——————————————————————————
You leaned your head back against the seat and exhaled slowly. “…this is insane.”
Noa immediately turned. “I know, right? We’re literally famous.”
Minaru didn’t even look up. “You’ve been famous.”
Jiha finally spoke, calm as ever: “This is just the beginning.”
That made you sit up slightly. Because she wasn’t joking. She wasn’t celebrating. She was planning.
You looked back at your phone. At the numbers. At the headlines. At your face. At your group. Then at your messages. You scrolled to his name. Paused.
Because in the middle of all this—all the success, all the noise, all the attention—there was still something quietly complicated sitting in your chest. Something that didn’t trend. Didn’t chart. Didn’t win awards.
You stared at it. Then hit send. Because no matter how big everything got—there were still certain people you wanted to tell first.
That was it. No emojis. No extra line. No “I watched it.” No “I’m proud of you.” Just—great job.
You stared at it longer than you should’ve. Because logically? It was fine. Normal. Even supportive. But emotionally? It felt… small. Compared to everything that just happened. Compared to how big this era was. Compared to how much you’d wanted to tell him.
You didn’t confront it. You just… felt it. And moved on. Because you had to.
Because today—you were filming something big. “IDOLS IN THE ROOM.” A brand new variety show. HYBE-produced, of course.
Which meant: high budget, high exposure, high expectations. And for their first episode? They went all out. SHE and BTS.
Backstage was chaos. Stylists rushing. Hair being fixed. Mics getting clipped. Managers pacing. And your members? Absolutely insufferable.
“You’re about to see your man,” Noa whispered loudly.
“Shut up,” you hissed immediately.
Solene gasped dramatically. “Oh my god she’s nervous.”
“You fixed your hair three times,” Minaru added calmly without even looking up from her phone.
“It’s not.” Jiha just glanced at you once. Not teasing. Just observing. Which somehow made it worse.
Then the staff called—“Standby!”
You all lined up. Deep breath. Smile on. Idol mode.
The set was bright. Warm lighting. Two long couches facing each other. A low table in the middle with drinks already set. Casual. Inviting. Dangerous. Because this wasn’t a performance. This was conversation.
You walked in together. Introductions. Applause. Energy already high. Then BTS walked in. And the room shifted instantly. Not intimidating—just… heavy. Experienced. Comfortable. Like they’d done this a hundred times and didn’t need to think about it anymore.
You bowed deeply with your members. “Hello!” They greeted back just as warmly.
You took your seats. And immediately—the dynamic showed. They were relaxed. Leaning back. Joking already. You guys? Trying to look relaxed. Trying not to look like rookies sitting across from literal legends.
The host started easy. “First—congratulations on LUV4U. The numbers are insane.”
You all reacted humbly. “Thank you so much.” “We’re really grateful.” Jiha handled most of the structured answers. Of course.
Then the host turned to BTS. “You’ve seen groups rise for years—what do you think of SHE?”
They exchanged looks. Smiles. Then Jin leaned forward first. “They’re scary.” Everyone laughed immediately. “Scary?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Because they don’t feel like rookies.” That hit. You smiled, but your chest tightened slightly. Because coming from him? That meant something.
Then Jimin spoke. “I saw their performances… they’re very stable.” He glanced at you all. “And confident.” Solene smiled. “That means a lot coming from you.”
Then the conversation loosened. Less formal. More playful.
And of course—Jungkook spoke. “I actually met Yvez before,” he said casually.
Your head snapped slightly toward him. Why would he bring that up—
“Oh?” the host leaned in immediately. “When?”
“On their web series,” he said. “She danced to DNA.”
The room exploded. Immediate laughter. Jimin leaned back laughing. “Yeah I saw that clip!”
“No—” you groaned instantly, covering your face. “I’m not doing that again.”
“Do it now!” Noa said immediately.
“Absolutely not.” Jin laughed loudly. “This is the content we need.”
“You guys are evil,” you muttered. Jungkook just sat there smiling. Not helping. At all.
The conversation shifted again, becoming more casual and personal. “I also noticed,” someone added, “you guys all speak English really well.”
Minaru explained that they were told they wouldn’t be able to debut if they weren’t fluent. Everyone in your group nodded. You and Solene exchanged a look, then laughed. “Yeah, i wasn’t worried at all,” Solene shrugged. You nodded beside her. “Same.” Noa leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “I went to an international school in Japan, so English was already my second language. The hard part for me was learning Korean.”
Then Jungkook spoke, casual but direct. “Don’t you speak French as well?” He looked at you, and your heart did that thing again. You nodded. “Yes— me and Solene.”
Solene perked up immediately. “Yes— my father owns a Korean BBQ franchise in France.” The room reacted with interest. She smiled, enjoying the attention. “I was actually born in Busan. I lived here for the first ten years of my life, but my parents got divorced when my mom was still pregnant with me—”
Noa turned to her slowly. “…you’re telling your whole life story.”
Jiha giggled quietly, covering her mouth. Solene rolled her eyes. “I’m giving context.”
“No one asked for that much context,” Noa shot back. The room laughed again as Solene waved her off. “Anyway— I went back and forth a lot.”
Jiha adjusted slightly in her seat. “I’m from Daegu,” she added. That immediately caught Suga’s attention. “Daegu?” he nodded. “Same.” They shared a small, mutual moment there.
“Noa?” someone asked. “Osaka,” she answered quickly. “Minaru?” “Seoul.” Short. Clean. Done.
Then all eyes landed on you. You blinked and shrugged slightly. “I’m just from Hawaii…” The room laughed, of course, because of how boring you made it sound. “I don’t think I relate to anyone,” you added sheepishly.
“But you’re so interesting—” Jiha cut in immediately. You looked at her, a little surprised, then nodded slowly. “I guess so… My parents are professors, so they travel all the time.” There was a small shift of curiosity in the room. When asked about their field, you replied, “Philosophy… sociology… things like that. They move around a lot.”
And for a second, the room felt quieter and more focused. It wasn’t just idols talking to idols anymore; it was people from different backgrounds and paths all ending up in the same place. And across from you, Jungkook watched you. Not laughing, not talking—just listening, like he always did when you said something real.
Jungkook looked at you for a little longer than necessary—not obvious enough for anyone else to clock it, but you felt it. That extra second, that quiet pause, like he was still thinking about what you said or just… looking at you. You looked away first, because you always did.
Then V spoke, leaning back slightly with that calm, low tone. “Seriously— I enjoy your guys’ music.” The room softened because his voice carried differently: less playful, more sincere. You straightened slightly without meaning to. “Thank you,” Jiha said first, bowing her head a little. “We really appreciate that.” Solene smiled, leaning forward, while Noa nodded quickly in agreement. Minaru didn’t speak, but she dipped her head once in acknowledgment—her version of gratitude.
You hesitated for a second before speaking too. “Thank you… really.” Your voice came out softer than you expected, less like an idol and more like yourself. V nodded slightly. “There’s a feeling in your songs,” he added. “It doesn’t feel manufactured.” That hit differently because it was the one thing you all cared about most—not sounding empty or like you were just performing something you were handed. Minaru glanced at him and said simply, “That’s intentional. We don’t release things we don’t connect to.” Direct, no fluff. RM nodded again. “That’s why it works.” There was a small pause after that—not awkward, just full.
The host clapped lightly, breaking the moment. “Okay, this is getting too wholesome. We need something more fun. Let’s talk about first impressions. When you first saw each other, what did you think?”
Your body tensed instantly as the BTS members looked at each other, smirks already forming. Jimin leaned forward first. “I thought they were very bright—like, energy-wise.” Solene nodded, “That’s accurate.”
Then someone nudged Jungkook. Of course, it was always him. “What about you?” the host asked. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking—or pretending to. “I thought…” he started, glancing at you for half a second, barely noticeable. “I thought they were confident.” A safe answer. Very safe. “Just confident?” the host pressed. The room leaned in. He shrugged. “And loud.”
That broke the tension immediately, and everyone laughed. “HEY—” Noa pointed at him, while Minaru calmly added, “That’s true.” You laughed too because it was true, but something about his answer felt filtered—like he chose it carefully, leaving other things unsaid. You didn’t call him out, but you didn’t let it slide either. You leaned forward slightly, tilting your head. “Just loud?”
The room caught it instantly. “Ooooh—” Noa leaned back. “Here we go.” Jungkook looked at you now—really looked—a small smile forming because he knew exactly what you were doing. “You danced to DNA,” he said instead, deflecting but not really. The room exploded again. “OH MY GOD—” “She’s never escaping that!”
You dropped your head into your hands. “I hate all of you.” And through the laughter and the noise, there it was again—that strange balance between what you were publicly and what you were privately. Somehow, that felt harder to manage than anything else.
“Out of curiosity—do you guys fight a lot?” Jin asked, leaning forward like he already knew the answer would be interesting. You laughed immediately, covering your mouth; of course that question would come up. Noa didn’t even hesitate. She stood up halfway from her seat, pointing across the couch like she was in court. “Just this morning—Solene stole my moisturizer.”
The room burst out laughing instantly. “HEY—” Solene turned to her, “You used mine first!” “That was two weeks ago!” “That’s not the point!” “You didn’t even ask!” “You don’t ask either!” “Because you don’t let me!” “You don’t let me either!” The host was already losing it. “This is happening in real time—”
You shook your head, laughing, but you could feel that familiar urge to just say it. Honest first, think later. You swallowed slightly, then leaned forward. “We fight all the time. Like—all the time, actually.” There it was. No filter, no PR, just truth. A few of the BTS members widened their eyes slightly—not shocked, just surprised you said it like that. V smiled softly. “Wow… you’re really honest.” You shrugged a little. “I don’t think there’s a point in pretending we don’t.”
Solene leaned forward, picking it up smoothly. “We’re like sisters, and we fight over anything. Literally anything.” Noa nodded, still slightly defensive but already over it. “We bicker a lot—but it’s because we love each other.” That landed. Jiha adjusted slightly in her seat, naturally taking over the explanation. “We’re all extroverted, and we’re very… expressive when something bothers us.” She glanced at you briefly. “Which means we don’t really let things build up. We just… say it.”
“That’s true,” you nodded. “We don’t bottle things up—we just fight and then it’s over.” Minaru, who had been quiet the whole time, finally spoke with a delivery so dry it made the room laugh again: “I’m the only introverted one between all of them.” “That must be exhausting for you,” Jimin said, smiling. Minaru shrugged. “I observe.” “That’s scary,” Noa muttered. “She knows everything and says nothing.” Minaru tilted her head slightly. “I say enough.”
That got a few “ooohs” from the room. You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s true—when she speaks, it’s usually something we don’t want to hear.” RM nodded thoughtfully, looking between all of you. “That’s actually a good balance. If everyone is expressive, things get resolved quickly. And having someone who observes helps keep perspective.” Jiha nodded. “We need that.”
The host leaned in again. “So your conflicts don’t last long?” You shook your head. “No—like… 10 minutes max.” “Sometimes 30,” Solene corrected. “That was ONE time,” you shot back. “It was an hour,” Noa added. “Okay, that was different—” The room laughed again.
Then, someone asked from across the couch, “And what about more serious arguments?” The tone shifted slightly—still light, but more real. You paused for a second because suddenly, your brain didn’t go to your members. It went somewhere else. Jungkook. You felt it before you looked—that awareness, that pull. When you did glance up, he was already looking at you, not smiling or joking this time, just watching.
You smiled lightly, shifting your weight. “I think… we try to understand each other more than we try to win.” That was true, just not the full truth. There was a small pause, then nods around the room. “That’s important,” RM said. Jungkook leaned back slightly after that, his expression unreadable, but his eyes stayed on you for just a second longer—like he knew exactly what you left out.
The episode wrapped like it always does—bright smiles, closing comments, and a final group bow. “Thank you for watching!” then applause, and then the cut. The second the cameras went off, everything shifted. Staff flooded in, mics were unclipped, and managers began calling out schedules as the energy loosened instantly. The last 15 minutes had been chaos: charades where Noa screamed the answers and a whisper challenge so loud that V actually ripped his headphones off mid-round, yelling, “HOW ARE YOU SO LOUD?!” The room had lost it—you dropped to the floor laughing while Solene clapped and Jiha failed to maintain her composure. It was all clip-worthy content that fans would replay a hundred times, but now it was over, and the real world slipped back in.
You were standing off to the side, staff adjusting your outfit, when you felt that presence. You didn’t even need to turn; Jungkook walked straight up to you with no buffer, acting as if this part was the only real part of the day. “Oh, now you wanna talk to me?” It came out sharper than you meant, but you realized you meant it. He blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “I just talked to you for an hour.” You turned fully to him, face straight—no smile, no performance. He knew immediately that this wasn't about the show.
He exhaled quietly. “…you mean off camera.” “Yeah,” you said flatly. There was a small pause as the noise of the room filled the space around you, yet right there, it felt like the world dropped out. “I’ve been busy,” he said. You scoffed lightly, “So have I.” He nodded, "I know." You crossed your arms, not defensive, just holding yourself together. “You had time to go on a variety show,” you added, “And take shots.” His eyes flickered; you saw it, of course you did. “That’s work,” he said. “So is texting.”
That landed clean. He looked at you, deciding how to respond without making it worse. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he admitted. Wrong answer. You let out a short breath. “Of course you didn’t.” Now he frowned, feeling the shift. “I said congratulations,” he added. “Two words,” your voice didn't rise or shake, which only made it worse. “You watched me sit there and act like I don’t know you, and then came up to me like everything’s fine.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated but trying to understand. “I didn’t want to make it obvious. I was being careful.” You nodded slowly. “I know. But it feels like you’re being distant.” That one landed softer, but deeper. He went quiet because that wasn't something he could logic his way out of. “I’m not trying to be,” he said finally. “I just… I don’t know how to do this perfectly.”
That slowed you down just a little. “Neither do I,” you admitted. Another pause followed, less sharp this time and more tired. Around you, staff were calling names and schedules were moving again. “I’m trying,” he added quietly. “I know,” you said, looking at him for a second before softening just slightly. Not fully, not yet. “But try better.” He blinked, then a small, almost surprised laugh escaped him. “Okay.” And just like that, you were both standing there—not fixed, not broken, just still in it.
Jungkook had to go—just like that. No long goodbye, no “I’ll call you later,” and no pause to fix what had just happened. He simply reached out and lightly patted your head like it was nothing, like you were fine, and then he turned and walked away. You didn’t move, didn't call after him or grab his sleeve, but your chest tightened anyway. You knew you could’ve—should’ve—said more. You let him go, but the regret set in immediately.
Exhaling slowly, you forced your face back into something neutral. Staff were still everywhere, and cameras could still be rolling; you couldn't afford to look like anything but professional. “Yves?” Noa called from across the room. “Coming,” you answered, your voice sounding too normal even to your own ears. But as you moved, your mind stayed with him, watching him walk away.
Meanwhile, in a different hallway, the energy shifted. Away from the cameras and the audience, the members of BTS finally loosened up. “Ahh—they’re so fun,” J-Hope smiled, stretching as he rode the high of the show. V agreed, noting that they still had their "soul," his way of saying they weren't worn down or performative yet. Suga smiled faintly, impressed by how fast the group had gotten comfortable. "They remind me of us," someone added quietly, leading to a brief, reflective silence. RM eventually cleared his throat, offering a genuine wish for your success.
Then, he glanced at Jungkook—that leader instinct kicking in. “You’re still fighting with Yves?” Jungkook didn’t answer or look up; he just kept walking, which was answer enough. Jin broke the tension with an amused look. “Jungkook, I’m not gonna lie—I wouldn’t even be able to tell you guys knew each other at all. You played it off really well.” Jimin laughed immediately, "That’s because they’re fighting."
As the laughter continued, Jungkook finally exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, a habit that always gave away his frustration. “It’s not like that,” he muttered. “It’s exactly like that,” Jimin shot back. When Hoseok asked what happened this time, Jungkook hesitated. How do you explain a problem that isn't one specific thing? “Nothing big,” he said finally, which really meant everything. RM tilted his head, "That’s usually when it’s the worst."
Jungkook nodded faintly; he knew. “She thinks I’m being distant.” “And are you?” Yoongi asked calmly. After another pause, Jungkook admitted, “…I’m trying not to mess things up.” Jin snorted lightly, "That usually *is* messing things up." Jungkook didn't laugh this time. “I don’t want to make it harder for her,” he added, more serious. RM nodded slowly, "Then you have to decide if protecting her means distancing yourself… or being present."
That landed hard because they weren't the same thing, and Jungkook knew it. Jimin leaned against the wall, adding, “She doesn’t look like someone who wants distance.” Jungkook looked down, quiet again, because he knew that too. Somewhere else, in another hallway, you were standing with your members—laughing, talking, and moving on—but your mind was still stuck on that small moment and that unfinished feeling. And the worst part? He felt it too.
_______________________________________________
The next day, your body was already sore before practice even started. Three run-throughs, one full-out, corrections, again and again. Sweat stuck to your neck and your hairline was damp, the music still echoing in your head even after it cut off. “Break!” your choreographer finally called. You exhaled, hands on your knees, for a thirty-minute break—not enough, but you’d take it.
You barely had time to grab your water before the door opened. No knock, just presence: Jungkook. Your head snapped up immediately. The room shifted subtly as your members noticed instantly. Minaru clocked everything and said nothing; Noa’s eyebrows shot up; Solene leaned back like she had front-row seats to a drama; and Jiha straightened slightly. “I cleared an hour out of my schedule,” he said, casual, as if that were a normal thing to say. Minaru spoke before you could even process it. “You can do that?” Flat, curious, slightly judgmental. He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes.”
You turned away, grabbing your water bottle like it had suddenly become very important. “Well—now you’re distracting me.” Your tone was light but not soft. “I’m pursuing you,” he corrected immediately. That made you pause. Pursuing. You didn’t melt; you challenged him, turning back slowly and raising a brow. “Pursuing?” He nodded once, serious and not joking. Solene made a quiet "oh my god" noise behind you while Noa literally grabbed her arm. Minaru just watched, silent and analyzing. “Fine,” you said finally, acting as if it didn't affect you even though your chest did something weird.
He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, took your wrist—firm but not rough—and pulled you toward the door. “HEY—” Noa called, “Bring her back!” Jiha reminded him of the thirty-minute limit, but Jungkook corrected, “An hour,” without looking back. The door closed on Jiha’s protest, leaving the room in silence until Noa turned slowly and muttered, “…oh they’re bad.” Minaru simply nodded. “Yes.”
Out in the hallway, you pulled your hand back, not aggressively but to reset your space. “An hour? You’re bold.” “I told you,” he said, “I cleared it.” “For me?” He looked at you like the answer was obvious. “Yes.” You exhaled quietly because that hit, but you weren't letting him off that easily. “You could’ve texted me more instead,” you said. He nodded immediately. “I know.” The lack of defense threw you off. “I’m not good at this part,” he added, now walking beside you. “Texting. Timing. All of it.” You glanced at him. “…but you’re good at showing up?” He looked at you. “Yeah.”
That answer sat differently. You softened but kept him accountable, crossing your arms lightly. “That doesn’t fix everything.” “I know.” Another pause followed. “But I’m trying,” he said again, quieter this time. You studied him for a second, knowing he didn’t say things he didn’t mean. “You always say that,” you muttered. “And you still don’t believe me?” You hesitated because the answer wasn't simple. “I believe you’re trying,” you said slowly. “I just don’t know if we’re trying the same way.”
That made him stop walking. You took another step before realizing he wasn't next to you and turned back. He was looking at you differently now—focused, thinking. “What way do you want?” he asked. The question hit deeper than anything else because you hadn't said it out loud yet. You blinked. “…I don’t know. I just—” You exhaled. “I don’t want to feel like I’m chasing you.”
He frowned slightly. “You’re not.” “It feels like it sometimes.” After another pause, he stepped closer again—intentional, not forceful. “You’re not chasing me,” he said. “I’m just… bad at showing things the way you expect.” You looked up at him, too close to ignore. “And what way is that?” He tilted his head, thinking. “Consistent,” he said finally. You let out a small breath. “…yeah.” There it was: the actual issue. Not arguments or distance, just a mismatch. And for the first time in a while, you both actually understood it.
He started fidgeting with his jacket—not subtle, fingers tugging at the hem and the zipper, letting go only to do it again. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to stay still. This wasn’t casual or light anymore; it felt like he was about to lose something, and he knew it. It was ironic; at the beginning, he was the one trying to push you away to "protect" you, trying to make you leave before things got complicated. Now, he was standing in front of you, uneasy and scared, trying to find words that seemed to be slipping through his hands.
“Yves… I’m here—” his voice came out lower, not polished or performative, but real. “I’m here… I know I can’t be all the time, but I am.” You sighed softly because while that sentence was true, it also wasn't enough. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. “I keep coming back to you,” he said quickly, as if he had to say it now or never. “Even when you get mad at me so easily.” Your brows furrowed at the sting of that, but he added quickly, “I ignore it. I try and make it right… I am trying to give my all to you… 100%.” He looked at you directly, no more deflecting. “But I can’t just drop literally everything—and I know you know that…”
You didn't argue; you just listened. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” he admitted again, quieter. Then came a real pause. He looked away for a second, then back at you, like he had to commit to the moment. “I guess… I guess it’s my weird way of saying that—I love you.”
Everything went still. It wasn't dramatic or loud; it was quiet, heavy, and real. That was the first time. There was no buildup, no perfect moment, no music—just a hallway, the sweat still on your skin, time running out, and him standing there saying it like it cost him something. Your heart didn't explode; it dropped in a grounding way. This wasn't fantasy anymore; it was effort, conflict, and misunderstanding, yet still choosing each other.
You really looked at him—the way his hands wouldn't stay still and how his eyes locked onto yours, needing an answer but not forcing one. You stepped closer, just enough to close the space. “You’re really bad at this,” you said softly. He blinked, caught off guard. “But…” you exhaled a small, shaky breath, “I love you too.”
It was simple, unrehearsed, and entirely yours. His shoulders dropped instantly, like a weight he'd been holding finally released. For the first time in a while, it didn't feel like you were pulling in opposite directions; it felt like you were finally standing in the same place.
He leaned down and kissed you—slow, steady, and not rushed like before. It was as if he actually had time this time. His hand rested on your back, warm and grounding, before sliding up gently to brush through your hair as if by instinct. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured. You blinked, pulling back slightly. “This?” “Your hair,” he said simply, his fingers still tangled lightly in it. “Touching it… smelling it…” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.
You froze for half a second before laughing. “Okay… you’re weird.” But you didn’t move away; instead, you leaned in, burying your face into his shoulder. Because weird or not, it felt familiar, comforting, and safe in a way that didn’t need to be explained. His arms wrapped around you again, a little tighter this time—not possessive, just holding you. “I mean it,” he added quietly. “I missed you.”
You didn’t answer right away, just staying there to listen to his voice and feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Finally, you mumbled against his shoulder, “…me too.” He smiled—you could feel it more than see it. And for once, nothing felt rushed. There was no schedule, no cameras, and no pretending. It was just a quiet moment that you both knew wouldn't last long, but you still chose to stay in it anyway.
“Six months…” he muttered against your temple. You nodded softly, agreeing that the time had flown by, but he huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah but… compared to the time we’ve actually spent together? I’d say like… two weeks.” That landed—not as an accusation, but as a simple truth. Late texts, missed calls, and stolen moments instead of shared ones. He noticed your expression shift and brushed his thumb against your arm. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” “I know,” you nodded quickly, “but it’s true.”
A small, real pause settled between you before he spoke again, his voice quieter. “Your birthday is next month.” You blinked, a small smile forming. “Oh—yeah.” You added that his birthday was only a month after yours, but he shook his head. “Well—this is about you. What do you want? Literally anything.” You stared at him for a second because the question sounded simple, but it wasn't.
You looked down, really thinking about what mattered, then looked back up at him. “…time.” He blinked, clearly expecting a different answer. “I just want time with you,” you shrugged. “No schedules. No rushing. No disappearing after an hour.” Your voice softened, honest rather than demanding. “Like… a full day. Even if we’re doing nothing.”
He went quiet because he knew that wasn't something he could just buy; it required effort, planning, and sacrifice. His jaw tightened slightly as he calculated the possibility, then he gave a slow, serious nod. “…okay.” It wasn't playful or teasing—it was a promise. You studied him, asking if he was sure, and he looked at you as if the question didn't even make sense. “I asked you what you wanted,” he said after a pause. “I’ll figure it out.” Something about the way he said it felt more valuable than anything else he could have offered.
The hour wasn’t enough—it never was—and just like that, schedules pulled you apart again into different countries, time zones, and lives moving at full speed. But something shifted after that conversation. He tried more. He actually tried. The messages became more than just “eat?” or “busy?”; they became actual thoughts and rambling, groggy voice notes at all hours. You’d listen to him talk about a random dog that reminded him of you while sitting in a hotel room at 3:00 AM, smiling like an idiot.
Then came your showcase tour. It was sold out everywhere, across multiple countries, with crowds screaming your name and lightsticks glowing like oceans. Your music echoed in places you’d never even imagined standing. Clips surfaced instantly, and that was what Jungkook lived off of. He sat alone, phone in hand, scrolling and watching your performances over and over. “Ugh… she’s so pretty,” he’d mutter, his thumb hovering over the screen as if he didn't want to move past your face. He saw the clip of your mic malfunctioning and how you adjusted seamlessly without a hint of panic. “And so professional…” he groaned softly, shaking his head. God, he missed you.
Then he saw your solo stage. He paused the video, his eyes glued to the screen. The lighting, the music, the way you moved—slower, controlled, and more intentional. It was more you. His jaw tightened as he leaned back against the couch, a hand running through his hair. He noticed everything: the outfit, the way your body moved, the sheer confidence in your eyes.
And then, something unfamiliar crept in—jealousy. It wasn't ugly or possessive, but it was real. Thousands of people were seeing you like this, and he wasn't there. His mind wandered, naturally; he wasn't going to pretend it didn't. He liked you, loved you, and wanted you—all of it existing at the same time. But he never pushed it. He never even hinted at it because every time he thought about crossing that line, he stopped himself out of respect. You were still figuring each other out, learning how to exist in this relationship without breaking it, and he wasn't going to risk that for a moment of impatience.
He locked his phone and exhaled slowly. “…get it together,” he muttered to himself. Because yeah, he missed you—in every way that mattered and in ways he wasn't going to say out loud yet. But more than anything, he just wanted you there. Not on a screen, not in a clip, and not in a ten-second fancam. Just with him.
The tour ended just like that. No more screaming crowds or rehearsals until your body gave out; just silence. When your manager announced a week off—seven full days with no alarms or cameras—it felt unreal. You texted him immediately, and of course, he was already at the HYBE building. You barely made it through the doors before he was in front of you, picking you up and spinning you around. It wasn't playful or calculated this time; it was pure instinct.
You laughed, gripping onto him as the world tilted. “Jungkook—” He didn't let you finish, setting you down only to pull you right back in, kissing you again and again. It was messy, uncoordinated, and unfiltered. “I missed you so much,” he breathed against your lips. You laughed breathlessly, “I can tell—” He pulled back just enough to really look at you, making sure you were actually there and not just a clip on a screen. “Let’s get away,” he said suddenly. “Let’s go to Jeju Island.”
You froze, then laughed in disbelief. “What??” “I’m serious,” he said, already planning. When you started to say it wasn't that simple, he cut in, soft but firm. “Let’s just go. It’s not all the time we have time like this… and we won’t have to worry as much.” That part hit you. He was right. No schedules, no pressure—just the time you had asked for. “…you’re crazy,” you muttered. He just smiled. “I know.”
Next thing you knew, you were at the airport—hidden, hoods up, masks on, escorted through private routes and quiet hallways that normal people never see. It felt surreal, like you were doing something forbidden even though you were allowed. On the plane, there was no chaos or cameras, just space. And him.
He didn’t let go of you, his arm always around you, fingers brushing yours as he leaned into you like he needed the contact. “You’re clingy,” you mumbled. “I know,” he said easily, not even trying to deny it. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—slow and unhurried, like he finally had the time to do it properly. “No one’s watching,” he murmured.
That changed everything. For once, you didn't have to think about angles, cameras, or how any of it looked. You just leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder and letting your fingers intertwine with his. It was quiet, warm, and real. Somewhere between takeoff and landing, it finally felt like you weren't stealing moments anymore; you were finally living one.
The resort was unreal. The moment you stepped out of the car, it didn’t even feel like Korea anymore. Quiet stone pathways, the soft ocean wind brushing against your skin, and the faint sound of waves in the distance—everything felt slowed down. “This is insane,” you muttered. Jungkook just smiled slightly, shrugging. “Hyung told me about it. Said it’s one of the only places you can actually relax.” Relax—you almost laughed at the word because you hadn't done that in months.
The lobby was calm; people were existing without staring, whispering, or pulling out phones. It was the most normal you’d felt in a long time. Your suite was even more impressive, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an endless ocean and warm, neutral tones that made everything feel expensive and quiet. You walked in slowly, taking it all in as if moving too fast would make it disappear. “This is…” you started, but couldn't finish. “Nice?” he offered. You turned to him, "Nice?? Jungkook, this is insane." He laughed softly, watching you instead of the room.
You dropped your bag and walked straight to the window, pressing your hands against the glass. The ocean was open and endless. You let out a long, deep exhale, and for the first time in a while, your shoulders actually dropped. No tension, no performance, no pressure—just quiet.
Behind you, you felt him. His arms wrapped around you slowly, careful not to break the moment, as his chin rested lightly against your shoulder. “You look different when you’re not stressed,” he murmured. You smiled faintly, “Is that a good thing?” “Yeah. You look like yourself.” That hit softer than you expected. You leaned back into him, letting your weight rest there. “This place is…” “Peaceful,” he finished.
You nodded because that’s exactly what it was. It felt unfamiliar, almost uncomfortable at first, because you weren't used to not being busy or watched. You turned in his arms slowly to face him, closer than before. “No one’s here,” you said quietly. He nodded, "Yeah." “No cameras.” “No cameras.” “No one watching.” He smiled slightly, “Just us.” And that felt bigger than the room or the trip itself—because for once, you weren't stealing time. You actually had it.
That night felt different. It wasn’t rushed, stolen, or squeezed between schedules; it was an actual date. The restaurant was quiet, with low lighting and soft music, and the ocean was just visible through the glass. Everything felt warm and calm. You sat across from him with no hood or mask, just you.
He noticed immediately, leaning back in his chair and looking at you without trying to hide it. “What?” you smiled, already knowing. “You’re really pretty,” he said casually. You rolled your eyes, looking down at the menu. “You’ve said that like five times already.” “Okay,” he shrugged, “I’ll say it again if I want.” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You look different here,” he added. You glanced up. “How?” “Relaxed,” he said, then after a second, “Happier.”
That made you pause because he was right. You set the menu down slowly. “…I feel lighter.” He nodded like he understood, because he did. There was a small silence—not awkward, just open. Then you leaned forward slightly. “Okay—I have a question.” He smirked, “Should I be scared?” “Maybe.” He nodded, “Go ahead.”
You tilted your head. “Were you always like this? Like… calm? Grounded? You don’t panic like I do.” He let out a quiet breath and shook his head. “No.” The answer came fast and honest. “I used to be worse.” “Worse?” you smiled. “I can’t imagine you panicking.” He laughed under his breath. “I didn’t panic outwardly. I just… kept everything inside. Overthought everything. Tried to be perfect all the time.”
You blinked. “…you still do that.” He smiled slightly. “Yeah. But I’m better at hiding it now.” You studied him for a second, realizing it made sense. “Is that why you get quiet?” He nodded. You leaned back in your chair slowly. “…I thought you were just ignoring me sometimes.” He shook his head immediately. “No.” Then softer, “I’m usually thinking too much.” That sat between you, settling. You nodded slowly. “…okay.”
Then he tilted his head. “My turn. Why do you get upset so fast?” You froze, then laughed in disbelief. “Wow.” “I’m serious,” he said, smiling. You leaned back, crossing your arms. “…I don’t think I get upset fast.” He raised a brow. “Okay—I do,” you admitted. He smiled like he knew you would. “I just… I feel things immediately. And I don’t like sitting in it. I want to fix it right away. Talk about it right away.”
“That’s the difference,” he said quietly. You looked up at him. “You want to fix things immediately,” he continued, “and I need time to understand them first.” You blinked because that was exactly it. “…that’s why we keep clashing,” you murmured. He nodded once. “Yeah.” Progress. You smiled faintly. “So what do we do about that?” He leaned forward, mirroring you. “You give me a little time.” “And you don’t disappear,” you countered immediately. He smiled. “Deal.”
The food came at some point, but you barely noticed as the conversation flowed into childhood stories. “How were you as a kid?” you asked. “Quiet,” he said instantly. You laughed, “No you weren’t.” “I was,” he insisted, “I just… liked learning things.” “That tracks,” you nodded, “you still do that. What about you?” You smiled, “I talked too much.” “I can tell.” “Hey—” He laughed.
“But I also…” you paused, “…I wanted people to like me.” He didn’t interrupt. “I think I still do,” you added quietly. He shook his head slightly, “They do.” “That’s not the point,” you said. He tilted his head, “Then what is?” “…I want it to be real.” He nodded, slow and understanding. “It is,” he said. You looked at him, and he held your gaze, not looking away. He meant it.
The night stretched longer than you expected, the conversation moving deeper and lighter all at once. By the time you stood up to leave, something had shifted again—not dramatic, but definitely closer.
Jungkook spoke up, almost like it just slipped out— “My members actually like you a lot.” You blinked, surprised. “…really?” He nodded, reaching for his drink but not breaking eye contact. “Yeah.” After a small pause, he added, “They say you balance me out.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Balance you out? That sounds like I’m fixing you or something.” He shook his head immediately. “No. Not fixing.” You watched him, waiting for more. “Just… you’re more open than me,” he thought for a second. You tilted your head. “…and that’s a good thing?” He nodded, “Yeah.” Another pause followed before he added, “You say things I don’t.” That made you go quiet because it was true. “And you feel things faster,” he continued, “which I think… helps me not ignore stuff.” You smiled a little. “…so I stress you out.” He laughed, “Yeah. But in a good way.”
You rolled your eyes. “Sure.” He leaned forward slightly now, becoming more serious. “They like that you’re honest. You don’t act differently around us.” That made you pause; you hadn't even thought about that. “I don’t know how to do that,” you admitted. He smiled softly. “I know.” You looked down at your hands for a second, fidgeting slightly with your ring. “…I was kinda nervous,” you admitted. He raised a brow. “You didn’t look like it.” “I was!” you laughed. “I just… didn’t want to come off as fake.” He nodded. “That’s why they like you.”
A small silence settled before you looked back up at him. “…what did they say exactly?” He smirked slightly, debating how much to reveal. “Jimin said you’re bright.” You smiled. “Taehyung said you still have your ‘soul.’” That made you laugh softly; it was so him. “And Namjoon…” he paused. You leaned forward. “What did he say?” Jungkook smiled faintly. “He said you’re dangerous.”
You blinked. “Dangerous??” He laughed. “Not like that.” “Then what??” “He said…” Jungkook rested his chin lightly against his hand, watching you. “You’re someone who could either make me better… or completely mess me up.”
The words hung in the air. You didn’t laugh this time or brush it off because it didn’t feel like a joke. “…that’s kind of intense,” you said quietly. Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.” You looked at him, really looking at him. “Do you think that?” He didn’t answer right away, of course. Then, finally, “…I think you affect me more than I expected.”
That was the most honest answer he could give. You leaned back slowly, processing that and feeling it settle somewhere deep. “…you affect me too,” you admitted. A small smile pulled at his lips. “Good.” You rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway. For a second, the world felt very small—just the two of you sitting there, understanding each other a little more than before.
You pointed at his arm, eyes narrowing slightly. “Be honest—did those hurt?” He followed your gaze to his tattoos and laughed softly. “No.” You stared at him, unconvinced. “…you’re lying.” “I’m not,” he shrugged, but when you said his name with that tone, he finally relented. “Okay—some of them did.”
You leaned forward immediately. “Which ones?” He turned his arm slightly, tapping near his inner arm. “This part,” he said. “Wasn’t fun.” You winced, agreeing that it looked painful, but he just chuckled, saying you get used to it. You tilted your head. “…why’d you get them?”
He paused, wanting to answer correctly. “I like them,” he said simply at first, but when you gave him a look, he leaned back. “It’s like… something that’s mine. Like I chose it. No one told me to. No one planned it for me.” You nodded slowly, understanding the sentiment. “…control,” you said. He looked up at you. “Yeah.”
A small silence followed. You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing lightly over his arm—careful, as if it might still hurt. “It’s pretty,” you said softly. He watched you instead of his arm, noticing the way your fingers traced the lines and how you didn't hesitate. “…you think so?” You nodded and looked up at him with a small smile. “It suits you.” He smiled back, quieter this time, because it wasn't really about the tattoos anymore—it was about how you saw him.
“I want them,” you admitted, tracing the edge of his wrist again. “But I’m too… indecisive.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Easy,” he said. “Just get a tattoo that says ‘INDECISIVE.’” You stared at him for a second—then laughed. “Absolutely not.” He grinned, looking incredibly proud of himself.
You leaned back in your chair, thinking out loud now. “Maybe something like… ‘Divine’?” You made a face. “That’s kinda boring though.” He shook his head immediately. “Nah.” You looked at him, and he shrugged slightly. “If it’s what you want, then it’s you.” Then he added—softer, more direct—“And I think you’re definitely divine.”
You blinked, completely caught off guard. “…that was smooth,” you said slowly. He smirked a little. “I wasn’t trying to be.” You tilted your head, studying him. “…you’re lying again.” He laughed quietly, but your expression softened. That word—*divine*—felt like more than just an aesthetic; it felt like identity.
“I think…” you started slowly, “I’d want it to mean something more than just… a word. Like something that reminds me who I am. Especially when I forget.” He tilted his head slightly. “…you forget?” You laughed softly. “Sometimes. When everything gets loud… and people expect things from you… it’s easy to lose track.”
He watched you carefully, then leaned forward just slightly. “Then don’t get something for how you feel at your best. Get something for when you’re at your worst.”
That hit you hard. You blinked, impressed. “…that’s actually really smart.” He smiled faintly. “So what would that be?” he asked. You thought for a second. Really thought. “…something about staying grounded. Or something about not needing to prove anything.”
He leaned back slightly. “That sounds more like you than ‘divine.’” You smiled a little. “Yeah… but ‘divine’ sounds prettier.” He laughed. “You can have both. Pretty meaning.” You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. Because somehow, this wasn’t just about a tattoo anymore. It was about how you saw yourself, and how he saw you—and for once, those two things didn't feel that far apart.
“I think I want a tiger,” you said finally, settling into the idea like it clicked all at once. “Like Benni.” You pointed at your bag, where the little turquoise tiger charm swung slightly. Jungkook followed your gesture, his eyes lingering on it for a second before shifting back to you. “Why a tiger? What’s your thing with them?”
You leaned back, answering without rushing or overexplaining. “They’re fierce. Fiery… powerful… strength, courage… independence.” Your voice softened a little. “…protection.” You looked down for a second, then back at him. “They represent overcoming things. Resilience. I feel like it fits me,” you shrugged slightly. “…no?”
He didn’t answer immediately; he just looked at you, really looking. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s perfect.” You raised a brow. “Perfect?” He leaned forward, resting his arm on the table. “You’re all of that. And…” he paused, deciding to say it anyway, “you’re way stronger than you think you are.”
That hit differently. You laughed softly to deflect. “Okay… now you’re just—” “I’m serious,” he cut in, firm but not sharp. You went quiet because you knew he didn't say things like that lightly. “And yeah,” he added, a hint of a grin returning, “you’re 100% feisty.” You scoffed, “I am not.” “Yves.” “Okay—maybe a little,” you admitted. “A lot,” he corrected.
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you looked back at Benni. “…I think I’d want it small though.” He nodded. “Where?” You hesitated, thinking it through. “Somewhere… private.” He raised a brow. “Private?” You shrugged, “Yeah. Like—not for everyone to see.” He nodded slowly, understanding immediately. “Just for you.”
You glanced at him. “…and maybe a few people.” He smiled faintly at that, not pushing or teasing, just accepting it. Because that was you—bold and bright, seen by everyone, but still keeping pieces of yourself just yours.
He smiled at you—softer now—as the conversation settled into something comfortable. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he asked, “Have I shown you Bam recently?” You blinked. “…recently?” But he was already pulling out his phone, scrolling through his gallery with the speed of someone who had a curated collection ready for this exact moment.
“Jungkook—” you laughed, but he didn't stop. “No, wait—look at this one.” He turned the screen toward you to reveal a video of Bam sprawled across the floor. He looked massive, with glossy black fur and big paws—intimidating and ridiculously cute all at once. “Oh my god—” You leaned closer instantly. “He’s so big??” “I know,” he smiled, looking genuinely proud. “He grew a lot.”
You watched the video again, amused by how he was lying. “And he just… lays there like that?” “He thinks he’s small,” Jungkook said. “He’s not.” You laughed softly because, clearly, he wasn't. He swiped to another video of Bam running, then sliding across the floor and nearly crashing into something. You covered your mouth. “Stop—he’s so cute.” Jungkook didn’t even try to hide his smile. “He’s really gentle though. He just looks scary.”
You nodded, still watching. “I wanna meet him,” you said without thinking. He paused for just a second before nodding. “…you will.” You looked up, surprised. “Really?” “Yeah,” he said, followed by a small pause. “When things slow down more.” That word again—*when*. You nodded anyway, understanding the weight of it. “I feel bad,” you admitted. “I haven’t even met him yet.” He shook his head immediately. “No—don’t. He’s always at boarding when I’m busy too.” That made you frown slightly. “…that’s kinda sad.” He shrugged. “It is.”
A small silence fell between you before he spoke again, his voice softer. “He’d like you.” You blinked. “…how do you know?” He smiled a little. “Because I do.” You rolled your eyes immediately, muttering an “Oh my god,” but your cheeks warmed anyway. You leaned back, still smiling. “Would he listen to me?” Jungkook laughed. “…no.” “Wow.” “He barely listens to me.”
That made you laugh harder. “I feel like he’d be protective though,” you added. He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Then he looked at you. “He would.” There it was again—that quiet certainty. You glanced back at the videos, watching Bam run around without a worry in the world. “…he looks happy.” Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.” Then, even softer, “I want him to stay like that.” You looked at him, sensing that it wasn't just about the dog. For a second, it felt like he was talking about more than one thing.
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours first as if checking if you’d pull away. You didn't, so he held your hand properly—warm, steady, and grounding. “I’ve never been this happy with anyone, Yvessirae.”
You blinked at the use of your full name. A small smile pulled at your lips. “Why do you randomly call me by my government name?” you mumbled. He shrugged slightly, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hand. “I like saying it.” You tilted your head. “…it’s long.” “I know.” “You don’t get tired?” He smiled a little. “No. It feels… important.”
That made you look at him differently. “Important?” He nodded, his grip tightening just enough to mean something. “It’s you.” You swallowed because the way he said it didn't feel like just a name anymore; it felt like recognition.
You looked down at your joined hands for a second, then back up at him, meeting the moment with sincerity. “…no one really calls me that.” He raised a brow slightly. “No?” You shook your head. “Only my parents… when they’re serious.” He smiled faintly. “I’m not serious.” “You sound serious.” He laughed quietly. “Okay—maybe a little.”
You smiled. “…I don’t mind it.” It was your way of saying more than the words allowed, and he caught it immediately. His thumb brushed over your knuckles again, slow and absent-minded. “Yvessirae,” he said again, testing it as if he just liked how the syllables felt. You shook your head, smiling. “You’re so—” “Weird?” “Yeah.”
He grinned. “But you like me.” You rolled your eyes. “…unfortunately.” He laughed, but he didn't let go of your hand—and neither did you.
How does it feel to have someone see the "real" you behind the stage name and the spotlight?
The night shifted from the open expanse of the ocean to the intimate quiet of the suite. Stepping inside felt different this time—permanent, even if only for a week. When you saw the bed, the reality of the situation hit you both at once: this wasn't a stolen hour anymore. You were staying together.
Trying to keep your cool, you mumbled a distracted "Okay," but Jungkook caught the flicker of nerves. Ever the gentleman, he offered the couch immediately, as if his six-foot frame would even fit on it. "That's stupid," you countered, realizing that sharing the space was the only thing that made sense. He just nodded, his lack of teasing actually helping the tension dissipate.
As the hours ticked by, the initial caution melted into something more natural. You changed into comfortable clothes, moving around each other until you eventually settled on the edge of the bed. Side by side. Not touching, until the air between you seemed to pull you together.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. You nodded, and he leaned in with a deliberate slowness, giving you every second to decide. When his lips finally met yours, it was soft—a question asked in silence.
The kiss deepened, but the energy didn't turn frantic. It stayed grounded. His hand rested on your back, firm and protective, but never pushing for more than what was offered. That was the beauty of it: the tension was there, undeniable and electric, but it was eclipsed by a profound lack of pressure.
When you finally pulled back, foreheads resting against each other, he didn't chase the contact. He just searched your eyes one more time. "You're okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed, a small smile finally breaking through.
In that moment, the "Idol" versions of yourselves were miles away. There were no cameras, no managers, and no expectations. He wasn't looking for a performance or a milestone; he just wanted to be in the same space as you. For the first time in six months, you weren't just two people trying to make it work—you were just two people, finally together.
His fingers traced slow, gentle patterns along your thigh, never rushing. Jungkook had always been like this with you — thoughtful, observant, moving at his own quiet pace. While you felt everything all at once, he seemed to take it in, process it, and then decide exactly how he wanted to give himself to you.
When you guided his hand between your legs, he didn’t immediately push further. Instead, he watched your face carefully, reading every small reaction. His palm pressed warmly against you over the thin fabric, rubbing in slow, soothing circles until your breathing changed.
You let out a shaky exhale, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and steady, the way he always checked in — not because he was unsure, but because he wanted to be certain.
You nodded, then whispered, “I want to feel you… closer.”
Jungkook’s eyes softened. He slipped his hand beneath your shorts and panties, his fingers gliding gently through your folds. The moment he felt how wet you were, a quiet breath left him. He explored you with such care — one finger slowly circling your clit, light and patient, like he was learning every part of you by heart.
When he finally eased one finger inside you, your body tensed at the unfamiliar pressure. He immediately stilled, eyes lifting to meet yours.
“Yvez…” His voice was gentle, almost reverent. “Baby… you’ve never done this before?”
Your cheeks burned with sudden vulnerability. You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to find your voice. “Yeah… I’m a virgin.”
For a moment, Jungkook just looked at you. Not with surprise or pressure, but with something deeper — a quiet intensity mixed with tenderness. He slowly pulled his finger back, only to slide it in again even more carefully, giving you time to adjust.
“I didn’t know,” he said softly, almost to himself. Then his lips curved into the smallest, warmest smile. “My girl… trusting me with this.”
He shifted closer, his free arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest. While you tended to feel everything quickly and openly, Jungkook’s care showed in the way he slowed everything down for you. His finger moved in unhurried, shallow strokes, curling softly every time he found a spot that made your breath hitch.
“I want to be gentle with you,” he whispered against your hair, his tone sincere and a little husky. “Really gentle. We don’t have to rush anything tonight. Just let me make you feel good.”
You let out a soft whimper as his thumb found your clit again, rubbing in slow, steady circles while his finger continued its careful rhythm inside you. The pleasure was building gradually, warm and fluttering, nothing overwhelming — just a sweet, spreading heat.
The part of you that always wanted to give and connect, felt the urge to reach for him, to make sure he was feeling good too. Your hand slid down his chest, but he caught it gently, intertwining your fingers instead.
“Not yet,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Tonight is about you. Let me take care of you first.”
His words made your heart flutter. He wasn’t just being careful with your body — he was being careful with your heart, the way only Jungkook could: quietly protective, fully present even when he didn’t say much.
He added a second finger, stretching you slowly, patiently, always watching your face to make sure the pleasure outweighed any discomfort. Every movement was deliberate, full of quiet intention.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, voice low and warm.
You nodded, a soft moan escaping as the tension coiled sweetly in your belly. “Jungkook… it feels really good.”
He smiled against your shoulder, pressing another tender kiss there.
“Good. I’ve got you, baby.”
He kept the pace slow and consistent, his fingers moving with the kind of focused care that showed how much attention he paid to every little sound you made, every shift of your hips. Protected and cherished — that’s how he made you feel.
“We’ll use a condom when we go further,” he added softly, almost like a promise. “I want you to feel completely safe with me.”
His fingers kept their gentle rhythm inside you — slow, careful strokes that never rushed. Every time your breath hitched or your thighs tensed, Jungkook would pause just slightly, giving you time to adjust before continuing. He was so attentive, so precise in the way he touched you, like he was memorizing how your body responded to him.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop the soft sounds spilling from your lips. Your emotions always sat right at the surface, and right now they were flooding you — warmth, nervousness, affection, and building pleasure all mixing together. You turned your face into his neck, hiding a little as another quiet moan escaped.
Jungkook noticed immediately. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice low and steady against your ear.
“Hey… don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “I want to see you. I want to hear you.”
His thumb continued its lazy, perfect circles on your clit while his two fingers moved deeper, still gentle but a little more confident now that he knew how tight you were. The stretch was new, slightly uncomfortable for a second, but the way he curled his fingers against that sensitive spot inside you quickly turned everything into liquid warmth.
“I’ve never… felt like this,” you whispered honestly, your voice trembling with vulnerability. Your heart was beating so fast — typical you, feeling everything all at once and wanting to share it with him immediately. “It feels really good, Jungkook… but I’m a little nervous.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes soft and serious. That was one of the things you loved about him — even when he was quiet, he never made you feel like your feelings were too much. He simply took them in, processed them, and responded with the kind of care that made you feel safe.
“I know,” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with his free hand. “Thank you for telling me. We can stop anytime you want. This is only for you right now.”
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. While he stayed composed on the outside, you could feel the way his breathing had deepened, the subtle tension in his body as he held himself back. He was protecting you — even from himself.
You reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. “I don’t want to stop… I want this with you. Just… keep being gentle like this.”
A small, tender smile touched his lips. Jungkook leaned in and kissed you slowly, deeply, while his fingers never stopped their soothing movements. The kiss wasn’t hungry — it was full of quiet emotion, the kind of kiss that said he was fully here with you, not just physically but in every way that mattered.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“My sweet girl,” he whispered, voice husky but soft. “I didn’t expect this tonight, but knowing I’m the first one to touch you like this… it makes me want to take even more time with you. I want every second to feel good.”
He shifted slightly so he could hold you closer, your head resting against his chest while his hand stayed between your thighs. His fingers kept moving in that same unhurried rhythm — sliding in and out, curling gently, thumb stroking your clit with perfect, patient pressure. The pleasure built slowly, like warm waves lapping higher and higher.
You let out a shaky moan, your fingers clutching at his shirt as the feeling intensified.
“That’s it,” he encouraged quietly, lips brushing your forehead. “Just let it build, baby. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
Your hips started moving on their own, rocking gently against his hand. Jungkook didn’t speed up. He stayed steady, consistent, focused completely on you — the way only he could. While you felt everything loudly and openly, he expressed his care through this quiet, deliberate devotion.
“Jungkook…” you breathed, voice breaking a little as the pressure coiled tighter. “I think I’m close…”
“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Come for me whenever you’re ready. I want to feel you.”
He kept the same gentle pace, never pushing, just guiding you higher with every careful stroke. His free hand rubbed slow circles on your back, grounding you even as your body trembled.
When the orgasm finally washed over you, it was soft and deep — not explosive, but overwhelming in its sweetness. Your walls clenched around his fingers as waves of warm pleasure rolled through you. A soft, broken moan left your lips, and Jungkook held you tighter through it, whispering quiet praises against your skin.
“That’s my girl… so beautiful… I’ve got you.”
He didn’t pull his fingers out right away. He kept them inside you, letting you ride out the aftershocks with slow, soothing movements until your breathing gradually slowed.
Only then did he gently withdraw, bringing his hand up to rest on your waist. He pressed a long, tender kiss to your forehead, then your lips.
“Are you wanting to go further?” he asked softly, “Only when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”
You looked up at him, heart full, still catching your breath. In that moment, the difference between you felt so clear — your open, expressive heart and his quiet, protective steadiness — and somehow, they fit perfectly together.
You nodded. Jungkook’s eyes darkened with quiet desire, but his expression stayed tender. He brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. “You sure, baby?”
You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah… I want to feel your mouth on me first.”
A small, warm smile tugged at his lips. Without another word, he shifted down the bed with that deliberate, controlled grace of his. He peeled your shorts and panties down slowly, kissing every inch of skin he revealed — your hip, your inner thigh, the sensitive spot just below your belly button. He was taking his time, as always, making sure you felt worshipped rather than rushed.
When he finally settled between your legs, he looked up at you, eyes steady and full of quiet intensity. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Then his mouth was on you.
His tongue was warm and gentle, licking slow, broad stripes through your folds before circling your clit with patient, precise movements. Jungkook didn’t devour you — he savored you. Every lick was thoughtful, every gentle suck careful, like he was learning exactly what made your hips twitch and your breath catch. He hummed softly against you, the vibration sending sweet sparks up your spine.
You moaned openly, your hand sliding into his hair, fingers tightening as pleasure bloomed again. Your emotions spilled out easily, like they always did. “Jungkook… oh my god, that feels so good…”
He responded by sliding two fingers back inside you, curling them gently while his tongue focused on your clit with steady, unhurried strokes. The combination was overwhelming in the softest way — warm, wet, and perfectly controlled. He stayed completely focused on you, reading every tremble of your thighs and every sound you made.
Your second orgasm built slower this time, deep and fluttering. When it finally washed over you, your back arched and a soft, broken whimper left your lips. Jungkook stayed with you through it, licking you gently until the tremors eased.
He kissed your inner thigh before crawling back up your body, his lips glistening. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It was slow and intimate, full of quiet affection.
“You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, voice husky but soft. “My beautiful girl.”
You were still catching your breath, heart wide open, when you reached down and palmed him through his pants. “I want you inside me now… please.”
Jungkook stilled for a moment, then nodded. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom. He tore the packet open and rolled it on with steady hands, always careful, always responsible. Once it was on, he settled between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing gently against your entrance.
He looked down at you, eyes serious and full of emotion. “We’ll go slow. If anything hurts, you tell me immediately, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathed, reaching up to cup his face. Your voice was soft but honest. “I trust you.”
Jungkook leaned down and kissed you as he began to push in — slow, gentle pressure. The stretch was intense. You gasped against his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders. He immediately paused, forehead resting against yours.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmured. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
He stayed perfectly still, letting you adjust while dropping soft kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your jaw. Only when you nodded and whispered “more” did he push in a little deeper, inch by careful inch, until he was fully seated inside you.
The feeling was overwhelming — a mix of fullness, slight burn, and deep, aching pleasure. Jungkook’s breathing was ragged, but he kept himself under tight control, staying motionless so you could get used to him.
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he whispered, voice strained with restraint. “So perfect. Tell me how you feel.”
“It hurts a little… but it also feels good,” you admitted openly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. “Don’t stop. I want this with you.”
He kissed you again, slow and deep, then started moving — tiny, shallow thrusts at first, gradually growing into slow, smooth rolls of his hips. Every movement was gentle, protective, and full of quiet devotion. He kept one hand on your hip, the other cradling the back of your head, grounding you as he made love to you for the first time.
“I’m right here,” he whispered against your ear. “I’ve got you, Yvez. Just feel me.”
Jungkook moved inside you with slow, careful rolls of his hips, never thrusting hard. Each stroke was deep but gentle, giving your body time to adjust to the stretch and fullness of him. He kept his forehead pressed against yours, eyes half-lidded but focused, watching every flicker of expression on your face.
You clung to his shoulders, breathing shakily as the initial discomfort slowly melted into something warmer, deeper. The slight burn was still there, but underneath it was a sweet, aching pleasure that made your toes curl.
“Jungkook…” you whispered, voice trembling with honesty, the way it always did when your feelings overflowed. “It feels… so full. I can feel every part of you.”
He let out a quiet groan, the sound low and restrained. “You’re doing so well, baby. Taking me so perfectly.” His hand stroked your hair gently, thumb brushing your cheek. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop the second you say.”
You shook your head, pulling him closer. “Don’t stop… I want all of you. It’s starting to feel really good.”
Encouraged by your words, Jungkook kept the same slow, steady rhythm, grinding gently against you instead of pounding. Every roll of his hips pressed his pelvis against your clit, sending soft sparks of pleasure through your body. He was so controlled, so focused on making this good for you — typical Jungkook, expressing everything through careful action rather than rushed words.
Your moans grew a little louder, more open, as the pleasure built again. You couldn’t hold back how you felt. “Feels so good… you feel so good inside me,” you breathed, eyes glassy as you looked up at him. “I love how careful you’re being with me.”
Jungkook’s breath hitched. He kissed you deeply, swallowing your soft sounds as his hips continued their unhurried pace. “I’ve wanted this with you for so long,” he murmured against your lips. “Wanted to be this close… to take care of you like this.”
The emotion in his voice made your heart squeeze. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. The new angle made you gasp, a rush of pleasure cutting through the lingering discomfort.
He groaned softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fought to keep his control. Still, he didn’t speed up. He kept every thrust slow and deep, grinding against that perfect spot inside you with every roll.
Your second orgasm started building again — slower this time, heavier, rooted deep in your belly. Your walls fluttered around him, and Jungkook felt it immediately.
“Are you getting close again?” he asked, voice husky but tender.
You nodded frantically, fingers digging into his back. “Yes… I think so. Don’t stop— please…”
“I won’t,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your neck. One of his hands slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow, gentle circles in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, Yvez. Let me feel you come around me while I’m inside you.”
The combination — his thick cock moving steadily inside you, the gentle pressure on your clit, and the quiet, protective way he held you — pushed you over the edge.
Your orgasm hit you like a warm, rolling wave. You cried out softly, body trembling beneath him as your walls clenched tightly around his cock. Pleasure flooded through you in long, sweet pulses. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes from how intense and intimate it felt.
Jungkook groaned deeply, his rhythm faltering for the first time as he felt you pulsing around him. “That’s it… good girl. So good for me…”
He kept moving through your orgasm, slow and steady, drawing it out until your trembling started to ease. Only then did his own control begin to slip.
His hips pressed deeper, movements becoming just a little less measured as pleasure overtook him. He buried his face in your neck, breathing hard against your skin.
“Yvez…” he whispered, voice strained. “I’m close.”
You held him tighter, whispering against his ear, “Come for me… I want to feel you cum while you’re inside me.”
With a few more deep, careful thrusts, Jungkook came with a low, broken groan. His body tensed above you, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom. He stayed buried deep inside you through every pulse, holding you close like you were something precious.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your mingled breathing.
He finally lifted his head, eyes soft and a little dazed as he looked down at you. Still catching his breath, he pressed gentle kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your forehead — quiet affection pouring out of him in the way he knew best.
“You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse but full of care. “Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head, a tired but happy smile spreading across your face. “No… it was perfect. I’m so glad it was with you.”
Jungkook smiled gently and kissed you once more, slow and lingering, before carefully pulling out. He disposed of the condom, then came right back to pull you into his arms, holding you against his chest.
After everything—the room felt… quieter. Not empty. Not awkward. Just… still. The ocean outside kept moving like nothing changed. But inside—everything had. Jungkook didn’t move right away. He stayed exactly where he was, one arm still around you, the other brushing slowly up and down your arm. Grounding. Like he was making sure you were still there.
You didn’t say anything at first either. Your body felt unfamiliar. Your thoughts… slow. Like you were catching up to what just happened. You shifted slightly, resting your head against his chest. Listening. His heartbeat was still a little fast. “…you okay?” he asked quietly. His voice softer than you’d ever heard it. You nodded against him. “Yeah.” A small pause. “…I think so.”
He exhaled—like he’d been holding that question in. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he added quickly. “And— like— if you need anything.” You looked up at him. There was something different in his expression. Less confident. More… careful. “I’m okay,” you said again, softer this time. He nodded, but his hand didn’t stop moving along your arm. Still grounding. Still checking. “I should’ve asked more,” he muttered. Almost to himself. Your brows knit slightly. “What?” “Like— I just…” He shook his head a little. “I wanted to make sure you were really okay with everything.”
That made your chest tighten— but not in a bad way. You shifted closer. “You did,” you said. He looked at you. “You didn’t rush me,” you added. “You kept asking.” A small pause. “…you were careful.” He studied your face like he was trying to confirm that. Then nodded slowly. “Okay.” You reached up, brushing a piece of his hair back absentmindedly. “I trust you,” you said quietly.
That hit him. You could see it. The way his expression changed—like that mattered more than anything else. His hand moved up, resting gently at the back of your head. Pulling you in just slightly. “Yvessirae…” He said your full name again. Soft. You smiled faintly. “…you always say that after something serious.” He let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah?” “Yeah.”
A small pause. Then— “…I love you,” he said again. Not rushed. Not intense. Just… reaffirming. Your eyes softened. “I know.” You didn’t say it back right away this time. Not because you didn’t feel it—but because you were still… sitting in everything. Processing. Feeling. And he didn’t push it. Didn’t need you to say it again.
Instead, he just pulled the blanket up around you both. Adjusting it carefully. Making sure you were warm. Comfortable. Small things. But intentional. “You should rest,” he murmured. You nodded slightly. But didn’t move away. “Stay like this for a bit,” you mumbled. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. And you believed him. Because right now—he wasn’t distant. He wasn’t overthinking. He was just… there. Exactly the way you needed him to be.
The next morning felt… softer. Not awkward, not a "what now?" moment, just—closer. It showed in the little things: the way you didn't hesitate to sit next to him, closer than before; the way his hand naturally found yours without thinking; the way silence didn't feel like something that needed to be filled. You were brushing your hair in the mirror when he spoke—"I wanna go out." You glanced at him through the reflection. "…okay?" "Somewhere random." You turned fully now, suspicious. "…what are you planning?" He grinned. "Something spontaneous." You narrowed your eyes. "That sounds dangerous." "It’s not," he laughed. "Come on."
You should’ve questioned it more—you would’ve—but something about being here, being with him like this, made you loosen up. "Fine," you sighed. And that’s how you ended up standing in front of a small tattoo shop. You stopped walking. "…Jungkook." He turned back to you. "What?" You pointed at the sign. "You’re insane." He laughed. "You literally said you wanted one." "That was a hypothetical conversation—" "And now it’s real." You stared at him, trying not to smile. "…if it’s ugly, I’m blaming you," you muttered. He grinned. "Deal."
Inside, the shop was quiet, clean, and minimal. The artist greeted you calmly—no shock, no recognition, just professionalism. You explained your idea: a tiger, something small and meaningful. The artist nodded, already sketching fast and confident. You watched as the design came together, line by line. A tiger cub, curled slightly and resting. Not aggressive, not loud, but strong. It was surrounded by poppies—soft and delicate—your birth flower. You blinked. "…oh." Jungkook leaned over your shoulder, looking at it, then at you. "That’s you," he said quietly. You swallowed, because yeah—it was. Strength and softness, resilience and warmth. "…I love it," you admitted.
The artist smiled slightly. "Where would you like it?" You hesitated, thinking, then glanced at Jungkook just briefly. "…somewhere private." He didn’t react, didn’t tease, just nodded slightly in understanding. You pointed to the side of your thigh, slightly on your hip, and explained. The artist prepared everything, and suddenly, it was real. You sat down, heart beating just a little faster. Jungkook moved beside you immediately, close but not overwhelming. "You okay?" You nodded. "…yeah." He reached for your hand—didn't ask, just offered. You took it.
The machine buzzed to life. You flinched slightly at the first touch. "Okay—yeah that hurts," you laughed nervously. He smiled softly. "Told you." But his grip tightened slightly, grounding you. "You’re doing good," he murmured. And you were. Because it wasn’t just about the tattoo; it was about choosing something for yourself, something permanent, something that reminded you who you were—and maybe, who you were becoming. When it was done, the artist wiped it clean and showed you. You stared at it. "…it’s perfect." Jungkook looked too, quiet for a second, then smiled. "Yeah," he said. "It is." And the way he looked at you—it didn’t feel like he was just talking about the tattoo.
You were still staring at your tattoo, turning your hand slightly to watch how the ink moved with your skin, when Jungkook suddenly spoke up. “I’m getting one too.” You looked up immediately. “…what?” He was already talking to the artist, acting as if he’d decided only five seconds ago. “Just something small,” he said casually. You blinked, telling him he was incredibly impulsive, but he just smirked. “You came into a tattoo shop with me.” “…that doesn’t count.” “It does.” You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as you leaned forward. “What are you getting?” He glanced at you, then back at the artist. “A copyright symbol. With 1997.”
You froze for a second before laughing. “That’s so… you.” He raised a brow, asking how. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “It’s simple… but it means something.” He nodded, agreeing. “Exactly.” You watched as the artist sketched it quickly—clean and minimal. “…where are you putting it?” He reached back, tapping the nape of his neck. You blinked. “…that’s kinda iconic.” He smiled a little. “I know.” You laughed again, shaking your head, but then something clicked. That same impulsive, why-not energy from earlier took over.
“…wait.” Both of them looked at you. “I wanna do that too.” Jungkook blinked. “…what?” You pointed. “Copyright symbol. But 2005.” He stared at you for a second before breaking into a wide smile. “Are you serious?” You nodded. The artist looked between you both and asked if they were matching. You shook your head quickly. “Not matching—just… same idea.” Jungkook laughed quietly and asked where. You thought for half a second before holding up your hand and pointing to the side of your pointer finger. “Here.” His brows lifted. “That’s visible.” You shrugged. “So?” He smiled. “Okay.”
The artist prepped again for a session that was quicker, smaller, and sharper. You flinched at the first line and laughed nervously. “Okay, this one hurts more—” Jungkook watched you, amused. “You wanted it.” “I know—shut up.” He laughed as the needle worked. When it was finished, you held your hand up, turning it to admire the fresh ink: © 2005. You smiled, feeling a rush of satisfaction. Jungkook touched the back of his neck lightly after his was finished, feeling the spot where his said © 1997.
You looked at each other and both laughed at the absurdity and the rightness of it. “This is kinda—” “—cool?” he finished. “Yeah.” There was a small pause as you held your hand up again, comparing the vibes. “Wait… this is actually really cute.” He nodded. “It is.” And it wasn't about matching, not really. It was about that specific moment, that spontaneity, and that shared choice. It was something permanent from a day that felt like it truly mattered.
You had just posted it. Your finger held up in the soft lighting, displaying the clean, minimal © 2005. It was very you. You already knew what was about to happen—the comments, the edits, the frantic fan theories—but for now, you were just in the moment. Jungkook watched you with a small, knowing smile. “It’s really easy to get an ink addiction,” he mumbled. You looked at him, then slowly at his heavily tattooed arm. “You don’t say?” He laughed immediately. “I’m speaking from experience.”
You shook your head, smiling, and moved on to the next mission: ice cream. You found a small shop tucked away with pastel colors and quiet chatter. It felt normal—almost too normal. You sat across from him, spoon in hand, talking about nothing and leaning closer without thinking. Then, a voice broke the bubble. “Excuse me—are you Yvez?” You froze just slightly and looked up to see a young girl, maybe thirteen. Your eyes widened because this was always the moment of truth, but she wasn’t filming or calling attention. She just looked nervous and incredibly excited.
Her eyes flicked between you and Jungkook for a split second before she smiled a small, careful smile. “Can I just have an autograph?” she asked quickly, as if afraid to take up too much space. “I’m not like gonna say anything about you guys being together.” You blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness. She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “I just really love SHE.” Something in your chest softened immediately. You smiled. “Of course.”
Jungkook stayed quiet beside you, observing as you took the paper and signed it carefully. “You’re so pretty in real life,” she mumbled. Your hand paused. That always hit harder than online compliments because it was real, happening right in front of you. You looked up, smiling softer. “Thank you.” She lit up and quickly showed you a shaky, loud video from your Busan showcase. “Wait, this was day two, right?” you asked. Her eyes widened. “Yeah!!” You laughed softly, “I remember that crowd.”
Jungkook watched the interaction, his expression shifting as he saw the version of you that fans truly loved—the person, not just the performer. “You’re my bias,” she added suddenly, turning shy immediately. You smiled. “…really?” She nodded quickly, and your heart squeezed. “Thank you for supporting us,” you said, genuine and warm. She gripped her phone, glanced at Jungkook one more time, and gave a small, knowing smile. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “I won’t tell anyone.”
You laughed softly. “…thank you.” She waved and left, trying—and failing—not to look back. Silence settled for a second as you looked at your ice cream and then at Jungkook. “…she was sweet.” He nodded. “Yeah. She likes you a lot.” You smiled faintly. “…I like her too.” Then, quieter, you added, “I hope more of them are like that.” Jungkook leaned back, watching you intently. “They are. You just don’t always see it.” You nodded slowly. That was the part you needed to hold onto—not the noise or the fear, but a girl with a shaky video and genuine love. For a moment, everything felt worth it.
The rest of the week blurred into something soft, not rushed or scheduled, but simply lived. There were mornings where you woke up later than you ever allowed yourself to, hair messy and sunlight spilling through the curtains, with the ocean still there as if it hadn’t moved all night. Jungkook was always awake before you, but he wouldn't move; he’d just stay there, watching you and tracing small patterns against your arm, hesitant to wake you too fast. The days were filled with nothing important—walks along the water, stopping at random places just because they looked interesting, sharing food, and arguing over stupid things like ice cream flavors or directions.
And then there were the conversations—long ones that didn’t feel like interviews or rehearsed answers. You talked about fears, about what success actually felt like, and the surreal feeling of being loved by millions who didn't know you versus the weight of being understood by just one person who did. There were moments where things got quiet again—closer and more intimate—but it was never rushed or forced. It felt natural, like something you both grew into. Afterward, it was always the same: soft voices, checking in, and staying close. It wasn't just physical; it was emotional.
You learned his habits—how he got quiet when he was thinking too hard and how he needed a second before responding to something serious. He learned yours—how your emotions came fast and how you needed reassurance in the moment, not later. You adjusted. Not perfectly, but intentionally. For once, it felt like you weren't working against each other.
Then, just like that, it ended. Suitcases appeared, phones started buzzing again, and managers were calling. Schedules filled back up before you even left the island. The quiet disappeared first, then the time. You stood in the airport again, hood up and mask on, back to being careful. You looked at him and murmured, “…that went by too fast.” He nodded. “Yeah.” There was a small pause, but this time, it didn't feel unfinished.
Something had changed. Not in a dramatic way, but in a grounded way. You understood each other more and knew how to meet in the middle a little better. He reached for your hand—briefly, hidden and careful. “I’ll text you,” he said. You smiled. “You better.” He smirked slightly. “I will.” And you believed him this time, because it wasn't just words anymore; it was effort.
——————————————————————————
Then, it was back to work. Stages, lights, and cameras again. SHE were no longer just rookies or rising stars; you were dominating. Headlines, charts, and sold-out everything followed you everywhere. "Monster rookie" and "Global superstars" became the standard labels. You stepped back into it all like you’d never left—confident, composed, and untouchable. But now, there was something different underneath it all. Something quieter, steadier, and something that wasn't for the world. Just for you, and him.
The comeback hit like a wave, but it wasn't just about the numbers anymore; it was about presence. *REPE4T* was sharp, addictive, and a little dangerous—the kind of song people played on a loop. Fans were already arguing online over which track was superior, while *Butterfly*—Solene’s haunting, full-English contribution—had people dissecting every lyric about being looked at but not truly seen. Then there was *Again and Again*, a track so painfully relatable it felt like a collective sigh. With 1.3 million pre-orders, the success wasn't surprising; it was expected.
You, however, barely had time to process any of it. Your 21st birthday came and went under the harsh glare of studio lights, surrounded by makeup chairs and wardrobe racks. A chorus of "Happy Birthday!" followed by your polite "Thank you!" and then it was over. But he didn’t forget. Even though your schedule ran late into the night, a driver was waiting for you. You didn't question it; you just got in. The ride was quiet, your body heavy with exhaustion and your mind drifting until the car finally came to a stop. You knew exactly where you were.
When the door opened, Jungkook was there. “Hi,” he smiled. “Hi…” you replied, your own smile surfacing immediately. He stepped aside then, as if waiting for a reaction, and that’s when you saw him. Big, black, with curious eyes and a tail that started wagging the second he saw you. “Bam!” Your voice lit up instantly. You crouched down without thinking, hands outstretched. “Hi baby—” Bam approached slowly at first, then faster, leaning his massive weight right into you.
You laughed, wrapping your arms around him instinctively. “Oh my god, you’re so big—” Jungkook watched the interaction in silence, a steady smile on his face. “I told you,” he said. “He’s gentle.” You buried your face in Bam’s fur for a second, noting how good he smelled. “That’s because I just washed him,” Jungkook muttered, making you laugh as you pulled back to scratch behind Bam's ears. He was so cute, leaning into you as if he’d already decided you were one of his people.
Jungkook shook his head, a soft note in his voice. “…yeah, he likes you.” You looked up at him, beaming. “I like him too.” Then, softer, the words slipped out with no hesitation: “…I missed you.” Jungkook’s expression shifted immediately, growing more intense. “I know,” he said, stepping closer. Bam sat down between the two of you, a perfect bridge, as Jungkook reached down to pet him absentmindedly before catching your gaze. “Happy birthday.” You smiled softly, feeling the weight of the words. This didn't feel like a rushed greeting squeezed between schedules. This time, it actually landed.
Jungkook had already ordered by the time you sat down. Of course he had. There was no "what do you want?" or lingering indecision; it was just done. “You always do that,” you muttered, kicking your shoes off and curling into the couch. He glanced over, seemingly oblivious. “Do what?” “Order before I even ask.” He shrugged, his tone casual but his eyes steady. “I don’t wanna waste time cooking. Not when you’re here.”
That shut you up immediately. It wasn't an attempt to be a "smooth" romantic; it was just how his brain worked. He was efficient and intentional with the limited time you actually had together. “Did you get a cake?” he asked after a second. You shook your head, leaning back with a sigh. “No. They scheduled my birthday live for tomorrow since today was so busy.” You dragged the word *busy* out like it was a personal insult.
He nodded, already understanding the exhaustion of the idol cycle. “But—” you held your arm out dramatically, “my members have been pinching me all day.” He looked down at the slight redness and the little marks on your skin, then tilted his head back and laughed. “Twenty-one times?” You nodded, pouting slightly. “It hurt.”
He smirked. “You’re dramatic.” “I’m not—” But before you could finish, he reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist and pulling your arm closer. You paused as he inspected the marks as if they actually mattered, his thumb brushing lightly over the skin. “…they did it hard,” he muttered. You blinked, surprised that he wasn't laughing it off. “See? I told you.”
Then, without a word, he pressed a soft kiss to one of the marks. You froze, then let out a startled laugh. “Okay—what are you doing?” He pulled back slightly. “What?” “That doesn’t fix it.” He shrugged. “It might.” You rolled your eyes, but you didn't pull your arm away. “…you’re so weird.” “I know.”
A small silence followed before he spoke again. “You should’ve told me earlier it was your birthday.” You blinked, confused. “…you knew.” “I mean like—earlier earlier,” he said, leaning back. “I would’ve planned something.” You shook your head. “You literally flew me to Jeju recently.” He countered immediately, “…that doesn’t count.” You stared at him, genuinely baffled. “How does that not count?” “That was just… us,” he said. You tilted your head. “…this isn’t?”
He paused, then a slight smile touched his lips. “…this is too.” There it was again—that quiet, certain way he had of saying things that made your heart skip. Before you could respond, the doorbell rang. “Food’s here,” he said. Of course it was. Perfect timing.
You watched him get up and move toward the door with an ease that felt like home. You just sat there for a second, looking around his space and letting the feeling of it settle over you. This version of your life didn’t exist anywhere else—not on stage, not in front of the cameras, and certainly not in the headlines. It was just here. With him.
You were half asleep at that point—not fully, just heavy and warm. You were curled into him like it was the most natural place to be, your head resting against his chest while one of his arms wrapped around you and the other lazily traced small, absent-minded patterns against your side. The TV was still playing some random movie in the background that neither of you were actually watching anymore. Empty takeout containers sat forgotten on the table, along with a half-melted drink and crumpled napkins—the kind of mess that only happened when you didn’t care about anything except staying right where you were.
Jungkook looked down at you, really looked, with a focus that wasn't quick or distracted. “You’re so pretty,” he muttered. You hummed softly in response, eyes still half-closed. You’d heard it all week, but it still landed. Then, after a small pause, he added, “But you need to touch up your roots.” Your eyes snapped open and you sat up instantly, your hand flying to your hair by instinct. “What??” He laughed immediately. “Why are you so obsessed with hair?” you muttered, inspecting yourself in a way that suggested you were personally offended.
He didn’t answer right away, just watched you with that same quiet focus. “Because it’s yours,” he said finally. You stilled, your hand stopping mid-motion as you turned your head slowly. “…what?” He shrugged slightly, like it was obvious. “I like it.” His hand came up again, gently catching a strand between his fingers. “I like it when it’s curly,” he said, twisting it slightly with careful lightness. “I like it when it’s straight… when it’s brown… when it’s black…” His eyes softened. “Especially when it’s whatever this color is…”
“Caramel blonde,” you corrected automatically. He smiled. “Yeah.” His hand moved again, brushing the hair away from your face. “This is your color.” You tilted your head slightly. “…is it?” He nodded, slow and certain. “Genuinely. It looks like it was made for you.” That one sat differently; it wasn't teasing or casual, it was intentional. You felt it in your chest before you even reacted. “…you’re so—” you started, then stopped. He leaned forward slightly. “What?” You shook your head. “…I don’t even know.”
He smiled, and then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in for a soft kiss on your nose. You scrunched your face slightly. “…stop.” He didn’t. Another kiss followed, this time on your lips—slower and more deliberate. Your hand came up instinctively, resting lightly against his chest, not pushing, just there. The kiss lingered and deepened just slightly, still unhurried. Then his lips moved down to the side of your mouth, your jaw, and then your neck. You inhaled softly, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter. He paused there for a second, close enough that you could feel his breath. “You know I’ve missed you, right?”
His voice was lower now, quieter. You nodded slightly. “…I know.” But your voice came out softer than you expected. Meeting him equally, your hand slid up from his chest to the back of his neck. “…I missed you more,” you murmured. He let out a quiet breath against your skin, almost a laugh. “Yeah?” You nodded. “…yeah.” His hand moved to your waist, pulling you just a little closer—not urgent or demanding, just wanting you there. And this time, you didn't hesitate. You leaned into him fully, letting yourself settle. It didn't feel uncertain anymore; it just felt like him.
The kiss grew heavier, slower, until the air between you felt thick and warm. Jungkook’s hand stayed firm on your waist, guiding you closer until you were straddling his lap on the couch. Your knees sank into the cushions on either side of his thighs as you settled over him, chest to chest.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were darker now, but still so patient, watching you with that quiet intensity he always had.
“I want you,” you whispered honestly, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your heart was beating fast, feelings right on the surface like always. “Right here.”
Jungkook’s hands slid up your thighs, squeezing gently. “Yeah?” His voice had dropped lower, a little rougher. “You wanna ride me on the couch?”
You nodded, biting your lip as heat rushed through you. “Mhm… I want to be on top. I want to feel you.”
He didn’t rush. He helped you both wiggle out of your clothes just enough — your shorts and panties pushed down and kicked aside, his sweats and boxers tugged low enough to free his cock. He was already hard, thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once, twice, eyes never leaving your face.
“Condom?” he asked quietly, always careful.
You shook your head quickly. “I’m on the pill… and I want to feel you raw tonight. Just us.”
Jungkook exhaled slowly, nodding. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs brushing your skin in soothing circles. “Go slow, baby. Take your time.”
You reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him. He was hot and solid in your hand. You rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, coating him with how wet you already were, before lining him up with your entrance.
Both of you breathed in sharply as you began to sink down.
The stretch was intense. You let out a soft, shaky moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as you took him inch by inch. Jungkook’s head tipped back slightly against the couch, jaw tight, but he kept his hands steady on your hips, supporting you without pushing.
“Fuck… you feel so good,” he murmured, voice low and strained. His eyes flicked up to yours, watching every reaction. “So tight… just like that. Nice and slow.”
You whimpered softly when you finally sat fully in his lap, him buried completely inside you. The fullness made your thighs tremble. You stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to his, breathing together.
“You okay?” he asked gently, one hand moving up to cup your cheek.
“Yeah…” you breathed, a small smile breaking through. “It feels really good. You’re so deep like this.”
You started moving then — slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding down on him in lazy circles. Every time you sank back down, a soft moan left your lips. Jungkook groaned quietly, his hands sliding under your shirt to grip your waist, helping guide your rhythm without taking control.
“That’s it,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched you ride him. “Use me, baby. Take what you need.”
Your pace gradually picked up. You braced your hands on his chest and started bouncing on his cock with more confidence, the wet sound of skin meeting skin mixing with your shared moans. Your caramel blonde hair fell around your face as you moved, and Jungkook couldn’t stop staring — at your face, at your body, at the way you looked on top of him.
You were expressive as always, letting everything spill out. “Jungkook… you feel so fucking good,” you gasped, rolling your hips harder. “I love riding you like this.”
He let out a deep, quiet groan, fingers digging into your hips. “Keep talking. I love hearing you.”
The pleasure built fast now. Every time you sank down, his cock hit that perfect spot inside you. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you chased the feeling. Jungkook’s breathing was getting ragged too, but he stayed focused on you — one hand moving between your bodies to rub slow circles on your clit with his thumb.
“Come on, baby,” he murmured, voice husky. “Ride me until you cum. I want to feel you falling apart on my cock.”
That pushed you right to the edge. Your movements became messier, hips stuttering as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter. You cried out his name, thighs shaking as your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clenched hard around him, pulsing rhythmically while pleasure flooded your whole body.
Jungkook groaned loudly, hands gripping your hips tighter as he thrust up into you a few times, chasing his own release. “Fuck— Yvez—”
With a deep, strained moan, he came hard, spilling inside you in hot pulses while you kept riding him through both your orgasms, slower and softer now until you both stilled.
You collapsed forward against his chest, both of you breathing hard, sweaty and satisfied. Jungkook wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you close as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder and neck.
“Shit… that was perfect,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse but warm. His hand stroked your back gently. “You’re perfect.”
You smiled tiredly, nuzzling into his neck, heart still racing from how good it felt to be this close to him.
Midnight came too fast—it always did with him. You were still wrapped up in him when you checked the time: 12:03 AM. Your body went still. “…I have to leave,” you whispered, your voice soft, whiny, and heavy with reluctance. Jungkook didn’t argue or try to convince you to stay; he just nodded. “…I know.” That almost made it worse. You sat up slowly, already missing his warmth, the space between you feeling louder than the silence. “Five more minutes,” you mumbled. He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. “You always say that.” “And you always let me,” you shot back. He smiled, and you leaned in again, resting your head against his shoulder.
Eventually, you stood up, adjusted your clothes, and checked your reflection. Back to normal. Back to being an idol. He walked you to the door, his hand brushing yours briefly—not holding, just there. “Text me when you get back,” he said. You nodded. “I will.” Then, a quick, soft kiss. “Goodnight,” you whispered. “Goodnight.” And just like that, you left. Back to your dorm, back to your schedule, back to being careful. You didn't know that everything was about to change.
Morning came violently. Your phone was buzzing nonstop, notifications stacking faster than you could read them—group chats, managers, members. Your stomach dropped before you even opened anything. You clicked the first link you saw: a YouTube video titled *“Can Jungkook and Yvez be any more obvious?”* It already had 1.3 million views. Your chest tightened instantly. At first, it looked like any other shipping video, but then it kept going.
The bracelet. The Tiffany store sighting. The timelines. Jungkook leaving a live early just thirty minutes before you posted from a dance room. Your live with Noa—the way you covered the screen, the way you laughed. Then came the zoomed images: a reflection, a corner of a couch, even a glimpse of Benni’s ear. Your breath caught. They had everything: you singing *Fake Love*, you mentioning Dobermans, the way he looked at you on that variety show, knowing you spoke French. And then—the tattoos. Zoomed screenshots of your finger and his neck.
Everything was connected. Your hands were shaking now. It didn't feel like a coincidence; it felt like evidence. You scrolled to the comments and felt the world splitting in two.
‘Mind u jungkook is pushing 30 I would hope he has a gf by now 😭😭’
‘I don’t blame him Yvez is bad af 😩.’
‘can we normalize privacy?’
‘Jungkook pls say ur joking..’
‘Yvez is literally a rookie this is so weird of her.’
‘She’s just using him we’ve BEEN saying that’
There it was. The shift. Your stomach dropped again because this wasn't just a rumor anymore—it was spreading. Fast. Suddenly, everything Jungkook had warned you about echoed back: They will throw you out like trash.
Your grip tightened around your phone. It didn't feel hypothetical anymore. It felt real.
Your phone buzzed again. His name appeared on the screen, a small anchor in the middle of a rising tide.
Jungkook: hey. calm down first
You stared at the screen, trying to force your lungs to cooperate. Telling yourself to breathe was one thing; actually doing it was another. Another message popped up immediately.
it’s all hearsay right now
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. Then, the four words that defined his entire survival strategy appeared:
Jungkook: deny, gaslight, move on
You let out a shaky breath. It was so him—practical, strategic, and detached enough to see the board clearly while you were still reeling from the impact. But your chest still felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. You grounded yourself as best you could, but the reality was simple: you needed him.
You typed back: it’s not just theories anymore.
A pause, then: they’re connecting everything.
The typing bubble was immediate.
Jungkook: they always do that it looks convincing but it’s still nothing concrete
You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight.
You: people are already mad.
A longer pause followed. Then:
look at the bigger picture
no confirmation = nothing
Before you could reply, your phone rang. It was your manager. You picked up on the first ring. "Have you seen it?" they asked. "Yes," you replied shortly. A heavy sigh came from the other end. "Okay—don’t panic." You wanted to tell them it was far too late for that. "We’ve already issued a statement."
Your heart dropped again. "What did they say?"
"It’s standard," they said, then began to read: "HELLO, THIS IS HYBE ENTERTAINMENT. OWNER OF FRONTLINE ENT. IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT RUMORS REGARDING OUR ARTISTS ARE BEING SPREAD ONLINE. WHILE WE DO NOT MEDDLE IN THE PERSONAL LIVES OF OUR ARTISTS, FALSE INFORMATION INTENDED TO DEFAME OR HARM THEIR CAREERS WILL BE MET WITH STRONG LEGAL ACTION."
Silence followed. Your stomach twisted into knots. "That’s it," your manager said. "We’re not confirming anything. We’re monitoring everything. Do not respond to anything personally. Lay low today."
The call ended, leaving you in a vacuum of silence. Then, your phone buzzed.
Jungkook: see? told you . deny gaslight move on
You let out a small breath and typed: what if it gets worse?
Jungkook: then we deal with it when it does
Of course. Always one step at a time. You looked at your reflection across the room—the hair he loved, the face the world recognized. Everything looked the same, but it felt entirely different. Your secret wasn't just yours anymore; it was public property, picked apart and speculated upon. And now, you had to go out there and pretend like none of it was real.
You didn’t overthink it. For once, you didn't sit there analyzing every possible outcome. You just opened Instagram, typed, and posted: “how do people even come up with this stuff 😂” Simple. Light. Dismissive. Very you. You stared at it for a second after it went up, thinking, okay, that’s done.
And then, it spread—fast. Screenshots, reposts, and fan accounts dissecting the tone. “YVEZ RESPONDED,” “SHE ADDRESSED IT,” “LOL SHE DOESN’T CARE 😭.” Within hours, your name was everywhere again. You made the mistake of opening Twitter, refreshing and scrolling like you were watching a storm from inside it. Some were defending you, noting you were both adults and that you’d basically denied it yourself. That grounded you—until it didn't.
“I think she should just leave SHE if she only became an idol to get close to her bias, it’s not fair to the other girls.” Your brows furrowed. “…what?” That one sat wrong—heavy. It wasn't just hate; it was a total rewrite of your identity. Then came the debates: “she’s going to ruin jungkook’s career” versus “jungkook is going to ruin HER career.” They were picking sides, deciding who you were without ever knowing you. Threads popped up about the double standards for female idols, and you stared at them because you knew they weren't wrong.
You locked your phone finally, sitting in the silence. The truth was that the passionate defenders and the loud detractors existed at the same time, occupying the same space. Your phone buzzed. Jungkook.
You stared at the message, then typed: yeah
A pause, then: just reading everything
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Jungkook: don’t do that too much
He didn't respond right away. Then:
Jungkook: they don’t know you
You swallowed hard. That mattered more than everything you had just read. You leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “They don’t know me…” you murmured quietly to yourself. In a world of loud opinions and manufactured narratives, that was the only thing keeping you steady.
The room felt colder than it actually was—not physically, but with the chilling reality of being reduced to numbers. Your manager didn't even sit; she stood across from you, tablet in hand, scrolling through sentiment analysis and engagement rates like your life was a graph she could recalibrate. “Yvez, we need you to pour your blood, your sweat, your tears… into the REPE4T era.” You blinked, confused. “…I already am.” She shook her head immediately. “No.” That one word was flat and final. “You’re in a dating controversy. Whether it’s your fault or not, you are the most unstable member right now.”
The word unstable made your stomach drop. You let out a small breath through your nose. “…that’s not fair.” But she didn't flinch. “This isn’t about fair. This is about perception.” She turned the screen toward you briefly—mentions, graphs, and a sentiment split down the middle. “Right now, you are a risk variable.” A risk. Your jaw tightened, the sting of her words hitting your Leo pride, but you steadied yourself. You chose to listen, even if it felt like being dissected under a microscope.
“We need you to be stronger,” she continued. “Better. Iconic.” You let out a quiet, almost humorless laugh. “…iconic?” She nodded as if it were as simple as flipping a switch. “We’re looking at numbers. We’re looking at reactions. Not your feelings.” Silence sat heavy in the room. You looked down at your hand, at the © 2005 on your finger. It was permanent. But so was this: your career, your image, your name. You looked back up, your eyes clearer and more focused. “…what do you want me to do?”
That made her pause. You weren't pushing back anymore; you were adapting. “I want you to lean in,” she said. “Perform like nothing is affecting you. Be brighter on camera. More engaging. More present. More… untouchable.” There it was. Untouchable. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled. “…okay.” She studied you for a second, ensuring the message landed. “This era will define you. Not just as an idol—but as an individual brand.” You didn't let the tightening in your chest show. “I get it.” She nodded once, satisfied, and left.
The door closed, leaving you in the quiet. You sat there, still, then slowly leaned forward with your hands covering your face for a second. You weren't falling apart; you were just feeling the sheer weight of it all. Then you dropped your hands and sat up straighter. She wasn't wrong. This was about perception. And if the world wanted you to be iconic? Fine. You’d be iconic.
Iconic was exactly what you gave them. Not 100%, not even 120%, but a full, blinding, exhausting 150%. On music shows, you weren’t just performing; you were commanding. Every move was sharper, every expression intentional, and every ending fairy was lethal. The camera didn’t just love you—it couldn't look away. Fancams went viral, dominating the algorithm as people wondered, "Who is this girl???" and noted that you were performing like you had something to prove. You did.
On variety shows, you were louder—not a fake loud, but a version of yourself that was turned up to the max. You interrupted at the right moments, threw out witty one-liners, and made the hosts laugh with you. Clips of your timing and expressions started circulating, with fans crowning you the "Variety Queen." You leaned into it hard. Your two-hour livestreams were unfiltered; you argued back playfully with comments, rolling your eyes and asking if they really thought you had time for the rumors. They loved it because it wasn't polished or perfect—it was real.
During interviews, you were sharp. When they tried to bait you with questions about your personal life, you simply smiled, answered around it, and regained control. "We just focus on our music and our fans," you’d say. It was clippable, safe, but still inherently you. Then came the U.S. tour. Jet lag didn't matter; you stepped into every room like you owned it—loud, funny, and charming. Your English flowed easily, and your French slipped in alongside Solene. Hosts and crowds were enamored, agreeing that you were made for global stages.
And yes—you touched up your roots. The caramel blonde was perfect again, shiny and full. Jungkook would’ve noticed, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on that. You were exhausted; your body, voice, and mind were screaming for a break, but you never showed it. Not once. Every time you stepped onto that stage, you remembered the mandate: *Be stronger. Be better. Be iconic.* So you were.
Your fans noticed the shift. The comments changed from questioning to defending. "Yvez proving that even if she’s dating (or not) she can still serve," one read. Another added, "And nobody better say ANYTHING about her."
That hit deep. They weren't doubting you anymore; they were protecting you. The narrative was shifting from scandal to respect, from a rumor to a powerhouse.
Backstage one day, with your makeup half-done and your outfit already styled, you scrolled through the reactions again. You weren't spiraling or panicking this time—you were just observing. You had done exactly what was asked of you. You turned pressure into performance and doubt into dominance. Now, the world was watching you for a different reason. Not because of who you might be dating, but because of exactly who you were.
“Congrats! You guys are going to headline Lollapalooza this September.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the kind of stillness that precedes a lightning strike. Then, it hit. Screams, jumping, hands grabbing shoulders—the bright, uncontrollable laughter of realization. This wasn’t just a win; this was global. "Headlining??" Solene repeated, needing the word to be real. Your manager nodded, a rare smile breaking her professional mask. "Yes. Headlining."
The word echoed in your mind as you looked at your members. In that second, every ounce of exhaustion, every hour under the scrutiny of the public eye, felt justified. But just as quickly as the high hit, you were back in the sprinter van. The silence turned different—quiet, reflective, the way things feel before they’ve fully settled.
Jiha broke it first, her eyes direct and steady. “Yvez… I just wanted to say I’m proud of you… for keeping your calm. Keeping your head on.” Your expression softened instantly. “Thanks, Jiji.” Solene added a smile from across the van, calling you magnetic. Compliments from them always landed differently; they were the only ones who knew exactly what the "calm" actually cost you.
Then, Minaru threw a grenade into the quiet. “What are we gonna do when Noa gets caught?”
The energy in the van shifted instantly. Noa froze. Minaru, with a knowing smile, continued, “Noa is dating… I think his name’s Maki?”
The explosion was immediate. Solene practically jumped out of her seat, and Jiha let out a long, pained groan. “Oh my god—not another one.” You stared at Noa, wide-eyed. “…you??” Noa looked caught, stammering about how she was going to tell you eventually. “When?? After Dispatch posts it??” Solene snapped. Minaru, ever the observer, pointed out they’d been seeing each other for a month.
You laughed despite the chaos. It was insane. “Wait—wait—wait,” you leaned forward. “You’re actually dating him??” Noa covered her face and admitted it. The van erupted again with warnings of death and destruction. Jiha rubbed her temples, pointing out the existing controversy, but Noa peeked through her fingers and whispered, “…you survived.”
You froze for a second. “…barely.”
The laughter died down into a pause. You leaned back and asked the only question that truly mattered: “…do you like him?”
The van went quiet. Noa looked at you and nodded. “…yeah.” Simple. Honest. You glanced at the others, seeing Jiha’s weary exhale and Solene’s begrudging acceptance. You knew what you had to do—support her, lead the energy, but keep it grounded in reality.
“…okay,” you said finally. Everyone looked to you, the one who had just walked through the fire. “Then just be careful.” Noa nodded quickly, promising she was. You raised a brow. “…be *more* careful.”
“I’m getting a headache,” Jiha sighed, while Solene joked about being a walking scandal. Minaru just noted that statistically, it was bound to happen. You laughed. Somehow, in the middle of the global headlines and the mounting pressure, this felt normal. Messy, complicated, and real. For a moment, the weight of being "iconic" faded, replaced by the simple reality of five girls in a van, sharing secrets and trying to survive it all together.
You didn’t realize it at first. Not until you were staring at your schedule—dates stacked on top of each other, flights, rehearsals, press—and then it clicked. The week of Lollapalooza. Your eyes moved down slowly to the date of his birthday. Your chest tightened instantly. “…no.” You checked again, hoping the dates would shift if you stared long enough, but they didn’t. It hit you all at once: you weren’t going to be there. Different country, different time zone, different world entirely. Your heart didn't just drop; it ached in that quiet, heavy way you couldn’t even explain. Because it wasn’t just a birthday—it was the chance to be there, to show up, to be something normal. And you couldn’t do it.
So you told him. You found him late in one of the HYBE studios, headphones around his neck and lyrics still glowing on the screen. He turned when you walked in, his expression softening immediately. “Hey,” he smiled. You didn’t smile back right away. “…can I tell you something?” He nodded. You hesitated for a second before the words came out: “…I won’t be here for your birthday.”
Silence followed. Not long, but long enough. His expression didn’t fall or crack; he just nodded once. “…it’s fine. I understand more than anybody.” He smiled, and that smile was soft and gentle, but you could see it—the slight shift in his eyes, the way his shoulders dropped just a little. He was upset; he just wasn't going to say it. “I have my members to celebrate with,” he added casually, filling the space to make it easier for you.
He stepped closer, his fingers finding your hair and twisting a strand absentmindedly. “You—” He paused, then smiled again. “Go be a superstar.” Your chest tightened because that wasn’t a joke. That was him letting you go, even if it was just for a week. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead—always your forehead. Safe, gentle, familiar. You closed your eyes for a second, feeling the weight of the moment.
He pulled back slightly, still close. “You fixed your roots…” he grinned, his fingers smoothing your hair down like he always did. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “…I did.” He nodded as if that mattered, as if it were something he could hold onto. For a second, you both just stood there with too many things unsaid. Neither of you was going to say "I wish you were here" or "This sucks" or "I don't want this to become normal."
Instead, you whispered, “…I’ll call you.” He nodded. “Yeah.” A pause. “Don’t stay up too late,” he added. You almost laughed. “I’ll try.” But you both knew you wouldn’t. You’d be on stage, under the lights, in front of thousands, while he’d be somewhere else, celebrating without you. And that was the part that hurt. Not loudly, not dramatically, but quietly—like something small starting to slip.
The meeting room felt airless, a vacuum where the only oxygen was the cold, blue light of data. It wasn't the size of the room or the number of people; it was the sheer weight of the graphs projected on the wall. Everything was a metric. Everything was a target.
“—it’s time for you guys to start working on your first full album.”
Your manager’s voice was bright, vibrating with the kind of corporate excitement that only comes from seeing a guaranteed return on investment. "You have great momentum right now," she said. Momentum. You stared at the screen as the analysis department predicted 1.7 million preorders—putting you right behind Aespa, crowning you the definitive leaders of the 5th generation.
You didn't react. You had heard the symphony of numbers before, just in different keys. Your eyes tracked the climb: 650K... 1.3M... 2.1M... 2.4M. A total of nearly seven million units moved since you debuted. The room hummed with pride, but you felt a strange, hollow stillness.
Streaming slides followed: 118 million Spotify streams, #3 Global peaks, fastest 200M. You read the stats as if they belonged to someone else. They weren't you. They were what you produced. And as the manager flipped to the comparison slide—showing your bars just beneath Blackpink and Aespa—the subtext was clear.
“Of course,” she smiled, “the goal is to surpass that.”
Because it’s never just enough. It’s always more. As she spoke about "maximizing global profit potential," you leaned back, your fingers tapping a rhythmic, restless beat against the table. The word profit felt like a stone in your shoe. In this room, there was no talk of the art, the message, or the soul of the album. There was only the machine.
You thought of Jeju. The quiet. Jungkook’s voice saying, "Go be a superstar."
Your chest tightened. Because here, in the heart of the engine, that’s all you were. You weren't Yvessirae. You weren't even Yvez. You were a projection. A result.
The silence was absolute. What could you possibly ask? How do I stop feeling like a line on a spreadsheet? You glanced at your members—Jiha’s focus, Solene’s contemplation, Noa’s nerves, Minaru’s analysis. You were all being processed.
You nodded once, a sharp, professional gesture.
Because that’s the job. You get it, you deliver, and you perform. You would give them the 1.7 million. You would give them the global #1. Even if, with every milestone, you felt yourself becoming something slightly less human.
The airport felt like a blur at 2 AM. It was too early and too late all at once. Everything was quiet in that unnatural way—fluorescent lights, rolling suitcases, and staff moving like ghosts through empty space. You were exhausted, physically, of course, but more than that, you were emotionally stretched thin. You kept checking your phone even though you knew he wasn’t going to answer. He was probably asleep, or just finished working, or somewhere in between. There wasn’t time to go see him; no last-minute visit, no “just five minutes.” Nothing. And that sat heavier than you expected.
So instead, you sat down at the gate, pulled your phone out, and typed. It wasn’t a short message or something easy; it was a long one. If you couldn’t be there, you needed him to feel like you were. Your thumbs hovered for a second, then moved: hi… you’re probably asleep right now but i just wanted to say happy birthday in advance. i’m really sorry i won’t be there this year. i hate that i won’t be there actually. i wanted to do something for you… like properly. not just send something or call for a few minutes. but i know you understand… you always do. i hope you still have a really good day though, with your members, with people who care about you. and i hope you know i care too… a lot. i love you. and i’ll call you as soon as i can. please eat something good and don’t stay up too late (even though you probably will). happy birthday kookie ♡
You stared at it after you sent it. The message bubble sat there, delivered, but with no response. Of course not. You locked your phone slowly. Boarding was called, and you stood up, picked up your bag, and walked forward with your members like everything was normal. But something about this felt different. For the first time, you didn’t just miss him; you missed a moment. And somehow, that hurt more.
The hotel didn’t feel like a place anymore; it felt like a station. In, out, change, move. You were running on coffee and muscle memory at this point, caught in the endless cycle of hair chair to makeup, styling to fitting, and back again. “Do you like this one? Or this one?” your stylist asked, holding up two belts—one black, one gold. You barely blinked before answering, “Probably the gold one?” She smiled immediately, telling you that you were right. Of course you were; you always were in these moments. You didn’t even look up when she clipped it around your waist, merely adjusting your stance to let it happen. “Yvez, turn—arm—” You followed the commands on autopilot until a sudden burst of energy entered the room.
“I LOVE these outfits!” Solene practically floated in, wearing a black, military-inspired look that had been elevated to high fashion. Her halter crop top hugged her perfectly, structured with polished gold buttons that caught the light every time she moved. Low-rise shorts sat sharp on her hips, lined with brass hardware that made every step feel intentional. Her cap was tilted just enough, the white stripes flashing under the lights, while her boots were heavy, clunky, and dripping in rhinestones. She spun once, her hair catching the light. You smiled faintly, telling her she looked insane. When she asked if that was in a good way, you gave her a look—when did she ever look bad? She just grinned.
Across the room, Jiha stood composed and still. Her Prada look leaned cleaner and more structured: a sharply tailored cropped jacket in matte black over a fitted bralette with subtle geometric stitching. Her skirt was high-waisted, crafted from Saffiano-textured leather with structured panels that moved like armor. Her knee-high boots were sleek, devoid of sparkle or excess—just pure power. She adjusted her sleeve slightly, watching everything. “Try not to wrinkle that,” she muttered toward Solene, who only scoffed in response.
Minaru remained seated, observing herself in the mirror like she was analyzing data. Her look was a quieter, sharper, deconstructed Prada set. She wore an asymmetrical blazer with one structured shoulder and one dropped, layered over a silk corset top with barely-there straps. Her low-rise, wide-leg pants were tailored just enough to keep the look intentional. With her glasses resting low on her nose and her hair pulled back, she looked controlled. “…we look expensive,” she noted briefly. Meanwhile, Noa was a blur of movement in a Louis Vuitton silhouette that looked effortless. She wore a cropped, oversized monogram jacket over a fitted tank and a layered mini skirt of leather, canvas, and gold hardware. Her chunky, mid-calf boots had a worn-in aesthetic that still screamed luxury. She bounced on her heels, breathless at the sight of everyone together.
You finally looked down at yourself. You were wearing a tactical mesh bodysuit that hugged every line, appearing sharp and intentional. Distressed micro-shorts sat low on your hips, their raw edges providing a worn contrast to the heavy, chained gold belt now locked into place. A utility garter was wrapped firmly around your thigh. It was survivalist-glam—dangerous and luxury all at once. For a second, you saw yourself: not the girl in the airport or the one sending long messages at 2 AM, but this—sharp and untouchable. “Okay—final checks!” your stylist called out. Everyone moved, the energy shifting again. You picked up your phone for a second, but the screen was still empty. No reply yet. You locked it and slipped it into your bag. You had a stage to step onto.
The bass hit first, a deep vibration that thrummed through your chest before you even stepped out from the wings. “Are you nervous? That crowd is huge!” Solene whispered, leaning close with eyes that were wide and sparkling. “No—not at all,” you replied, saying it like it was nothing, even though your heart was already racing. It wasn't fear, though; it was pure adrenaline. Beside you, Noa was already bouncing, her voice barely audible over the dull roar from the other side of the curtain. “I CAN HEAR THEM—” she shouted. You could too. The crowd was a massive, endless sea of people stretching farther than the eye could see, their voices rising in a rhythmic, deafening chant: “SHE! SHE! SHE! SHE!” Your own name, YVEZ, was woven into the noise, and the sound hit differently than it ever had before.
Then, the intro started, and everything snapped into place. Your body straightened and your expression shifted as the autopilot kicked in—but this time, it wasn't empty. It was power. As you stepped out, the crowd exploded. The lights hit and the band kicked in, the live instruments sounding louder, richer, and heavier than any recording. You didn’t ease into the opening of Hotline; you owned it. Every step was sharper, every lyric thrown straight into the crowd, and they screamed them back, singing word for word. Through your in-ears, their voices were a tidal wave, louder even than the music itself.
The transition was seamless as ATTENTION hit next. The choreography snapped in, your body moving before you even had to think. Glancing out at the thousands of phones held high—lights flickering like stars—you felt it again. It wasn't the pressure or the online noise; it was just this—the reason you had started. When the energy spiked for LUV4U, the crowd began jumping in unison with the group. Noa was screaming into her mic, Solene was owning the center, Jiha remained precise as ever, and Minaru was a vision of controlled sharpness. You were everywhere, running across the stage and pulling the audience in. “LOLLAPALOOZA MAKE SOME NOISE!” you yelled, and God, they did.
Then came the shift. The lights dropped into a heavy, visceral red as the intro for REPE4T began. The crowd roared; they knew what was coming. You stepped forward into the center as the beat dropped, and everything hit harder. Your movements were more aggressive, your expression sharp and untouchable. The lyrics felt heavier now, as if you were saying much more than what was written on the page. In that moment, you weren't tired or overwhelmed. You weren't thinking about schedules, headlines, or the empty screen of your phone. You were fully, vibrantly alive. Standing at the edge of the stage with your name echoing back at you, everything finally made sense. This was what all of it was for.
It didn’t stop when you walked off stage. That was the scary part. Usually, a performance ends, the adrenaline drops, and the moment fades. This one didn’t. It followed you.
Backstage, your phone was already blowing up. Staff were rushing around and managers were talking over each other. “Yvez—your fancam—” “Wait no—the whole set—” “TikTok is going insane right now—” You barely had time to sit before someone shoved a phone in your face. Millions had seen it already. There were clips of you at that exact moment at the edge of the stage, your hair whipping with the lights and your expression sharp, locked in, and unreachable. The comments were flooding in faster than you could read: “WHO IS SHE???” “THIS IS INSANE” “THE CROWD?????” “they’re not performing they’re POSSESSED” “They just became global stars in one night.”
You blinked because it didn’t feel like one night. It felt like everything was finally landing at once. By the time you got back to the hotel, it was worse—or better, you couldn’t tell anymore. There were actual news articles: “Rising K-pop group SHE stuns Lollapalooza crowd,” “SHE dominates global stage with viral performance,” “From rookie to phenomenon: SHE’s explosive live presence.” Your name was everywhere.
On TikTok, the algorithm had decided. Your clips were inescapable: the REPE4T chorus, the hair flip, the stare into the camera. People were already recreating it and the sound was trending with hashtags like #SHEEFFECT and #LollaTakeover. You scrolled slower this time, not panicking or spiraling, just watching. This wasn’t controversy; this was admiration. Addiction. They couldn’t get enough of you.
For a second, you understood why people got lost in this and why they chased it. Because the crowd, that reaction, and that feeling stayed in your chest like it didn’t want to leave. Even now, sitting alone in a hotel room, you could still hear them. Your name was echoing, and it was addictive—dangerously addictive. Your phone buzzed again. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him, but you picked it up anyway. No matter how loud the world got, there was still one person you wanted to hear from the most.
“HELLO— we did AMAZING out there!” Noa practically yelled, still riding the high, pacing the room like she couldn’t sit still. Solene laughed, breathless, noting that people were going insane on everything from TikTok to Twitter. Jiha was already on her phone, scrolling fast, realizing you were trending in five countries—though Minaru quietly corrected her, stating it was actually seven.
You barely processed any of it because your phone buzzed, and something in your chest already knew. You opened Instagram to find Jungkook’s story: a simple black screen with the text “SHE!!!! 🔥🔥🔥”. Your breath caught, and for a second, you just stared as the air literally left your lungs. “…oh my god,” you whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.
Noa turned immediately, asking what was wrong, but you didn’t answer. Your brain was moving too fast. You wondered if he had really just done that, right now, with everything going on—the rumors, the speculation, the scrutiny. Your stomach twisted slightly because it was reckless. It could connect dots, fuel the fire, and make things worse.
That annoyed you, just a little. It bothered you that he could be so calm and unaffected, as if none of it scared him, and as if he didn't have to think ten steps ahead the way you did now. Your jaw tightened slightly, and you muttered, “…he’s crazy,” under your breath.
But then, something else crept in. He had still posted it—not subtle, not hidden, but loud, public, and proud. There was no hesitation. That feeling spread through your chest slowly, warm and steady. Because out of all the noise, the opinions, and the pressure, he saw you. He didn't see the controversy or the headlines; he just saw you on that stage, and he couldn't help but say something.
You swallowed, eyes still on the screen, your lips pressed together as you tried not to smile too hard. It was reckless, but it was also him. And for a second, that quiet ache from earlier softened, just a little. “Yvez— what happened?” Solene leaned closer, and you turned your phone slightly so they could see.
The reaction was immediate. “…oh,” Noa blinked, followed by a louder, “…OH.” Jiha sighed, muttering "Oh my god," while Minaru just smiled faintly and called it "Bold." You locked your phone, your heart still beating a little faster. Things were complicated, messy, and risky—but they were also real.
“—you guys were so good out there.”
The voice cut through everything. Not loud, not dramatic, but hauntingly familiar. You turned and froze. Jennie. Like—Jennie. Red rhinestones caught the light with every tiny movement of her frame. Her hair was sleek and her makeup was flawless in that effortless way that wasn't effortless at all. And yeah, she smelled like Chanel No. 5.
You blinked once, then twice. “I’ve been wanting to meet you guys for so long—we just never had a chance to,” she said so casually, like this wasn’t completely insane. “JENNIE?!” Solene yelled at full volume. “Yes?!” Jennie shot back instantly, matching her energy perfectly, and then they both burst out laughing.
The room shifted immediately. Solene ran to her like she’d known her forever, and Jennie didn't hesitate, pulling her into a hug like it was the most natural thing in the world. You could hear Noa whisper behind you that this was crazy, while Minaru quietly noted it was statistically expected. Jiha was already moving. “We have to take a picture.” Of course she was. She pulled out her phone, stepping forward like a professional.
Jennie smiled instantly—not forced or staged, just warm. They gathered: Solene still buzzing, Noa trying to act normal and failing, Jiha positioning everyone perfectly, and Minaru stepping in just slightly off-center. You stepped in too. For a second, it felt surreal. Flash. Captured. That moment was already iconic.
You hadn’t even noticed someone recording until Solene gasped that someone was filming. Jennie laughed softly. “Let them.” Of course she said that. Because she knew this would go everywhere. Then she turned back to you all, still smiling. “I need your guys’ numbers! We need to hang out,” she added, like it was obvious. Solene nearly lost it again, screaming yes, while Jiha was already typing, professional and efficient. Noa leaned closer to you and whispered that you had just made it.
You huffed out a small laugh because it kind of felt like that. Not because of the charts or the numbers, but because of this. Being seen. Jennie glanced at you specifically this time. “You were insane out there,” she said, her voice direct and aimed only at you, not the group. Your breath hitched slightly. “…thank you,” you said, and for once, you meant it without overthinking. She tilted her head slightly, smiling. “I’m serious. You have something.”
That sat in your chest, different from everything else you’d heard today. Because she knew. She’d been there—still was—and she saw it in you. You nodded slowly. “…I’ll text you,” Jiha said, already finishing up the contact exchange. Jennie laughed lightly. “I’ll actually respond, I promise.” “Better,” Minaru added quietly, making Jennie smirk.
Then, she stepped back. “Seriously—congrats. You guys are killing it.” And just like that, she was gone. The room stayed quiet for a second before Solene screamed, “HELLO???? I JUST HUGGED JENNIE???” Noa screamed too, while Jiha laughed and Minaru shook her head. You stood there, still processing, because everything was moving so fast now. Stages, virality, recognition, and now peers—the kind that meant something.
You glanced down at your phone for a second. It was still there: his story. Then you looked back up. The world felt bigger than it did yesterday, and somehow, you were right in the center of it.
