Under Oath | JJK ± part 3
In which you come to Seoul for a summer law internship already drowning in the pressure of qualifying as a solicitor, only for your carefully planned life to become ten times harder when you keep crossing paths with an annoyingly attractive stranger named Jungkook. You don’t know he’s South Korea’s most beloved star, and he doesn’t know why the only person unimpressed by him is suddenly the one he can’t stay away from.
Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Law student!reader
Genre: Forced proximity | Romance | Slice of life | Slow burn | Fluff | Enemies to lovers | Comedy
Warnings/content: Jungkook × Reader, Law Student Reader, Summer Internship, Study Abroad, Hidden Identity, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Celebrity Romance, Secret Relationship, Opposites Attract, Tension, Flirting, Late Night Talks, Protective Jungkook, Jealousy, Emotional Slow Burn, Kisses, Mutual Pining, Seoul Summer, Career Pressure, Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Drama, Happy Ending
Word Count: 4.9k
A/N: Sorry this took so long to post, exams have literally been kicking me in the ass😭 anyways hope you guys enjoy jungkook being a menace to society once again and like always be sure to let me know in the comments what you think and whether you want another chapter, absolutely adore you guys’ commentary😘
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“You know,” he said casually, voice rough with sleep, “I had this really optimistic idea that maybe you’d walk in here and pretend not to recognise me. You know..just for professionalism. Or maybe for my dignity. But this…” he gestured vaguely toward your expression, “this is so much better.”
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah I get that a lot,” he said sympathetically. “You gotta get in line though, too many people, not enough Jungkook. It’s a national crisis.”
You stared at him in complete horror. “No,” you said immediately. “No. No. No. No. No. Absolutely not. This is not happening right now.” Clearly you tripped and smashed your head against one of the billionaire vampire walls in this penthouse, so your dying brain decided to hallucinate the single most stressful scenario imaginable. Because there was absolutely no way, none whatsoever, that the terrifying mystery client your entire internship depended on was somehow the same man you’d spent last night arguing with.
Jungkook looked offended. “Wow. And here I thought you were at least a little excited to see me.”
“What sane person would be excited to end up working for the man they nearly prosecuted over noodles.”
“That’s fair,” he admitted. “You did come at me like you were billing by the hour.”
“You accused my friend of being a stalker.”
“And you called me emotionally constipated in public.”
“Because you were.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Still thinking about me, then?”
“I think about a lot of disasters. It’s called pattern recognition.”
That made him laugh under his breath, which was deeply unfortunate because it sounded annoyingly good.
He was standing barefoot in the middle of his penthouse kitchen looking completely relaxed while your entire professional future disintegrated in front of you. Dark hair messy and tattoos visible beneath warm apartment lighting like he belonged in some ridiculously stylised Netflix drama instead of real life.
“You should’ve gotten your chauffeur to warn me,” you accused.
“And ruin this moment?” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “You wound me.”
“You are enjoying this way too much.”
“Obviously.” His eyes flicked over your expression, openly entertained. “Do you know how satisfying this is for me?”
“How could any part of this possibly be satisfying?”
“You walked in here looking so confident.” He mimicked your posture cruelly accurately. “‘Good evening, I’m here regarding…’ then you looked up and immediately started dying inside.”
“I was ambushed.”
“You were humbled.”
“You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met.”
“Mhm.” He nodded. “And yet you argued with me for 10 minutes straight instead of leaving.”
“That was civic duty.”
“That was chemistry.”
“That was me defending my friend from a billionaire Batman impersonator with boundary issues.”
His grin widened instantly. “Billionaire Batman impersonator is definitely new.”
“You dress like you own several illegal nightclubs.”
“I own zero illegal nightclubs.”
“The fact you specified illegal is concerning.”
He leaned against the kitchen island, still looking far too pleased with himself. “You know what’s interesting though?”
“I cannot stress enough how much I do not care.”
“You still never told me your name.”
You blinked.
Then pointed at him immediately. “No. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That weird smooth callback thing. I can literally see you trying to create tension.”
“Tension?” He looked delighted. “Oh, so you feel it too.”
“I feel homicidal.”
“That’s still a feeling.”
You groaned and dragged a hand down your face. “This is a nightmare.”
“For you maybe.” He took a sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “Personally, I’m having a fantastic evening.”
“Of course you are. You thrive in hostile environments.”
“You think this is hostile?” His eyes flicked over you lazily. “Baby, you haven’t even threatened legal action yet.”
Your jaw dropped. “Do not call me baby.”
“Why? You called me psychologically unstable within thirty seconds of meeting me.”
“That wasn’t flirting.”
“It absolutely was.”
“It was an observation.”
“It was passionate.” He smiled slightly. “You get this little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed. It’s cute.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “Are you always this unbearable?”
“Only around people I like.”
The answer came so easily, so casually, that it caught you off guard for half a second.
Which was apparently half a second too long.
Jungkook noticed instantly.
“There it is,” he said softly, victorious. “That look again.”
“There is no look.”
“The one where you realise I’m attractive and get angry about it.”
“I have never once realised that.”
“Mhm.”
“I think you look expensive and stressful. Like a lawsuit in human form.”
“Still not hearing an insult.”
“You are genuinely impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping slightly closer now, “you don’t seem to mind my company.”
You crossed your arms immediately. “Unfortunately, this meeting is mandatory.”
“Is that why you’re blushing?”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You are a little.”
“I’m experiencing professional distress.”
He laughed quietly again, looking entirely too happy about your suffering.
“So,” he murmured, “do I finally get your name? Or should I keep calling you ‘the terrifying law student who threatened to sue me over dinner’?”
You stared at him flatly. “You’re not getting my name.”
Jungkook leaned back against the counter like this had suddenly become his favourite game of all time. “Okay,” he said easily. “Then I’ll guess.”
“That somehow feels more threatening.”
“You should be grateful,” he replied. “I’m about to put in real effort here.”
“I would actually prefer less effort.”
He ignored you completely, eyes narrowing slightly in fake concentration as he looked you over.
“…Eleanor.”
You blinked once. “What?”
“You have intense Eleanor energy.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you look like you’d reject a marriage proposal during wartime and then write poetry about it.”
“That is the most unhinged thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Mmm, no.” He took another sip of his drink. “I can do worse. You also have strong ‘haunting a manor house in 1884’ vibes.”
You stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know.” He gestured vaguely. “Victorian ghost woman. Wandering candlelit hallways. Judging men morally.”
“That is not a category of person.”
“It absolutely is. You’d die mysteriously of tuberculosis after ruining someone emotionally.”
Your mouth fell open. “Tuberculosis?!”
“You’d make it elegant.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” he said automatically. “You just don’t enjoy being perceived.”
“That wasn’t perception. That was a paranormal attack.”
He grinned. “Okay, maybe not Eleanor then.”
“There is no ‘maybe.’”
“…Beatrice.”
“That’s worse somehow.”
“Vivienne?”
“You’re naming women who own cursed lockets.”
“You look like you would own a cursed locket.”
“You look like you bite people recreationally.”
“That one’s fair.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why are all your guesses the names of women who died tragically waiting for their husbands at sea?”
“Because you have the energy of someone who says things like ‘I shall never recover from this betrayal.’”
“I have literally never said that.”
“You’re saying it internally right now.”
You hated that he might be correct.
Jungkook’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh my God, I am correct.”
“No you’re stupid. Dare I say the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
“And you,” he said, pointing at you lazily, “are one emotionally devastating breeze away from becoming folklore.”
“That sentence should’ve stayed inside your head.”
“No, listen.” He was fully invested now. “You don’t have modern girl names.”
“I have a perfectly normal name.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It exists.”
“Mhm. Sure. Next you’re gonna tell me your name is something contemporary like Chloe.”
You folded your arms. “What’s wrong with Chloe?”
“Nothing. But you’re not a Chloe.” He looked genuinely certain about this. “Chloes drink iced matcha and forgive men too quickly.”
“And what exactly do I do?”
“You glare at people like a disappointed duchess.”
You barked out a laugh before you could stop yourself.
Jungkook froze dramatically and pointed at you immediately. “There. That. I won.”
“You did not win anything.”
“You laughed.”
“That was an accident.”
“That was joy.”
“That was disbelief.”
“Same chemical family.”
You shook your head, trying and failing to suppress another smile.
He noticed immediately, of course.
“Oh, this is huge for me.”
“Stop acting like you’ve completed a military operation.”
“I practically have.” He straightened slightly. “Okay, final guesses.”
“There should not be multiple rounds.”
“Catherine.”
“No.”
“Isadora.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Genevieve.”
“What century do you think I was born in?”
“You’re not helping your case, Genevieve.” Then his eyes narrowed suddenly, like he’d had a thought.
“Wait.”
You immediately regretted the look on his face.
“You have one of those deceptively cute names, don’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“Like something sweet and harmless.” He tilted his head suspiciously. “Which is ironic because you argue like you’re cross-examining the devil.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“Don’t deflect, Victorian spectre.”
“You need psychiatric evaluation.”
“And you need to tell me your name.”
“No.”
“Okay,” he said lightly. “Then I’m sticking with Beatrice the Haunted.”
You stared at him. “That is genuinely the worst thing anyone has ever called me.”
He smiled slowly. “Aw. We’re bonding.”
For a second, just for a slight, miniscule second you thought he’d finally dropped the subject and was capable of holding a normal conversation with another human. But no of course not.
He snapped his fingers softly.
“Wait. You’re from London.”
You blinked. “That sounded less like a question and more like you just identified a rare disease.”
“See?” He pointed at you immediately. “Only Londoners answer that fast.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves everything.” He pushed off the counter, clearly delighted with himself now. “Oh, this changes the naming strategy entirely.”
You already hated where this was going.
“No-”
“Charlotte.”
“No.”
“Of course not,” he muttered. “Too stable.”
“What does that mean?”
“You need a name with historical trauma.”
“That is not a category.”
“It is in Britain.”
You made a strangled noise of disbelief as he continued completely uninterrupted.
“Okay. Amelia?”
“No.”
“Arabella?”
“You are naming girls who died from poor air quality in period dramas.”
“You look like you’d survive the plague through sheer moral superiority.”
“That’s not flattering!”
“It is to me.”
You pointed at him accusingly. “You think all British women are either Victorian ghosts or divorced duchesses.”
“Well…” He looked genuinely thoughtful. “The accent contributes.”
“I do not sound like a duchess.”
“You absolutely do when you’re annoyed.” He straightened mockingly, lowering his voice into a painfully accurate impression of you. “Actually, that’s not the issue here.”
Your jaw dropped. “Was that supposed to be me?”
“It was emotionally exact.”
“That was criminally disrespectful.”
“That was art.”
You covered your face briefly. “Oh my God.”
“No wait, I’ve got it.” His eyes lit up again. “You have one of those aggressively British names that sounds innocent until the owner starts psychologically dismantling someone.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Like…” he tilted his head, considering, “Lucy.”
You stared.
He pointed at you instantly. “That reaction meant something.”
“It meant I’m shocked you managed to say a normal name for once.”
“So I’m getting warmer.”
“You are nowhere near me.”
“That sounded flirtier than you intended.”
“I need you to know this is the worst evening of my life.”
“Mmm, disagree.” He smiled into his glass. “You laughed twice. We’re progressing beautifully.”
“We are not progressing.”
“We’re absolutely progressing. Yesterday you threatened me in a restaurant.”
“I can still do that.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, amused. “But now you’d do it with fondness.”
You stared at him in horror. “You are deeply delusional.”
“And yet you’re still here, Lady Agatha.”
“AGATHA?”
“You hated that one immediately. Interesting.”
“Because that’s the name of a woman who owns seventeen cats and poisons her third husband.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“You genuinely need supervision.”
He grinned. “Okay, not Agatha. Maybe…” He looked at you up and down again dramatically. “Elizabeth.”
You snorted. “What, because I’m from London? You think we all emerge from the Thames named Elizabeth?”
“No, because you have queen energy.”
You blinked.
Then narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Was that flirting?”
“A little.”
“That was terrible flirting.”
“You blushed though.”
“I’m experiencing stress.”
“You keep saying that like it explains why you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to kill me and kiss me at the same time.”
You choked on absolutely nothing.
Jungkook looked unbearably smug immediately after.
“Oh my God,” he said quietly. “I’m right.”
“Oh my God,” you said suddenly, cutting him off with a sharp point of your finger, “can we actually discuss the bigger issue here?”
Jungkook blinked. “Which is?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Silence.
Real silence this time.
Not teasing silence. Not banter silence.
Just Jungkook staring at you like you’d calmly informed him the moon was fake.
“…Excuse me?”
You frowned. “I know your name is Jungkook. And I know you’re famous. But that’s literally it. I need to know who my client is if I want to be able to help them properly.”
His expression didn’t change.
Which somehow made it worse.
Then slowly he set his glass down.
“You don’t know who I am.”
It wasn’t a question.
You shrugged. “Not really?”
He looked genuinely offended.
“You argued with me in a restaurant,” he said slowly, “without knowing who I was?”
“Yes?”
“Oh my God.”
He actually turned away from you for a second, hand dragging down his face like he physically needed a moment to process this.
You watched him blankly. “Why are you reacting like I shot you?”
“Because this has literally never happened to me before.”
“That cannot possibly be true.”
“Baby—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“—people recognise me in airports wearing masks and hats.”
“Okay?”
“People cry when they meet me.”
“That feels excessive.”
He stared at you in disbelief. “Excessive?”
“Yes? You’re just a man.”
That hit him like a sniper shot.
“A man,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
“I’m globally adored.”
“Congratulations.”
“Millions of people would kill to be where you are right now.”
You looked around the penthouse slowly. “In fairness, the rent does seem lovely.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“You’re being weirdly emotional about this.”
“I’m being weirdly emotional?” He laughed once in complete disbelief. “You have any idea how many people would sell a kidney for this conversation?”
“Seems medically irresponsible.”
“I am one of the most desired men on the planet.”
You nodded thoughtfully. “That explains the ego.”
“My ego?” He looked genuinely scandalised. “You’re standing in my kitchen acting like I’m some random guy named Steve.”
“Well you do look like you answer emails named Steve.”
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You’ll survive.”
“No, because now I’m thinking about it.” He pointed accusingly. “You genuinely looked me in the eyes yesterday and went ‘pipe down on the ego a bit’ without knowing who I was.”
“Yes.”
“That is psychotic behaviour.”
“That is equality.”
He stared at you for another second before laughing under his breath again, this time more stunned than amused.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re famous apparently. We all have struggles.”
“You really don’t know anything about me?”
You shrugged again. “You sing?”
His mouth actually fell open slightly.
“I sing,” he repeated.
“See? I knew something.”
“That’s like describing the Titanic as ‘a boat.’
“I’m trying my best.”
“No, because this is offensive now.” He stepped closer dramatically, fully invested. “Do you understand the level of global impact I have?”
“You sound like a natural disaster.”
“I basically am.”
You snorted.
Jungkook pointed at you triumphantly. “There. Again. You think I’m funny.”
“I think you’re insane in a very expensive way.”
“I’ve sold out stadiums.”
“I’ve survived the London Underground at rush hour. We’ve both suffered.”
“That is not comparable.”
“It builds character.”
He shook his head slowly, still looking faintly betrayed. “I can’t believe this.”
“I can. I literally told you yesterday we didn’t know who you were.”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe you were lying.”
You barked out a laugh. “You thought we were pretending not to know you?”
“I don’t know! Maybe you were committed to the bit!”
“What bit?”
“The ‘we are mysterious women untouched by celebrity culture’ bit!”
“That is genuinely one of the most self-absorbed sentences I’ve ever heard.”
“Because it’s usually true!”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then, with complete sincerity, he said—
“Do you want me to explain BTS to you?”
“Not at all,” you said immediately. “We have serious matters to attend to.”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re trying to escape the conversation.”
“I’m trying to preserve what little sanity I have left.”
“Too late for that.”
You pointed toward the dining area. “We’re supposed to be discussing internship expectations, timelines, research structure—”
“Nope.”
Before you could react properly, Jungkook stepped forward, grabbed your wrist lightly, and steered you sideways.
“Wait—”
“Sit.”
“I’m not a dog—”
“You’re worse. You argue.”
You stumbled backward as he pushed you down onto the massive cream sofa with insulting ease.
“Excuse me?” you said incredulously.
“Class is starting.”
“There is no class.”
“There absolutely is,” he said, already grabbing the remote.
The enormous television flickered on across the penthouse wall.
You stared at it. Then at him.
Then back at it.
“…No.”
“Oh yes.”
“Jungkook.”
“Shh.” He pointed at you sternly. “Learning environment.”
“This is kidnapping.”
“This is culture.”
He dropped down onto the sofa beside you far too close, phone already in his hand as he connected it to the screen.
The TV instantly filled with a cinematic montage of screaming stadiums, flashing lights, and dramatic music loud enough to signal the apocalypse.
You blinked once.
Then slowly turned toward him.
“…What is this.”
Jungkook looked deeply offended. “Our legacy.”
“Our—”
“BTS autobiography crash course.” He sounded absurdly pleased with himself. “Since apparently the British education system failed you.”
“I studied constitutional law.”
“And yet here you sit. Ignorant.”
“I was happier ignorant.”
“Impossible. Watch this.”
The screen cut to footage of seven younger boys dancing in a tiny practice room.
Jungkook pointed immediately. “That’s us before global domination.”
You leaned back into the sofa with the exhausted expression of someone trapped in a hostage documentary.
“You cannot seriously be making me watch your origin story.”
“You called me Steve.”
“I said you looked like a Steve.”
“Which is worse.”
The documentary music swelled dramatically.
“—and from humble beginnings,” a narrator voice boomed.
You rubbed your temples. “Why does this sound like the trailer for a superhero movie?”
“Because we’re icons.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“We’re inspirational.”
“You’re emotionally sponsored by your own ego.”
He gasped softly. “That was cruel.”
“It was accurate.”
Jungkook ignored you completely, eyes back on the television as clips of sold out stadiums flashed across the screen.
“There,” he said proudly. “Look at that crowd.”
“That’s concerningly large.”
“Millions adore me.”
“Mhm.”
“Globally.”
“Wrap it up.”
“People cry over me.”
“Again. Medically concerning.”
“You are genuinely ruining my moment.”
“I’m trying to save us both.”
He pointed at the screen again. “That’s us at the Billboard Awards.”
“Congratulations.”
“That’s us at the Grammys.”
“Well done.”
“That’s us addressing the United Nations.”
You blinked. “Okay wait.”
His grin became instantly smug. “Yeah.”
“You spoke at the UN?”
“Multiple times.”
You stared at the screen for a second longer before looking back at him suspiciously.
“…Why are you still like this then?”
His jaw dropped. “Like what?”
“Annoying.”
“That’s insane. I just showed you world changing achievements.”
“And yet you still act like a man who’d start arguments recreationally in Tesco.”
“I don’t even know what Tesco is.”
“That’s because rich people have assistants.”
He looked scandalised. “I’ve bought groceries before thank you.”
“Sure.”
“I have!”
“What’d you buy?”
He opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then frowned slightly.
“…Protein?”
You burst out laughing.
Jungkook pointed at you immediately. “That reaction was classist.”
“You said ‘protein’ like a divorced gym teacher.”
“It’s a category!”
“It’s not a grocery item!”
He looked deeply betrayed by your laughter while the TV behind him continued showing footage of screaming fans and sold out arenas.
“And this,” he said firmly, gesturing broadly to the entire screen, “is why people respect me.”
“No,” you corrected through laughter, “this is why people market you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are actually evil.”
“I’m a law student. It’s basically vocational training.”
The documentary switched to emotional piano music.
“Oh no,” you muttered immediately. “We’ve entered the tragic backstory section.”
“Show some respect.”
“You literally trapped me on your sofa.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Wrap it up.”
“We haven’t even reached my solo era yet.”
Your head snapped toward him in horror. “Hell no.”
Before he could react, you lunged across the sofa, snatched the remote out of his hand, and turned the television off.
The penthouse dropped into sudden silence.
Jungkook stared at the black screen in genuine disbelief.
Then slowly looked back at you.
“…Did you just mute my career?”
“Yes,” you said firmly, getting to your feet. “Because unlike you, some of us have jobs.”
“You are literally here because of my job.”
“I’m here because you apparently collect stalkers like Pokémon cards.”
“That was one time.”
“You had categories.”
“That’s organisation.”
“That’s psychosis.”
You moved to the opposite end of the sofa and dropped down with deliberate distance between you.
Jungkook watched the entire thing unfold with the wounded expression of a man abandoned in war.
“You’re ruining the educational experience.”
“I survived the London public school system. I can survive not watching your concert footage.”
He slumped dramatically into the cushions. “Fine.”
The word came out with the energy of a deeply betrayed 12 year old.
You ignored him and reached into your bag.
“Thank God,” you muttered, pulling out your notebook. “An actual functioning member of society.”
“You wound me, Victoria.”
You looked up sharply. “I swear to God if you call me a Victorian ghost one more time—”
“Relax, Beatrice the Haunted.”
You glared at him so hard it should’ve counted as assault.
Jungkook grinned lazily and immediately shifted closer across the sofa.
You shoved at his shoulder without looking up from your notebook. “Go away.”
“No.”
“You’re in my space.”
“This is my sofa.”
“You’re still in my space.”
“I think you just like talking to me.”
“I think you should go put a shirt on.”
His eyebrows lifted slowly. “Oh?”
“You’re distracting.”
That smile appeared instantly.
Slow. Smug. Dangerous.
“Distracting,” he repeated softly.
“Not in a flattering way.”
“Mhm.”
“You look like you sell cryptocurrency illegally.”
“That’s somehow worse than Steve.”
“Go. Put clothes on. Properly.”
He laughed under his breath before finally pushing himself off the sofa.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I hate when you say things like that.”
“I know.”
He disappeared down the hallway still grinning to himself while you opened your notebook with the exhausted air of someone preparing for battle.
You clicked your pen open.
A minute later, footsteps returned.
You looked up automatically—
—and immediately regretted it.
Because technically, yes, he had listened.
There was now a hoodie on his body.
Unfortunately it was unzipped, black, oversized, and contained absolutely nothing underneath it.
Which somehow felt worse.
Far worse.
Especially paired with the black joggers hanging low on his hips that exposed the Calvin Klein boxers underneath like he’d been specifically engineered to irritate you.
You looked back down at your notebook instantly.
Professionalism.
Dignity.
Eye contact only.
“Interesting,” Jungkook said casually, dropping back onto the sofa beside you.
You refused to look up. “What.”
“You stopped talking mid-sentence.”
“I’m choosing peace.”
“You looked at my chest like it offended you personally.”
“It does.”
“That feels dishonest.”
You clicked your pen aggressively. “Right. Enough nonsense. I need details.”
“You say that like nonsense hasn’t been carrying this entire relationship.”
“This is not a relationship.”
“Aw. We’re fighting already.”
You ignored him completely.
“I need dates, incidents, timelines, names, prior legal action, security reports—”
He held up a hand. “Breathe, Eleanor.”
“That is not my name.”
“I know,” he said pleasantly. “But irritating you is becoming spiritually fulfilling.”
You wrote something down.
He leaned sideways trying to read it.
“Did you just insult me in writing?”
“It’s called documentation.”
“It feels targeted.”
“It is targeted.”
He looked delighted by that.
You clicked your pen again. “First question. How many incidents have there been in the last twelve months?”
He thought for a second. “Depends what counts as an incident.”
You looked up slowly.
“In law,” you said carefully, “we usually define incidents as incidents.”
“Harsh profession.”
“How many?”
He leaned back into the sofa. “Seven serious. Maybe eleven annoying.”
You blinked. “There are tiers?”
“Obviously.”
“No, not obviously.”
“Yes. Serious means trespassing, break-in attempts, vehicle following, staff intimidation.” He counted on his fingers casually. “Annoying is letters, gifts, people crying outside buildings—”
“People cry outside your building?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I really wouldn’t.”
He ignored that. “One woman mailed me a key once.”
Your pen paused. “To what?”
“She said it was spiritually connected to my soul.”
You stared at him flatly.
“What can I say,” he sighed. “The girls love me.”
“That is your takeaway from a potential felony?”
“It was a joke.”
“It was stupid.”
“It was funny.”
You scribbled furiously into the notebook.
Jungkook leaned over again trying to read it.
“Are you insulting me twice now?”
“You’re lucky I’m not charging for emotional damages.”
“You’d miss me if I behaved normally.”
“I’d sleep better.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
You ignored that too.
“Have any of these individuals been identified?”
“Some.”
“Restraining orders?”
“Two granted. One pending.”
You nodded quickly, writing.
“One woman cried in court,” he added thoughtfully, “and said I’d emotionally misled her.”
Your pen stopped.
“…What does that even mean?”
“I smiled at a concert apparently.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then shrugged.
“Your life is seriously annoying.”
His smile faded just slightly at that.
“No,” he said quieter this time. “Mostly it’s exhausting.”
The shift in tone caught you off guard enough that you finally looked up properly.
For the first time all evening, he wasn’t joking.
No smirk. No teasing.
Just tired.
Your voice softened before you could stop it. “Okay.”
His eyes flicked toward yours.
You clicked your pen shut gently.
“Then let’s make it less exhausting.”
He looked at you for a second longer after that.
Then nodded once, very seriously.
“I agree,” he said. “I think we should make out.”
You stared at him in complete disbelief. This is what you get for feeling sorry for this idiot.
“…That is not what I just said.”
“Tomato, tomato.”
“That does not apply here.”
You pointed at him firmly. “We are working.”
“Mhm.”
“Seriously.”
“Absolutely.”
“You are being stalked.”
“And yet somehow I’m still focused on you.”
You stared at him flatly. “Do you rehearse these lines in the mirror?”
“No,” he said immediately. “They come naturally because you’re pretty.”
Your expression went blank with irritation.
His grin widened instantly.
“You know,” he continued thoughtfully, “you’d actually be terrifying if you ever flirted on purpose.”
“I do flirt on purpose.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
He tilted his head. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
You opened your mouth.
Paused.
Then frowned.
“That’s irrelevant.”
Jungkook burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you don’t know.”
“I know how to flirt.”
“Mhm.”
“I just choose not to around you.”
“Because you’d fall in love instantly?”
“Because I respect myself.”
“That sounded defensive.”
“That sounded accurate.”
He watched you for another second, eyes flicking briefly to the way you were gripping your pen too tightly.
Then his smile turned softer. More amused than smug now.
“You get flustered really easily for someone who argues this aggressively.”
“I’m not flustered.”
“You’re clicking the pen like you’re preparing to sign divorce papers.”
You immediately stopped clicking it.
Jungkook looked unbearably pleased with himself.
“I hate how observant you are.”
“You stared at my chest for a full ten seconds earlier.”
“I was noticing the hoodie situation.”
“You mean the fact I look incredible in black?”
“I mean the fact you dress like a morally questionable nightclub owner.”
“Yet you keep looking.”
You pointed the pen at him again. “I need you to focus.”
“I am focused.”
“On the stalking.”
“I’m trying,” he said solemnly. “But then you sit there looking all intense and British.”
You made a horrified sound. “You’re actually insane.”
“You keep saying that like it’s stopping you from staring at my mouth.”
“I am not staring at your mouth.”
“You literally just looked at it.”
“I looked generally.”
“You looked specifically.”
“It’s the piercing. It catches the light.”
“Oh, baby,” he said with a grin, “that excuse is getting weaker every time.”
“Do not baby me.”
“You blush every time I do.”
“I flush with rage.”
“Mhm. And if I kissed you right now?”
“I’d sue you.”
“But like… successfully?”
You stared at him flatly. “You think you’re funnier than you are.”
“No, I know exactly how funny I am. You’re the one fighting laughter like it’s a moral issue.”
“It is a moral issue.”
He leaned back into the sofa cushions, entirely too comfortable for someone this committed to being a menace.
“You know what I think?” he asked thoughtfully.
“I’m already exhausted.”
“I think you’d be terrifying to make out with.”
You choked. “Excuse me?”
“I mean it.” He looked genuinely serious now, which somehow made it worse. “You’d probably treat it like cross-examination.”
“That is not how kissing works.”
“For you maybe.” He pointed lazily in your direction. “‘Interesting technique, Jungkook, but let’s revisit your earlier decision-making—’”
“I’m going home.”
“No you’re not.”
“I literally am.”
“You’d miss me in ten minutes.”
“I’d sleep peacefully for the first time in my life.”
“No you wouldn’t,” he said smugly. “You’d lie awake thinking about how good looking I am.”
“I’d lie awake thinking about criminal sentencing.”
“You say that like they’re unrelated.”
You stared at him for a long moment.
Then slowly shook your head. “How are you a real person?”
He smiled. “Good genetics and media training.”