin concedes, throwing his hands up in defeat. “But next time, we’re definitely taking you down.”
“Dream on,” Gabi retorts, a triumphant grin on her face.
Eventually, we all go back to being around the couches and we are slightly buzzed from the drinks we had for the last hour or so. The conversation turns to future plans, ideas for the next movie night, and upcoming events on campus.
Just as we’re about to decide on the final plans for our next gathering, the door to the bar swings open again, and a familiar figure steps in.
“Well, now this is going to be interesting” Jimin settles back in the couch putting one arm around my shoulder and we all turn to see who just entered the bar.
It’s Yoongi, and he’s not alone. He’s with a girl I’ve never seen before, her arm casually linked with his. She has this dumb smile splattered across her face and he has his usual unbothered look. They head toward the couches where our group is sitting. I feel an unexpected knot tighten in my stomach.
“Yoongi, who’s your friend?” Jin asks, his eyes twinkling with curiosity as our friend aproaching.
“This is Mina,” Yoongi introduces her with a small smile. “We met at the record store a few days ago.”
Mina waves shyly, and the group greets her warmly. I try to force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. It’s unlike Yoongi to bring someone new into the group, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy seeing him with her.
“I was starting to think you’d ditch us for another quiet night in.” Jimin is the one to talk now, with a playfull smirk on his lips and I know that he loves poking at people.
Yoongi chuckles. “Not this time. Besides, I’ve been out all day. Might as well end it with some good company.” He says looking at me with an intense gaze.
Gabi and Jimin resume their playful banter, and while everyone else seems to be taken with Mina, I can’t shake my irritation. She laughs at all the right moments, shares interesting stories, and fits in seamlessly, which only makes me feel worse. My eyes keep drifting back to Yoongi and Mina, and every time she leans and touches him again and againa, I feel like rolling my eyes until its stuck in the back of my head.
It seems that JungKook notices my distraction and asks the group if anyone wants more drinks. Everyone states what they are drinking, with a quick thanks, and goes back to the conversation with Mina, who is now sharing about a new exhibition coming to town next week.
“Hey, can you help me out with the drinks?” Jungkook asks closer to me as he reaches out a hand to pull me from Jimin's side.
We reach the bar, and he is quick to order everyone's drinks. I honestly don’t know how he managed to keep up with so many different orders.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks quietly, concern evident in his eyes.
“Yeah, just tired,” I lie, offering a weak smile.
He doesn’t seem convinced but lets it drop. The conversation continues at the corner of the bar, but I honestly don’t really feel like listening. Instead, I’m focused on Yoongi and Mina, trying to decipher their relationship. Are they just friends? Is there something more? My thoughts spiral, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. Mina’s laughter rings out again, and it grates on my nerves. I try to push the feeling down, reminding myself that Yoongi is just a friend. I can’t assume that any guy who is remotely nice is into me.
Mina's drink is the last one to be poured. When the bartender finishes pouring her stupid rose wine, I turn to the bartender and add to the order, “Can I actually also have another shot?” I ask him.
“Make it two,” Jungkook quickly adds, drawing closer to me. “If you’re tired, that will knock you right out, sweetheart.”
I take my glass and clink it against Jungkook’s, and I look back at the others sitting. Yoongi catches my eye, and I lift my drink in cheer to him with a ghost of a smile on my lips, before downing it without making a face this time. The burning is welcomed by my throat.
I help Jungkook bring back the cups on a tray, handing them to each of their owners, and plop down back next to Jimin, who barely notices me as he now starts an argument with Jin over which one is the best video game of all time.
Just as I’m about to excuse myself for some fresh air, Yoongi catches my eye. There’s something unreadable in his expression, and for a moment, I wonder if he can sense my unease. He leans over to say something to Mina, and before he can get up, Jk, stands up first. “Going out for a smoke” he announces “anyone care to join?” he asks generally but his playfull eyes fall on mine.
“yeah lets go!” Gabi jumps up, and follows Jk. I also get up to follow them, maybe some fresh _smokey_ air will help me clear my head, of this unreasenable dislike of Mina, and improve my mood. I cannot be like this the entire night. I need to get it together, and fast.
As I was about to pass him, I feel a warm hand wrap around my wrist, stopping me. “I thought you didn’t smoke?” he says more in a statement then a questioning tone.
“I don’t. Just going to make them company” I brush it off.
The frown that crosses his face comes as fast as it goes, and I believe that if I blinked I would have missed it. Mina enthusiastically, turns to him to ask his opinion on some music, that now she was discussing with Jimin,
“You coming, sweetheart?” Jk asks standing not too far, as Gabi is distractedly putting on her coat. Yoongi lets go of my hand and turns to give her attention.
Outside, the air is chilly thanks to our proximity to the beach. Gabi and Jungkook are already chatting animatedly, the glow of their cigarettes illuminating their faces.
Gabi enthusiastically telling stories of her life back in her home country and how she got so high once that she hallucinated she was in Paris. Our laughter echoes across the empty street.
Gabi apparently was a quick smoker as she was already taking the last drag of her cigarrate, shivering with the cold. “as much as I love your company guys, I think I lost all sensation to my extremities.” She states, a shiver clearly running through her. I chuckle as shes quickly makes her way back inside.
JungKook nudges me playfully. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says, his breath visible in the cool night air. “Let’s join the smokers’ club.” He holds a laugh raising his eyebrows. I roll my eyes at his remark.
“Nah, thanks” I brush him off.
“I mean… good for you” he says, taking another drag. “this shit kills”
I chuckle. At least he knows. Jungkook is talking about one of our teachers, and how he doesn’t know how he will pass her exams if the classes continue being this boring.
“Jungkook, its ethics. How did you expect it to be?”I ask with a small laugh, but my eyes inevitably drift back to Yoongi and Mina. They’re sitting close, their shoulders almost touching, and I can’t help but wonder what they share. I look back at Jk, who is tossing his finished cigarate away, and I expect him to hush us inside. Instead, he leans against the brick wall, exhaling the last of the smoke. “You know,” he says, “sometimes it’s hard to figure people out.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
He nods toward Yoongi and Mina. “Take them, for instance. Are they just friends? Or is there something more?”
I sigh. “I wish I knew.”
JungKook chuckles. “Life’s full of mysteries, isn’t it? Like why Jin insists on wearing mismatched socks or why Jimin thinks he’s the world’s best dancer.”
I laugh, grateful for the distraction. “And why Eli can’t resist buying every cute stationery item she sees.”
“Exactly.” JungKook steps closer. “But sometimes, the answers surprise us. Maybe tonight will be one of those nights.” He winks and nudges me
As we go back inside, to the comforting warmth of the bar I remind myself that Yoongi is just a friend—a complicated, enigmatic friend.
