#architecture student reader

[jiminscoquette]

SIGNAL LOST - JEON JUNGKOOK !IDOL AU MAIN MASTER LIST

SUMMARY- so basically... you (an architecture student who just wanted an energy drink) accidentally swaps notebooks with a hooded stranger at a convenience store at 2am. turns out the guy is a global icon and he is deadass terrified of a security breach. now you’re stuck texting on an encrypted app while he’s on his 2019 world tour. he’s cold, he’s clinical, and he treats you like a literal criminal.

GENRE- jjk x reader (fem), text and written, slow burn (and i mean SLOW. he literally doesn’t like her for a long time lol.), strangers to something?, idol au/2019 era-to now.), heavy angst, architecture student reader.

WARNINGS- strong language/ cursing (jk has a mouth on him😭), heavy making out, 2am tension, and jungkook being a literal menace.

RATING- 16+

A/N - so, this is officially my first book/fic ever, so please be nice to me lol. if the pacing is weird or i leave a typo, just know i’m trying my best out here. it’s definitely not gonna be perfect, but this jk angst was literally rotting my brain and i had to get it out. honestly I’ve had the beginning of this story written atleast since summer 2025 but was always scared of posting it and i’m still figuring out my style, so i’m basically learning as i go! anyway, i hope you guys actually like it. let me know what u think in the comments! <3

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CHAPTER 1 - THE 2AM TRADE

CHAPTER 2 - STALKER?

CHAPTER 3 - YOU AWAKE?

CHAPTER 4 - 14 DAYS

CHAPTER 5 - PARAMETERS

[jiminscoquette]

SIGNAL LOST - JEON JUNGKOOK !IDOL AU

Chapter 2: Stalker?

SUMMARY- so basically... you (an architecture student who just wanted an energy drink) accidentally swaps notebooks with a hooded stranger at a convenience store at 2am. turns out the guy is a global icon and he is deadass terrified of a security breach. now you’re stuck texting on an encrypted app while he’s on his 2019 world tour. he’s cold, he’s clinical, and he treats you like a literal criminal.

GENRE- jjk x reader (fem), text and written, slow burn (and i mean SLOW. he literally doesn’t like her for a long time lol.), strangers to something?, idol au/2019 era-to now.), heavy angst, architecture student reader.

WARNINGS- strong language/ cursing (jk has a mouth on him😭), heavy making out, 2am tension, and jungkook being a literal menace.

RATING- 16+

A/N - so they finally talked again and mr. bucket hat is acting creepy but honestly if i got my journal stolen i would be like this too.. i get both sides🫩 i am also setting a goal for this chapter it’ll be 15 likes, and make sure to let me know if you liked this chapter in the comments!! 💓

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧

The architecture studio at 11:30 PM feels like the inside of a tired brain. It’s a hazy landscape of flickering fluorescent lights, the sharp scent of spray adhesive, and the low, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of someone’s lo-fi playlist echoing from the other side of the hall.

You’re hunched over your drafting table, but you aren't looking at a screen. You’re staring at a brand-new, painfully empty sketchbook. The paper is too white, too clean, and it feels like a mockery of the hundred pages of work you lost. You’ve spent the last six hours trying to redraw the site analysis for your library project, but your hand is cramping and the lines look like chicken scratch compared to the originals.

"If you press that pencil any harder, you’re going to carve a hole straight through the table," a voice says from behind you.

You jump, your charcoal pencil snapping with a sharp crack. You spin around to find Minho leaning against your desk. He’s a civil engineering major, and as your best friend, he’s made it his mission to ensure you don't actually die before graduation. He’s holding two cans of redbull and wearing that "I’m about to lecture you" look.

"Minho, look what you did," you hiss, gesturing at the snapped lead. "I’m in the middle of a nightmare."

"You've been in a nightmare for ten days," he counters, sliding a rolling stool over. He looks at the stack of heavy manuals in the corner of your desk—the ones you’ve strategically placed to hide the stranger's black notebook. "Any update on the mystery man? Or has Sora convinced you he’s a secret prince again?"

"Sora thinks everyone is a secret prince," you mutter, taking the coffee and pressing the cold metal against your throbbing temple. "And no. No word. I’ve gone back to that 7-Eleven every night like a loser. Nothing. He’s gone, and he has the only physical copy of my South Elevation. I’m going to fail, Minho. I’m literally going to fail because of a tuna sandwich."

Minho’s expression shifts. He reaches out, his hand resting on the stack of books hiding the notebook. You instinctively lean forward, blocking his view.

"I don't like it, Y/N," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "The way you described that guy... the mask, the paranoia. It’s not normal. Promise me, if he shows up, you call me? I don't care if it's 3 AM. I’m not letting you deal with some paranoid freak alone."

"I promise," you lie, feeling a fresh wave of annoyance. You’re annoyed at the stranger for taking your work, annoyed at yourself for reading his lyrics, and now annoyed at Minho for being so logically, reasonably protective.

---------------------------------------------—————

After Minho finally leaves to go finish his own lab report, you decide to pack it in. Your brain is mush. You head down to the basement where the student lockers are—rows of dented metal cages.

When you reach yours, you stop.

Tucked into the wire mesh of your locker door is a plain, white manila envelope.

Your heart does a sickening drop. Your locker is labeled with a small piece of masking tape: Y/N - Year 3. You rip the envelope out and scramble back to your desk. You dump the contents onto the table and gasp.

It’s your original sketchbook pages. He didn't just return them; he’d carefully sliced them out of your old book with a precision that only an artist or a surgeon would have. They’re perfectly preserved. He even used a professional silver paperclip to hold them in order.

He was here. In your building. At your locker.

You scramble through the pages, looking for a sign of how. You find a small, square scrap of paper tucked into your drawings. The handwriting is that same aggressive, jagged black ink.

1. Stop drinking that 7-Eleven coffee. It tastes like battery acid. 2. Your South Elevation is 2mm off on the left margin. It’s been bothering me for three days. Fix it. 3. Don't read my book again. I'm serious.

Below the list is a hand-drawn QR code and a string of characters.

App: "GhostGram" (Encrypted)

ID: J0901_X

Pass: [The word you saw on page 14]

-------------------------------------------------------

You’re sitting on your bed, the black Moleskine open to page 14. You know the word. EUPHORIA. You download the app—a pitch-black icon that looks more like a glitch than a program. You type in the ID and the password. Your fingers are flying, fueled by pure, caffeinated irritation.

[ GHOSTGRAM: ENCRYPTED SESSION START ]

y/n: how did u find my locker?

y/n: that is beyond "weird." that’s actually stalkerish. i don't care how "private" u are, u don't just go through my school supplies.

J0901_X: i’m not a stalker.

J0901_X: you left a receipt from the university bookstore in your sketchbook. it had your student ID number on it. it took thirty seconds on the department website to find your studio locker number.

J0901_X: you're the one who is sloppy with your privacy. not me.

y/n: i'm a student! i'm allowed to have a receipt in my own book!

y/n: and for ur information, that margin was a stylistic choice. u don't get to critique my work after u basically stole it.

J0901_X: it wasn't a choice. it was a measurement error.

J0901_X: and i didn't steal it. we swapped. i’ve been stuck with your messy doodles of staircases while you’ve been reading my personal thoughts. i think i got the short end of the stick.

y/n: my doodles are NOT messy.

y/n: why the encrypted app? If u want ur book back, tell me where to meet. I’m tired of this "mysterious" act. it's annoying.

J0901_X: because i can't meet you safely.

J0901_X: and i told you.don't read it. if you’ve already looked at the lyrics, you know why i don't use regular apps.

y/n: i only read enough to find ur stupid password.

y/n: and btw ur still a jerk.

J0901_X: liar.

J0901_X: you’re an architect. you're trained to look at the details. you read every page.

J0901_X: keep the book safe. don't show it to your friend. i saw him tonight. he looks like the type to ask too many questions.

y/n: u saw minho? how? were you watching us..?

J0901_X: i see a lot of things.

J0901_X: i’ll tell you when and where for the trade. until then, fix the margin. it’s embarrassing to look at.

[ J0901_X HAS LEFT THE SESSION. ]

-------------------------------------------------

You stare at the screen, your face hot with a mix of anger and something else you can't quite name. He’s arrogant, he’s condescending, and he’s apparently been watching you from the shadows.

You look at your original sketches—the ones he returned. You look at the 2mm margin he mentioned.

He was right. It was off.

You growl in frustration, tossing your phone onto the bed. The slow burn is no longer a choice. It’s a war. And you’re starting to realize that "finding the quiet" with this guy is going to be the loudest thing you’ve ever done.

[jiminscoquette]

SIGNAL LOST - JEON JUNGKOOK !IDOL AU

Chapter 1: The 2 AM Trade

SUMMARY- so basically... you (an architecture student who just wanted an energy drink) accidentally swaps notebooks with a hooded stranger at a convenience store at 2am. turns out the guy is a global icon and he is deadass terrified of a security breach. now you’re stuck texting on an encrypted app while he’s on his 2019 world tour. he’s cold, he’s clinical, and he treats you like a literal criminal.

GENRE- jungkook x reader (fem), text and written, slow burn (and i mean SLOW. he literally doesn’t like her for a long time lol.), strangers to something?, idol au/2019 era-to now.), heavy angst, architecture student reader.

WARNINGS- strong language/ cursing (jk has a mouth on him😭), heavy making out, 2am tension, and jungkook being a literal menace.

RATING- 16+

A/N - first chapter im scared i hope you guys like this is just the beginning way more to come!

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The hum of the 7-Eleven is the only thing keeping you from falling asleep standing up.

It’s 2:14 AM. You’ve been in the architecture studio for sixteen hours straight, and your brain feels like it’s been put through a paper shredder. Your fingertips are stained with black drafting ink, and your favorite oversized hoodie smells faintly of spray adhesive and too many cups of cheap coffee.

You’re standing in the refrigerated aisle, staring at the last tuna-mayo onigiri like it’s a holy relic. You just need to eat this, go back, finish your site analysis, and pray you don't fail mid-terms.

You reach for the plastic-wrapped triangle at the exact same time a hand—pale, with long fingers and a heavy silver ring—snatches it.

You don't even process it for a second. You just blink at the empty shelf. Then, the irritation hits you, sharp and hot. "Hey. I was literally reaching for that."

The guy doesn't even look at you. He’s a wall of black fabric: a massive puffer jacket, a bucket hat pulled so low you can’t see his forehead, and a black mask covering everything else. He looks like he’s trying to disappear into the floorboards.

"First come, first serve" he mumbles. His voice is deep, muffled by the mask, and sounds like he’s just as exhausted as you are—but with an added layer of pure, jagged tension.

"I’ve been standing here for three minutes," you snap, your voice raspy. "I have a deadline in five hours and I haven't eaten since yesterday. Give me the rice, bucket hat."

He finally tilts his head up. You can only see his eyes—dark, sharp, and rimmed with red. He looks at you, then at the sandwich, then back at you. He lets out a short, sharp huff of a breath.

"Whatever. Take it. You look like you’re about to pass out anyway."

He practically drops the sandwich back onto the shelf and grabs a random pack of spicy ramen instead. He moves fast, his shoulders hunched, and heads for the counter. You grab your rice and your black Moleskine notebook—the one you’d set on the shelf to free up your hands—and follow him.

He’s already at the register, frantically tapping his phone on the card reader. He has an identical black notebook sitting on the counter. Same size. Same beat-up corners. The cashier is moving like a sloth, and you can see Bucket Hat's foot tapping a frantic rhythm on the linoleum.

The second his payment beeps, he swipes a notebook off the counter, shoves his stuff into a plastic bag, and bolts out the door before the receipt even finishes printing.

"Rude," you mutter to the empty air. You pay for your stuff, grab the notebook left on the counter, and head back out into the humid Seoul night.

--------------------------------------------------------

The architecture building is a ghost town. You’re the only one left on your floor, surrounded by half-finished balsa wood models and scraps of vellum. You collapse into your desk chair, crack open the rice ball, and reach for your notebook. You need to check the dimensions for the staircase layout you drew earlier.

You flip the notebook open.

Your heart skips a beat.

This isn't your staircase. It’s not a floor plan. It’s not even your handwriting.

The first page is covered in frantic, messy lyrics. Some lines are written in tiny, neat print, while others are scrawled so hard the pen nearly tore through the paper. Half of it is crossed out with aggressive, dark ink.

The lights are too bright. Stop looking at me. Stop asking. I’m 22 but I feel like I’ve lived a hundred years. Everything is loud. Everything is loud. Everything is loud.

You stare at it, a piece of rice halfway to your mouth. You flip to the next page. It’s a sketch—not a technical drawing, but a charcoal study of a rain-streaked window. It’s beautiful, but it feels heavy. Like someone was screaming while they drew it.

"Oh no," you whisper.

You scramble to check the front cover. On your notebook, you’d written Y/N - ARCHITECTURE - [xxx-xxx-xxx] in bold, clear letters.

This book is blank on the inside. No name. No ID. Just a small, hand-drawn "JK" on the very last page, tucked into the corner like a secret.

You feel a wave of pure panic. If you have his... he has yours. He has your entire mid-term project. He has your site analysis, your sketches, and your professor’s feedback notes.

"I’m dead," you groan, burying your face in your hands. "I’m actually dead."

You look at the lyrics again. They feel private. Too private. Like you’re reading someone’s pulse. You should probably go back to the 7-Eleven, but your legs feel like lead and you have a deadline that’s ticking closer every second.

You spend the rest of the night trying to recreate your sketches from memory, but your eyes keep drifting back to the black notebook sitting on the edge of your desk. You wonder who "JK" is. You wonder why he sounded so scared in his writing.

And mostly, you wonder if you’ll ever see your floor plans again.

————————————————————————

One Week Later

It’s been seven days.

You’ve gone back to that 7-Eleven every single night at exactly 2:15 AM. You’ve sat in the same aisle, bought the same tuna mayo kimbap, and waited. But the guy in the bucket hat never showed up.

You’re sitting in your apartment now, the "JK" notebook sitting on your coffee table like a ticking time bomb. Your roommate, Sora, is currently painting her nails on the rug, while your best friend, Minho, is face-down on your sofa, mourning his failed structural engineering quiz.

"You’re staring at it again," Sora says without looking up. "The Mystery Man’s Diary."

"It’s not a diary," you say, though it definitely is. "It’s his work. I feel bad. I have his lyrics and he has my blueprints."

"Maybe he’s a secret idol," Minho mumbles into a cushion. "Or a serial killer. Those are the only two types of people who wear bucket hats and masks at 2 AM."

"He didn't seem like a killer," you argue, thinking back to the way his hand shook slightly when he paid. "He just seemed... tired. Like, 'I haven't seen the sun in three years' tired."

"If he wanted it back, he would’ve found you," Sora points out, waving her nails in the air. "You literally wrote your phone number in yours. If he hasn't called, he either doesn't care, or he’s too scared to talk to a stranger."

"Or he’s waiting for the right moment," Minho adds, finally sitting up. His hair is a mess. "Think about it. You have his lyrics. If those get out, his career—whatever it is—is probably toast. He’s probably lurking in the shadows right now, Y/N. Watching. Waiting."

"Shut up, Minho," you say, but you glance at your window anyway.

The Seoul skyline is a blur of neon lights and dark shadows. You reach out and touch the cover of the notebook. It’s been a week, and you’ve started to memorize some of the lines in it. You shouldn't have read them, but you couldn't help it. They felt like they were written for you—or maybe just for anyone who felt lost in the middle of the night.

“Find the quiet,” one line said. “Before the noise becomes the only thing left.”

"I just want my sketches back," you lie, your heart doing a weird little stutter.

You don't just want the sketches. You want to know who the boy behind the mask is. And you have a feeling that "finding the quiet" is going to be a lot louder than you bargained for.

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[jiminscoquette]

SIGNAL LOST - JEON JUNGKOOK !IDOL AU

Chapter 3: You Awake?

GENRE- jjk x reader (fem), text and written, slow burn (and i mean SLOW. he literally doesn’t like her for a long time lol.), strangers to something?, idol au/2019 era-to now.), heavy angst, architecture student reader.

WARNINGS- strong language/ cursing (jk has a mouth on him😭), heavy making out, 2am tension, and jungkook being a literal menace.

RATING- 16+

A/N - my Minho cares so much; i love him and how much he cares about her and being upset.💔 you guys have to realize his best friend is quite literally lying to him about a random guy she don't even knowwww... and also Jungkook acting all nonchalant, but still watching for her, like awww u care a lil HAHA. ALSOO, thank you so much for getting over 30 likes in chapter 2 when the goal was 15! love you guys, and I'm glad you're enjoying Signal Lost. 🫠💕 the goal for this chapter will be 20; thank u guys sm again, next one coming very sooon! 🎀

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The rain in Seoul is a total mess tonight. It’s that heavy, cold downpour that makes the air smell like wet pavement and bus exhaust. You’re sitting on the floor of the apartment, surrounded by cardboard scraps and X-Acto blades, trying to build a structural model that keeps collapsing.

Technically, you should be relieved. You have your sketches back. But every time you look at those loose pages—the ones the stranger cleanly, surgically cut out of your notebook before sliding them into your locker—your skin crawls.

"So, the 7-Eleven guy just handed you an envelope? He didn't say who dropped it off?" Sora asks, leaning over the back of the sofa with a bag of chips.

"I already told you, Sora. I went in, the guy behind the counter said someone dropped it off for 'the architecture girl,' and that was it," you lie, your voice sounding flat.

You can't tell them the truth. If you tell Sora that the guy somehow got past the security keypads and found your locker in the basement of the architecture building, she’ll call the police. You've spent your whole life being the "responsible" one, and now you’re protecting a man who treats your life like a game.

"It’s just weird," Sora mutters. "Cutting the pages out? That’s so... aggressive. Like he wanted to keep the spine of the book for himself. You’re still acting jumpy, Y/N."

"I'm fine," you snap. You shove the black Moleskine. his. but you still have under a pile of scrap cardboard. "I have to get to the studio. I’m already behind."

You pack your bag in a blur and head out into the rain.

----------------------------------------

The studio is a graveyard of dreams. The lights are humming, that low, buzzing sound that makes your head ache. You’ve been working on the model for hours, but your hands are shaking too much to make the precise cuts. You haven't touched your phone, but it feels like it's burning a hole through your pocket.

"You're going to lose a finger if you keep holding the blade like that."

You jump, your heart leaping into your throat. You spin around to see Minho istanding there. He’s leaning against the table behind you, his arms crossed. He doesn't have food, and he doesn't have a smile.

"Minho," you breathe. "What are you doing here? I thought you were busy?."

"I was. But I stopped by the 7-Eleven on the way here," he says, his voice dangerously quiet. "I wanted to thank the guy for getting your sketches back. But funny thing... the guy on the night shift said nobody dropped off an envelope. He said he hasn't seen anyone leave anything behind the counter in weeks."

Your heart stops. The lie is falling apart.

"I... I went to the one on the other side of campus," you whisper. "I must have gotten the streets mixed up."

Minho doesn't say anything for a long time. He doesn't need Sora to tell him something is wrong; he’s known you since you were kids.

"You're a terrible liar, Y/N," he says, his voice tight. "If you don't want to tell me the truth, fine. But don't treat me like I’m stupid. I was going to stay and help you with the structural load, but I think I’d rather just go home. I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to decide I’m trustworthy enough to talk to."

"Minho, wait—"

"Good luck with the model," he says, picking up his bag.

He turns and walks out. The heavy studio door clicks shut, and for the first time in years, the space beside you feels completely empty. You want to run after him, but your phone vibrates. It’s the GhostGram icon.

-----------------------------------————————-

You can’t stay in the studio. You need to be somewhere where the walls can't talk. You head to the roof, pushing through the heavy door. The wind is vicious up here, whipping the rain against your skin. Below you, Seoul is a sea of blurred lights.

————————————————————————

[ GHOSTGRAM: ENCRYPTED SESSION START ]

J0901_X:you awake?

y/n: it’s 3 am. i’m an architecture student. i’m basically a vampire at this point.

J0901_X: good.

J0901_X: look toward the Namsan Tower.

y/n: excuse me???

y/n: how do u know where i am?

y/n: u were in my school yesterday. u found my locker and left those cut out pages. that’s actually stalking idc. i had to lie to my friends and now one is actually mad at me because of u.

J0901_X: i didn't ask for a report on your social life. i gave your drawings back, didn't i?

J0901_X: and again I’m not stalking you. I’m three blocks away on a balcony. ur locker wasn't hard to find. you make it too easy.

J0901_X: but wait look at the crane on the construction site to your left. the red light at the top.

y/n: i see it. it’s a light. big deal.

y/n: and wait... how do u even know what a 2mm margin is?

y/n: why do u keep commenting on my drafting? who are u? ur supposedly a big star but u know a weird amount about architecture.

J0901_X: my father is a developer. i grew up looking at blueprints instead of picture books. i know a structural failure when I see one.

J0901_X: now look at the light. look at the rhythm.

y/n: ...

y/n: wait. it’s glitching. it’s hitting a 3/4 beat instead of a normal one.

J0901_X: finally. I thought you were supposed to be smart.

J0901_X: It sounds like a song I can’t finish. I’ve been staring at it for an hour trying to get the timing right. I needed to know if someone else saw it or if I was finally losing my mind in this cage.

y/n: are u okay? you sound... kind of depressed. even for a guy who thinks he can just break into buildings.

J0901_X: don't get personal. u don't know anything about me.

J0901_X: i'm being watched. all. the. time.

J0901_X: i have four managers and a million cameras following me. my life is a script that I didn't write.

J0901_X: the only time I feel like a real person is when i’m looking at a glitching light in the rain. so don't ruin it with your questions.

y/n: then why talk to me? if ur so private, why bother?

J0901_X: because your drawings are honest. they're messy. they aren't perfect. unlike everything else in my life.

J0901_X: now, go inside. you’re shivering and it's annoying me. I can practically hear your teeth chattering through the screen.

J0901_X: go home. sleep.

y/n: my friend left. i have to walk home alone. thx for that.

J0901_X: you aren't alone. I’m watching the street.

J0901_X: move.

[ J0901_X HAS LEFT THE SESSION. ]

You stand in the rain for a long time. He’s an asshole. He’s mean, he’s rude, and he thinks he’s better than everyone. But he’s also lonely. You can feel it in the way he talks about being a "script."

You walk downstairs and out the front door. The street is silent. Minho is gone. For the first time, he didn't wait. He didn't check to see if you got home safe.

As you walk alone, you can still see that red light blinking in the distance. One, two, three—pause. You’re walking by yourself in the dark, and for some reason, the only person who actually knows where you are right now is a ghost on a balcony.

[jiminscoquette]

SIGNAL LOST - JEON JUNGKOOK !IDOL AU

Chapter 5: Parameters

GENRE- jjk x reader (fem), text and written, slow burn (and i mean SLOW. he literally doesn’t like her for a long time lol.), strangers to something?, idol au/2019 era-to now.), heavy angst, architecture student reader.

WARNINGS- strong language/ cursing (jk has a mouth on him😭), heavy making out, 2am tension, and jungkook being a literal menace.

RATING- 16+

A/N - hii guysss here is chapter 5!!! clear your schedules because the drama is officially starting to get so crazy 😭 she is literally so close to figuring out exactly who he is HAHAH like she’s right on the edge of putting all the pieces together... the realization is gonna hit so hard omg. and ummm can we talk about the text messages in this chapter??? him literally telling her to close her he's watching her is lowkey INSANE like okay stalker vibe again LMFAO??? wtf is wrong with him HAHA but also lowkey awww u care a lil 😛😛 and yeahhh minho is still mad asf and everything is just getting so incredibly messy with the lying ughh. ALSOOO i am feeling so motivated right now so y'all are literally getting chapter 5 the next day right after chapter 4!!! updates are gonna be super constant for now since im feeling inspired so get ready!! so even though we didn't hit the goal yet on last chapt i still wanted to update anyways because i love u guys sm!! the goal for this one will be 25 likes again ! next chapter coming very sooon stay tuned 💕 and guys this is my first story uploading to tumblr so if it seems like i don't know how to work some things have grace 😭😭😭

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The Architecture Studio | 2:30 AM

The air inside the university’s advanced architecture studio feels heavy, thick with the chemical tang of dried adhesive, stale convenience store coffee, and the low, collective hum of high-end rendering terminals working overtime. Most of the desks have been abandoned by exhausted students who gave up hours ago, but your workstation remains illuminated by a single, harsh halogen desk lamp that casts long, skeletal shadows across your green cutting mat.

You glare down at the loose sheets of heavy drafting paper spread out before you. They are the few pages he deemed "acceptable" to leave behind in your engineering lab locker, their edges frayed and jagged where he deliberately tore them right out of your binding. He kept the actual sketchbook. He kept your entire physical portfolio, leaving you with literal scraps to try and patch together before a ruthless faculty jury panel judges your structural competence in less than twelve hours.

The absolute, unbothered selfishness of it makes your chest tighten until it physically aches. You reach into your backpack, your fingers brushing against the heavy, leather-bound texture of his black Moleskine. It’s the only piece of leverage you have left, a dense brick of private lyrics and unreleased thoughts that feels like a physical anchor pulling at your shoulders. You slip it deeper into the canvas sleeve, your jaw clenching. You don't care who he thinks he is—a wealthy trainee, a hyper-entitled backup dancer, or some rich industry kid playing a game—he is systematically dismantling your academic survival for his own convenience.

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The Quadrangle | 2:50 AM

You finally leave the building, taking the long route through the university’s central quad to clear the static from your head. The night air is crisp, carrying the sharp scent of damp earth and distant asphalt from the surrounding city.

Your phone vibrates violently in your palm. It isn’t a notification from the encrypted Ghostgram app; it’s a direct voice call from Minho.

You hesitate, your thumb hovering over the glass for three agonizing rings before you slide it open. "Minho? It's almost three in the morning. Are you still at the engineering lab?"

"Yeah," his voice comes through the receiver, low, flat, and layered with a heavy, sharp exhaustion that makes you instantly freeze. "I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to upload your physical scans to our shared presentation folder. Y/N, the drive is completely empty. Our joint midterm review with Professor Kang is at nine o'clock. What are you doing?"

Your heart hitches. Your physical sketchbook is currently sitting in a celebrity’s sports bag somewhere across Seoul. "I... I'm still adjusting some of the line work on the loose sheets. I had to recalculate the foundation slopes. I’ll scan the final layouts at dawn, Minho. Don't worry about it."

A heavy, painful silence stretches over the line, punctuated only by the faint hum of the lab's hydraulic equipment in the background. When Minho speaks again, the steady, reliable warmth that usually defines him is entirely missing.

"Don't worry about it?" he repeats, his tone cutting through the quiet night air like a wire. "You've been carrying your project around in tattered pieces for days. You're acting like you're hiding a criminal record, and you won't even let me look at your workspace anymore. You're lying to me, Y/N. Again."

"Minho, please—"

"If you don't have that physical notebook at the critique to prove the design progression is actually yours, Professor Kang is going to assume you plagiarized the master plan layouts," he interrupts, his voice tightening with a mixture of frustration and genuine hurt. "I can't back you up in front of the department head if you're keeping me completely in the dark. I can't cover for a ghost."

"I know I mess up, and I know I've been distant," you say, your voice cracking as the immense pressure of the secret builds behind your eyes. "But it’s just for a little while. Minho, why can't u just forgive me? Just trust me on this one thing."

You hear his sharp, bitter exhale through the speaker. It sounds like something structural snapping under too much load.

"How am I supposed to just forgive you when you treat me like an absolute outsider in your own life?" Minho asks, his voice dropping down to a quiet, devastating whisper that leaves you completely breathless. "I don't know if I can trust a friend who doesn't even trust me enough to tell me the truth. Goodnight, Y/N."

The line goes completely dead before you can answer, leaving you standing under the dim courtyard lights with a hollow, crushing ache in your chest.

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The Street Outside | 3:15 AM

The walk back to your building is lonely, the city quiet except for the distant hum of the highway. As you approach your block, you look up. Across the narrow street, towering over your own modest building, stands the ultra-exclusive, hyper-secure luxury high-rise complex. It’s a fortress of dark glass and steel where wealthy young professionals and low-profile public figures lease units specifically for the total anonymity.

High above it, the red construction crane blinks its rhythmic, warning light against the low clouds. Right next to that blinking light, on the highest floor of the luxury tower, is the penthouse suite.

Your mind flashes back to the frantic thoughts you had at your desk when you first started connecting the dots—the fourteen days, the massive stadium send-off, the initials. You had literally just whispered his name into the empty air of your room.

Jungkook.

But even as the pieces violently lock into place, your brain screams in total denial. No. Absolutely no way. How in the actual fuck would one of the most famous people in the country right now be text-fighting an architecture student? A global icon of that scale wouldn't have the time or the petty energy to hold a university sketchbook hostage. Besides, Sora said he’s barely even a person right now he’s practically living at the Olympic Stadium, pulling brutal, long hour raining shifts under a total media blackout. The guy on Ghostgram is a blunt, tight-lipped, incredibly arrogant jerk who treats your academic survival like a minor technical error. It has to be a fluke. A high ranking backup dancer, a wealthy production crew member, or an entitled trainee living on a leased upper floor across the street, messing with you for their own amusement. Because if it really is him... you are entirely out of your depth.

—————————————————————-

The Apartment | 3:30 AM

You sit on the edge of your bed in the dark, the apartment completely silent around you. Through the thin, sheer curtains of your window, you look out across the gap between the buildings, straight up toward those towering glass penthouse windows next to the blinking crane light. A single, dim light is burning up there on the top balcony. You get the distinct, chilling feeling that someone is standing right by the glass, looking straight down across the street, directly into your room. Watching.

Your hands are trembling as you pull out your phone and force open the encrypted app, your thumbs moving with pure, furious adrenaline.

———————————————————————-

[ GHOSTGRAM: ENCRYPTED SESSION START ]

y/n: my prof is literally gonna fail me tmrw bc i don't have my physical notebook to prove the design process is mine.

y/n: my partner on the project is furious with me. my life is literally fracturing bc ur hoarding my sketchbook like a child.

y/n: i don't care who u think u are up there in ur penthouse or how many stadium shows u have left. give it back to me. fully.

The ellipsis doesn't appear for five long, agonizing minutes. He’s likely in a dance studio or a production office, completely preoccupied at the stadium. When the text finally flashes onto the black screen, it’s entirely lowercase, short, cold, and completely detached.

j0901_x: you already told me ur little friend is mad. u don't have to repeat urself.

j0901_x: you do that a lot.

j0901_x: and i told you the parameters.

y/n: the parameters are ruining my life!!! u don't talk to anyone do u? u just sit up there behind ur glass windows when u actually bother to leave the stadium issuing commands like an absolute asshole.

j0901_x: i talk when it’s necessary. right now, it isn't.

j0901_x: stop looking across the street. close your curtains.

Your breath hitches. You freeze, staring at the glowing screen in total disbelief.

y/n: ur watching me???

y/n: wait how do u even know where i live lol i thought u only could see me from my college building

j0901_x: your apartment complex is close genius.

j0901_x: it’s literally a five minute walk from your campus gate. did you think i needed a map to see a window directly opposite mine?

j0901_x: i can see everything.

y/n: okay stalker vibe much??? wtf is wrong with u

j0901_x: i'm keeping an eye on my property. my notebook is in your bag. yours is safe in mine.

j0901_x: i have twelve days left before the tour leaves for the us leg. you'll get the rest of your sketchbook when i'm sure you aren't going to run to the university paper with the lyric drafts on page 50.

j0901_x: go to sleep, y/n. your stress levels are making your syntax messy.

[ J0901_X HAS LEFT THE SESSION. ]

—————————————————————-

You stare at the blank screen, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you reach out and violently yank your curtains shut, blocking out the penthouse view and the blinking red light entirely.

He used your name again. A quiet, chilly reminder that while he remains a shadow to you, he knows exactly who you are, exactly where your window is, and exactly how much power he holds over your life for the next twelve days.

[jiminscoquette]

SIGNAL LOST - JEON JUNGKOOK !IDOL AU

Chapter 4: 14 Days

GENRE- jjk x reader (fem), text and written, slow burn (and i mean SLOW. he literally doesn’t like her for a long time lol.), strangers to something?, idol au/2019 era-to now.), heavy angst, architecture student reader.

WARNINGS- strong language/ cursing (jk has a mouth on him😭), heavy making out, 2am tension, and jungkook being a literal menace.

RATING- 16+

A/N - hii guys i know i’ve been gone for a long time and im so sorryyy ive been going through a really harsh breakup and honestly it hit me so hard but im finally doing good again and back in my zone structure-wise lol. honestly you guys are the absolute best for supporting the story even though there's only a few parts right now and i haven't posted in forever... i love u guys sm for that thank u truly 😭 knowing u guys still read my story literally saved me while i was away.just a quick reminder that right now in the timeline we are still in 2019!!! please keep that in mind while reading so the dates make sense. i promise i’ll try updating more frequently now that im back to normal!and omgg shes finally connecting the dotsssss!! the tension is literally crazy right now and my poor minhoooo is acc mad 😭😭😭 he really doesn't deserve this omg. but yes i hope u guys love this chapter, thank u for hitting the goal last time! the goal for this one will be 25 likes 💕

{previous} {master list} {next}

The Apartment | 8:00 AM

The sun is hitting the piles of fabric and mannequins on Sora’s side of the room, making the whole apartment smell like steam and polyester. You’re hunched over your desk, staring at a site plan that looks like gibberish. You haven't slept more than three hours, and the skin under your eyes feels like paper. Every time you close your eyes, you see those red crane lights blinking in your mind, keeping rhythm with a heart rate that hasn't slowed down since you stepped off that roof.

"Y/N, I'm being so for real right now—you look like a Victorian orphan," Sora says, wrapping a measuring tape around her neck. She’s a Fashion Merchandising major; she spends her mornings worrying about color theory and fabric drapes, while you worry about load-bearing walls. She’s currently trying to pin a sleeve onto a mannequin, but she keeps glancing at your reflection in her vanity mirror. "Are you even eating? I found a protein bar in the trash that was half-eaten from Tuesday. It was rock hard."

"I'm fine, Sora. It's just a heavy week," you mutter, not looking away from your screen. Your cursor is blinking at a drainage pipe you've moved six times.

"It’s not just a week. You’re vibrating. Like, literally vibrating with anxiety," she says, finally dropping the measuring tape and walking over to your desk. She leans over your shoulder, her sharp eyes scanning your blueprints. "And Minho called me last night. He didn't say much, which is how I know he's pissed. He sounded like a robot. What did you do to him? He’s the only reason you usually survive midterm season."

"I didn't do anything. We just had a disagreement about... data. Technical stuff," you lie. It’s the easiest thing to say to a Engineering major’s friend.

"Data. Right. Because you two usually fight over spreadsheets," she rolls her eyes, grabbing her bag. "Just... don't die. I don't want to have to find a new roommate who actually cleans the kitchen."

She stops at the door, scrolling through her phone with a sudden, sharp gasp. "Oh my god! I almost forgot the only thing that matters. The final BTS tour dates were just posted. They’re doing the massive send-off at the Olympic Stadium in exactly fourteen days before they head to the States. The city is going to be a nightmare, Y/N. Total gridlock. If I don't get a floor ticket to see Jungkook in those Dior outfits, I am actually going to jump off the Namsan Tower. Can you imagine being that close to him? I'd literally stop breathing."

You don't even look up. You're too tired for her fan theories. "Fourteen days, huh? Good luck with the tickets, Sora. Hope you see your... whatever his name is."

"His name is Jungkook, Y/N! Use his name! He’s the main reason I even have a personality," she groans and leaves, the door clicking shut with a finality that makes the room feel too quiet.

You reach into your bag and pull out the black Moleskine. It’s heavy and smooth. You find yourself tracing the spine, wondering why you're protecting a guy who is dismantling your life from the shadows.

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The Engineering Quad | 1:00 PM

You have to drop off a joint project file at the Engineering building, which is basically walking into the lion's den. The atmosphere here is different from the Architecture studio—it’s all cold glass, whiteboards covered in terrifying calculus, and the smell of industrial grease.

You find minho in the materials lab in the basement. It’s a cavernous room filled with heavy machinery designed to break things. He’s wearing heavy work gloves and a shop coat, his brow furrowed as he watches a concrete cylinder slowly crack under immense pressure from a hydraulic press. The machine is letting out a low, mechanical groan that vibrates in the floorboards.

"Minho," you say, standing by the heavy metal door.

He doesn't look up. He waits until the machine hisses and the concrete finally shatters with a sharp crack that echoes through the lab before he turns off the monitor. He starts recording the PSI data into a tablet, his movements efficient and cold.

"The file is on the server, Y/N," he says finally, his voice flat. "You didn't need to come here."

"I wanted to say sorry. For the 7-Eleven thing. I was stressed and I... I got confused."

Minho pulls off his gloves, and for the first time, you see the exhaustion in his eyes. He’s a Civil Engineer. He deals in loads and truths.

"You didn't get confused," he says, stepping closer. The smell of concrete dust and sharp ozone is thick on him. "You lied. And you’re still lying. I don't know who you're talking to or what’s in that black book you keep hiding, but don't insult me by pretending it's 'confusion.' If you don't trust me enough to tell me you're in trouble, then I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome in your life."

"It’s not that, Minho, it's just... it's complicated."

"I have to finish these samples, Y/N," he interrupts, turning his back to you. "I'll see you at the midterm review."

You walk out of the lab feeling like you've just watched a support beam snap. You head to the back corner of the library—Level 4—and pull out your phone. You’re done being the victim.

—————————————————————-

The Library Stacks | 3:30 PM

The library is silent. You’re tucked away in a corner, surrounded by the smell of old paper and the hum of the HVAC system. You open the Ghostgram app, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

--------------------------------------------------

[ GHOSTGRAM: ENCRYPTED SESSION START ]

y/n: okay fr give it back. now.

y/n: i don't care about ur "cage" or your lyrics.

y/n: i just lost my best friend because i’m lying for u. he’s an engineer. he knows when things don't add up. he knows i'm lying.

J0901_X: im busy. rehearsals are running over. my manager is literally at the door. I don't have time to listen to you vent about your social life.

y/n: i don't care about ur schedule!

y/n: ur the one who started all of this. ur the one who tracked ME down. u threw a fit to get your notebook back, but now that i’m trying to give it to u, ur stalling.

y/n: and why did you have to rip pages out of my notebook? do u have any idea how much work went into those sketches?

y/n: if u wanted to return my property, u should have given it back FULLY. tearing my pages out like a thief is just petty. it makes no sense. why couldn't u just hand over the book intact?

J0901_X: you won't leave it. you know exactly what would happen if that book was found. you're protecting me, remember? even if you hate me for it.

J0901_X: and I’m not stalling. stop saying i am. I’ve explained this to you i just don't have a "safe" place to meet right now. the stadium is crawling with staff and my building's garage has paparazzi outside.

J0901_X: as for your pages, consider it a deposit. I needed a reason to make sure you'd stay quiet until I could get the rest back.

y/n: how do u even know so much about architecture anyway? ur an idol. u should be practicing dancing, not commenting on my drafting. why do u know about 2mm margins and drainage slopes? who are you??

J0901_X: i already told you my father’s a developer.

J0901_X: and I'm leaving for tour in fourteen days. the planes are booked. The stadium is the last stop. I’m busy.

y/n: fourteen days?

y/n: so ur just going to leave the country with my book? are u serious?

y/n: there is no way ur actually that big of a star that ur acting like this much of a nonchalant asshole. u literally have my sketches, j. give them back.

J0901_X: "nonchalant asshole"?

J0901_X: careful, architect.

J0901_X: im not acting. im just tired. and I'm not leaving until I'm ready.

J0901_X: by the way, I was looking at that site plan you drew on page 42 the one with the north-facing glass? your drainage slopes are off. If it rains, your building is a swimming pool.

y/n: ur still looking at my notebook??

y/n: give. it. back. and stop critiquing my work!

y/n: J!!! ANSWER ME!!!

[ J0901_X HAS LEFT THE SESSION. ]

-------------------------------------------------------

You stare at the screen, your heart hammering with pure irritation. He isn't watching you; he’s sitting in his dressing room or up in his high-rise flat, flipping through your personal thoughts and your hard work like it’s a morning newspaper. And worst of all, he deliberately damaged your book just to keep you on a leash.

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The Studio | 11:45 PM

The studio is empty now. You’re back at your desk, but you aren't working. You’re looking at the black Moleskine. You flip through the pages, staring at the lyrics.

Sora's voice from this morning starts to play on a loop in your head. The city is going to be a nightmare... BTS is leaving for the tour in exactly fourteen days... Olympic Stadium... Jungkook.

You stare at the "J" on your phone. You only even know that name because Sora screams it every time a commercial comes on.

"J," you whisper. "Jungkook?"

You feel a wave of annoyance hit you. It’s so absurd it’s almost funny. You think about the "nonchalant asshole" on the other side of the phone. You think about him memorizing your page numbers and tearing out your sketches while allegedly being the most famous person in the country.

"No way," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "Absolutely no way. He's probably just some trainee or a backup dancer who thinks he's a big deal. Why would a member of the biggest group in the world be obsessed with an architecture student's notebook?"

But the timeline. Fourteen days. The stadium. The "manager at the door."

Your phone buzzes. It’s a text from Minho.

Minho: I left your favorite tea in your locker. Don't stay up too late. I’m still mad, but I don't want you to fail.

The guilt hits you again, sharp and cold. You’re lying to your best friend for a guy who might be a global superstar or might just be a very talented ego-maniac living a few floors up. You look out the window toward the stadium in the distance, the city lights blurring.

"Who are you, J?"