#bts comeback

[jeongi]

tell me your lies | jjk (m)

↣  𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | ceo!jungkook x reader

↣  𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | angst, smut, fluff 

↣  𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. 18+ to read.

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 22.9k

↣  𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you thought you could escape the past but jeon jungkook doesn’t know how to let go. 

↣ sequel to tell me no lies ↢

↣ playlist

The trees flitter and shake between the howls of wind that gust through the nipping air. Somewhere between the chaos of blooming fall and the almost setting sun does a young man walk down the concrete path. He walks with a limp, a cane in his right hand guiding his steps. Trees stand stout yet tall on each side of the path that leads up to the hospital doors. The man pauses, a boxy smile peaking on his face as he cranks his face towards the window on the 5th floor, 6 windows to the right. 

He pats the breast pocket of his black suede trench coat. There, he pulls out a pair of brown thick-rimmed sunglasses and fits them just above the broad end of his nose bridge where they sit snug over his chocolate eyes. He takes a forefinger to the left side of the temple where the screw holds the rim attached. His thumb rests on the apple of his cheek as the side of his index finger lightly turns the screw. He hears the soft buzz of the zoom, his vision through the sunglasses adjusting closer to the window. It’s his luck that the room is lit and the blinds haven’t been closed quite yet. He sees you, a tray in hand as you walk towards the man in the hospital bed. He continues to watch, observing the way the man smiles back at you when you set the tray of food down on the table that sits between the window and his bed. The observing man readies himself. His index now moves to the top of the screw where a button is present. He sees you face the window now, stretching your arms to the top of the curtains. The man hovers over the button, pressing down only halfway for the image to come into focus. For a moment, he thinks you may have seen him when it seems like you’re looking directly at him. He promptly presses down on the button, a quiet click sounding as it would on an actual camera. 

“I’ve got you now.” He says to himself, his smile growing to an eerie grin as he watches you drape the curtains closed. 

Time moves fast in hospitals– or at least it feels that way to you, sitting in the Doctor’s office with your legs crossed, glass panes gleaming and sunlight too bright to bear. It's been over a year since Jungkook walked out of your apartment and into the autumn night. Some days it feels like yesterday; most days it feels like a lifetime ago.

“I swear time couldn’t go any slower right now,” Namjoon drags out the words laced in frustration. You sit in stunned silence at how he protests to even your inner thoughts. He leans back in his chair with a groan, the toe of his shoe tapping impatiently against the sterile tile floor. The clock above the door ticks loud enough to grate on your nerves, each second dragging longer than the last. You try to count them, but lose track somewhere past thirty, your eyes drifting instead to the maze of reflections in the glass panes.

Just as Namjoon opens his mouth to complain again, the door finally clicks open. The doctor steps in, clipboard tucked under his arm, his face carefully arranged in that unreadable mask you’ve come to dread.

He offers a polite nod. “Sorry to keep you both waiting,” he says, settling into the chair across from you. 

Namjoon exhales through his nose, a strained smile barely covering his impatience. “What do you have for us, doc?”

The doctor gives a sympathetic dip of his head before glancing down at his notes. His voice softens. “The experimental treatment given to Mr. Jung Hoseok was… mostly successful.”

“What do you mean mostly?” Namjoon almost hisses. 

"Well– the first dose of the trial medication stabilized his vitals, but the results weren't as consistent as we had hoped." The doctor shifts in his chair, tapping the edge of the clipboard. "As you know, we were only able to identify the mass during the third round of imaging, it took us far longer than we'd have liked. The treatment has slowed its progression, but there are side effects and we won't know the extent of them for another few months. For now it's fatigue, muscle weakness… but he is awake."

The words hang in the air, heavy. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it rushes out. You lean forward. “Awake?” Your voice cracks. “A-as in- he can talk to us?”

The doctor nods once. “He’s conscious, responsive. Though he’ll need assistance for now.”

And that was enough for you all, until it wasn’t anymore. 

The months that followed blurred into a rhythm of hospital visits and hollow routines. You moved through them the way you moved through water. It’s slow, heavy, and you never quite reach the surface. Some nights, you didn't reach it at all.

You think if you close your eyes hard enough, maybe just maybe you’d cease to exist. 

3.

2.

1.

You let out all the air in your lungs, and your eyes bulge out. When the panic settles, you’re at complete and utter peace. But it doesn’t last for too long. Just as your vision goes dark and you let the water fill your lungs until there is nothing left of you, you wake up with a loud gasp.

“Woah, bad dream?” The voice seems distant yet all too familiar. It’s the voice of your very dear friend. It’s the voice of Hoseok. 

You remember where you are again when your eyes hit the panelled ceiling. The metal grids give way to beaming lights subdued by frosted plastic, reminding you of the place you have basically called home for the last year. For as much money as it is to keep him here, you would be the first to admit Hoseok definitely has the best room in this hospital.

“I guess.” You let out a shaky breath and push up, palms flattening against the mattress as you swing your legs over the side. Bittersweet. Hoseok watches you with that careful tilt of his head, like he’s cataloguing your frayed edges. You don’t know that he’s wondering when your spirits had gotten so low. To him, you’ve always been the light of the group, though little did he know, you’d think the same of him. 

You sigh once more and face towards him, brows now strewn together, a serious expression crossing your face until a question lodges in your throat.

“Are you afraid to die?” 

It’s a heavy subject you’ve introduced, and you feel the room grow silent as Hoseok ponders over your question. Perhaps it’s because he’s so close to death itself that he doesn’t have to give it much thought for too long. He simply purses his lips and shakes his head ‘no’ in response. Maybe proximity to the edge makes it easier to answer; maybe he’s already rehearsed this. 

Not a day has gone by since he woke up that you haven’t thought about how to say goodbye to Hoseok. Your friend is still very ill. Maybe that’s why you’ve grown so much resentment towards the world. It’s hard to wrap your head around but you try not to think about it often because he’s here right now, conscious and most importantly alive.

Hoseok’s hospital bed is quite different from the hospital bed the nurse put in the room for you. It’s quite different from yours as it’s actually hooked up to something- a lot of somethings at that. A nasal cannula is stuffed up his nose, attached to two giant tanks of oxygen and for a brief moment, it pangs you to see him like this. You’ve lost count of the wires that seem relentlessly stuck to his body, working tirelessly just to keep him afloat. Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better to let go than to see him struggle like this. But you’d never share this thought out loud, shuddering at yourself for even thinking it just now. 

“It’s inevitable, _____.” A weak hand waves in the air as he tries to continue explaining his thoughts. “If not now, it’ll happen eventually- to all of us, so why be scared?” His voice is airy, quiet and less vibrant than you remember it being. 

“The after-stuff,” you prompt. “What do you think happens after?”

He smiles the kind of smile you remember from before the sickness. It's small, stubborn and heart-shaped. “The after-stuff is whatever you want it to be.”

It’s then that Namjoon chimes in as he walks into the hospital room, a tray of hospital food in his hands. You already know whatever he’s about to say will be utter rubbish. “Well, _____ some people swear you’ll wake up in paradise, rivers of milk and honey, endless peace. Others think you’re reborn, spinning through life again and again until you finally get it right. There are even people who say we just…merge with the light, some kind of cosmic energy.” He pauses, smirking as he shifts the tray in his hands.

“Or if you’re like me, you know that there’s nothing waiting. There’s no heaven, no reincarnation…just dirt and silence.” It’s said in poor taste, and you see Hoseok frown in response.

“I didn’t realize I was asking you.” You say, deadpan at how ridiculous he sounds. Leave it to Namjoon to kill the mood. “And I didn’t realize the Christopher Hitchens was a part of our friend group.” To this, Hoseok snorts weakly and reaches over for the remote that controls his bed. You watch as he pushes a button that allows the headboard to elevate, letting him sit up in bed. Namjoon strides towards him, swivelling the tray attached to the hospital bed in front of Hoseok before placing the steaming bowl of rice porridge on the tray. A side of white kimchi follows, but Hoseok merely pushes it aside. Your stomach growls in response, realization setting in that you haven’t had anything to eat today. Granted, you haven’t had much of an appetite for a while.

Namjoon simply ignores you and stretches out a hand. “Come, _____, we’ll grab you something to eat too.” You reluctantly agree and take his offering hand. Though your stomach is angry, rumbling the weight of Thor’s hammer itself. You can’t find the strength to leave Hoseok alone for even 10 minutes.

It strikes you as you walk the hallway that it's only two of you now. The halls feel wider without Jimin's nervous energy filling them. He stopped answering the group chat three months ago. He moved cities, changed his number, and you don't blame him, not really. After the heist, the guilt ate at all of you differently. Jimin just let it swallow him whole. You just regret not thinking of doing it first. Then again, you don't think you'd be able to leave even if you tried.

When you reach the hospital’s food court with Namjoon, it hums with the low chatter of visitors and the clatter of trays. By the windowsill, Yoongi sits hunched over his laptop, brows furrowed and a tongue pressed against his cheek. You know that it means he’s deep in code or trouble– maybe even both. He’s always damn up to something. He hasn’t noticed you yet, fingers tapping in sharp, relentless bursts. A knot of unease coils in your chest.

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, steering you toward him. “C’mon,” he mutters, nodding at the empty chairs. Yoongi glances up as you approach, eyes narrowing briefly before he snaps the laptop half-shut. You can't help but notice it's like he’s guarding secrets. Still, he kicks out a chair with his foot in silent invitation.

Namjoon orders a big bowl of pasta for you, sliding a tray into your hands before you can protest. It’s a rose cream pasta and the first bite is so rich and velvety it almost knocks the air out of you. For a brief moment, you forget everything. You forget Hoseok’s laboured breaths, the sterile walls and the gnawing fear. You just sit there savoring the food. Who knew hospital chefs could cook up a mean pasta? Enough about the pasta. You tell yourself as you stab into it. Then you look at Namjoon, at Yoongi, at the two constants who’ve dragged you through hell and back, and you can’t help the bitter thought: it’s crazy that you still keep these sacks of shit as your friends after everything they’ve put you through.

You twirl another forkful of pasta, pretending not to notice how Yoongi keeps one hand planted on the lid of his laptop. What has him guarding it like a vault? Curiosity prickles at you.

“So…” you start carefully, tilting your head. “What’s got you looking like you’re about to declare war on that keyboard?”

Yoongi smirks faintly but doesn’t answer you right away. He leans back, eyes flicking to Namjoon. “She doesn’t know?”

Namjoon sighs, running a hand down his face. “Not yet.”

Your fork clinks against the bowl. “Know what?”

Yoongi drums his fingers on the table, weighing his words. “Another job.”

Your stomach lurches. “You’ve got to be kidding.” And just like that, you’ve lost your appetite. The pasta might as well be ash on your tongue. You shove the bowl forward, porcelain clattering against the tray, and the screech of your chair rips through the food court as you push back in one frantic motion. A few heads turn but you don’t care as you grab your tote bag and storm off past the rows of tables, through the automatic doors, and out into the back courtyard. The air hits different here. It’s crisp, carrying the faint scent of disinfectant masked poorly by trimmed hedges and damp grass. Patients wheel slowly along the paved paths, loved ones trailing beside them with soft voices and careful hands. It's a cruel contrast to the storm churning in your chest. 

You drop onto a bench beneath a bare tree, the tote bag slumping against your feet. You feel sick. 

“_____!” You groan out loud, the sound ripping from your chest as you shove yourself up from the bench. Twisting toward him, you see Namjoon striding across the courtyard, hands jammed into his pockets like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“Are you fucking serious, Namjoon?” The words spill out harsher than you intend, but you don’t reel them back. “After everything? After the mess you dragged us into already? Are you out of your fucking mind?” A couple nearby patients turn their heads, but Namjoon doesn’t slow. His jaw tightens and his footsteps steady until he stops just a few feet away from you.

“We need the money.” Namjoon’s voice is flat, but there’s a tremor under it.

“Fuck the money!” You snap, springing to your feet. Your palms ball into fists at your sides. “No wonder Jimin fucked off to wherever the fuck— I’m surrounded by a bunch of selfish—”

“Selfish?” Namjoon’s voice rockets up to match yours, and suddenly neither of you gives a damn who’s listening. He takes a step forward, chest heaving. “You’re calling me selfish? After everything? After the nights we slept in shifts keeping him breathing, after the loans we sold our souls for? Everything we’ve done has been for each other. For Hoseok. Just because your little fling got complicated doesn’t change that.”

You point, the finger shaking. “Hoseok is dying, Namjoon!“ Silence drops between you. It's heavy and oh. so suffocating. It's only broken by the squeak of a wheelchair rolling past and the low murmur of a caregiver. You think you'll be kicked out of here soon if you guys keep talking like this so publicly. But you can't help it. How else are you supposed to react? “The money didn’t fix him before and it’s not going to fix him now.” You hate that you’re a crier when you’re angry and you hate it even more that you’re now crying in public as the words spew without reason. “And don’t you dare minimize what happened. You’re lucky Jungkook didn’t put us in jail.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Namjoon snaps back, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “Do you remember what the oncologist said? The treatments found what's been killing him and they slowed it down, yeah and guess what? He’s awake. Has been for 8 months. Time and medicine cost money. This isn’t about some adrenaline rush anymore. This is about buying him time to be lucid one more week, one more month. You’d rather let that slide because what? You feel guilty about Jungkook?” 

Your shoulders sag and your bottom lip quivers as you look at him, defeated. 

“I’m not minimizing it,” he says quieter, too tired to keep yelling. “But does that mean we bury Hoseok because we can’t live with our choices? Is that the line you’re gonna draw?”

“So we become worse thieves for one life?” You sit back down, dragging the heel of your hand across your cheek to wipe the tears away. “We used to have purpose. Now it’s just… wrong. All of it. We’re clutching at a thread that’s already frayed.” You meet his eyes. “I can’t do it anymore, Namjoon.”

For the first beat, something like shame flickers across his face. Then he clasps his hands together like he’s trying to hold himself in. “It’s not logic,” Namjoon admits and the words are raw. “It’s desperation. And yeah, maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’ll ruin us. But if I had a choice between sitting in this courtyard pretending we did the right thing or giving him a chance to walk again– I’ll take the chance.” 

Around you, a nurse huffs past pushing a cart. Yeah, you're definitely going to get kicked out. Life goes on indifferent to how you break. You want to argue until your voice shreds, but the furious words dissolve into air. The truth is bitter, small, and undeniable. It settles between you both and the reality is that you’re all out of clean options. Hoseok is dying, and Namjoon’s grasping at straws to save his best friend. 

Namjoon straightens, jaw clenched. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt us more. I can’t promise anything but we have to try. We do this one right, and then we get out. No more risks after. I swear it to you.”

You look at him. In his face you see sleepless nights, math done in the dark, the same stubborn loyalty that once made him the one you could lean on. It’s not enough to make you agree. But it’s enough to make your anger hiccup into a different kind of ache.

“How much money is it this time?” You ask, your voice small.

“Half a billion dollars.” 

Your mouth goes dry.

“How the fuck are we going to do that?”

An hour later, you're back in the hospital room, sitting by the window across from Namjoon, who's excitedly bouncing back and forth as he explains.

“It’s this thing called Obsidian and this shit, _____, it works. It really works, and the best part is, it’s completely untraceable.” 

You nervously look over at Hoseok, who's sound asleep in the center of the room. You don't understand why this is being discussed right now but here you are. You can't lie, his excitement is undeniably contagious but despite it all, it's crazy.

Yoongi, who'd been quiet until now, looks up from where he's been fiddling with his phone. His tone is flat. "No one gets a magic bullet. Obsidian adds obfuscation layers, but there are still technical limits, market realities, people trying to map transactions. Nothing's foolproof."

Namjoon waves his hand as if swatting at Yoongi’s caution. “Still. Compared to bank transfers or the usual rails, this is the closest thing to disappearing a trail. If we move smart, if Yoongi can work the ledger-side…we can buy ourselves distance.”

You stare at them both, the words twisting in your chest. Hope and dread tangle when you realize the plan feels like a lifeline and a razor at once. Hoseok shifts faintly in his sleep, machines humming softly around him. 

“We’d be gambling on a lot more than just code,” Yoongi says finally. “Half a billion moves markets. There are legal heats, exchanges, and people who make a living unpicking this stuff. What I'm trying to say is that it won’t be clean.” The uncertainty in his tone makes your stomach drop.

Namjoon swallows and, for the first time, his bravado flickers. “We don’t have clean options,” he says, quiet. “Not anymore. This is just…our best shot.”

Silence settles over the room. It's thick and so suffocating, your head feels like it's caving in on itself.

You drag a hand down your face before looking back up at them. “So what’s the plan?” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “Because we can’t afford messy. Not with this kind of money.” You glance at Hoseok, then back at them. “Jail would be the least of our problems.”

Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a quick and loaded look. 

“It’s not a smash-and-grab,” Yoongi says. “It’s a transfer. It has to be quiet and scheduled.” He taps his phone, then turns it so you can see a grid of timestamps, nodes- something far too complex to fully grasp. “There’s a window. It's eight minutes or maybe less but it's where their system mirrors itself for auditing. That’s the gap.”

Namjoon leans in, voice dropping. “It’s happening during a private event. It's invitation-only and high security. It’s the kind of place no one questions money moving because everyone there has too much of it.”

Your brows knit together. “What kind of event?”

Yoongi hesitates for just a second.

“A gala,” Namjoon answers instead. “Investors, executives, elites…people who think they’re untouchable.” He laughs a bitter laugh. "Who knows, maybe they are untouchable." He's not doing any favours absolving the uncertainty.

A bad feeling creeps up your spine. “And we just…walk in?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer right away.

Yoongi does. “We don’t all walk in.” His eyes lift to meet yours. “We need one person inside. Someone who can blend. Someone who won’t get flagged. Someone who’s invited.”

The room feels smaller. “And you think that’s me?”

Namjoon’s silence is answer enough.

Your stomach drops. “Why me?” The question comes out sharper than you intend. It feels like déjà vu, and you’re so damn tired of being the guinea pig in their plans.

Another look passes between them and this one you don’t miss.

Yoongi exhales through his nose. “Because of who’s hosting it.”

Your pulse spikes. “Who?”

Namjoon finally says it.

“Jungkook.”

The name hits like a physical blow. For a second, you swear the machines in the room grow louder. Hoseok shifts in his sleep, completely unaware of the way your world just tilted.

Oh god. Oh no, no, no-

Namjoon presses forward and now there's urgency bleeding into his voice. "After the Gemini merger went through, GFC exploded. He's not just running a production company anymore– he's sitting on a media conglomerate. The gala is for his parent fund. He's tied to the company moving the funds, front-facing, the whole deal. What matters is you have a way in that none of us do."

“A way in?” You let out a hollow laugh. “I stole nearly three million dollars from him– actually, we did, Namjoon– and now you want me to steal from him again?” Your voice rises despite yourself before you force it back down. “Are you guys out of your damn minds?”

“Exactly,” Yoongi mutters. “Which means he remembers you.”

“That’s not a good thing!” You snap, exasperated.

“It means you won’t be invisible,” Namjoon says. “And right now, invisible people don’t get into rooms like that. Plus he sent an invitation.”

You stare at him, disbelief morphing into something sharper. “So your plan is to walk me into a room full of elite, powerful people– his room– and hope he doesn’t decide to ruin my life on the spot?” And you think why would Jungkook invite you? Is this a humiliation ritual? Are you dreaming again?

Namjoon doesn’t flinch. “My plan is to get you close enough to access what we need. Eight minutes. That’s all.”

“Eight minutes,” You repeat. “We failed last time. How can I trust you this time? And what if he recognizes me?”

“He will,” Yoongi says bluntly. Your throat goes dry as your gaze drifts back to Hoseok.

Your fingers curl against your sleeve as you watch him breathe. The idea hits you before you can stop yourself from speaking.

“…Then I have a condition.”

Namjoon stiffens. “This isn’t exactly–”

“It is,” you cut in, quieter now, but firm. “If I’m doing this, I’m not doing it your way.” Quite frankly, you're allowed to ask for this.

Yoongi studies you. “What do you want?”

You don’t look at them when you say it.

“Hoseok comes with me.”

The silence that follows is different from the others. It's not heavy with guilt or grief but bewildered and almost offended. You can feel Namjoon's stare boring into you without looking.

"He can barely stand," Namjoon says slowly, as if explaining something to a child.

"I know what he can barely do." You snap, your sharp eyes finally meet his. "But if I'm walking back into that man's life to rob him again, Hoseok is going to know exactly what we're doing and why. No more secrets. No more pretending this is noble while he sleeps through it." Your voice doesn't waver. "He deserves to see what his life is costing us. And if he tells us to stop, we stop."

Namjoon opens his mouth and then closes it. His jaw works like he's chewing on glass.

Yoongi is the one who speaks. "That's a hell of a condition."

"It's the only one I've got."

It takes you three days to work up the nerve.

Three days of rehearsing speeches in the shower, of mouthing words into the bathroom mirror that dissolve the second you try to hold them. Three days of sitting at Hoseok's bedside, watching him sip broth through a straw, laughing weakly at whatever variety show is playing on the mounted TV and swallowing the confession each time it crawls up your throat.

On the fourth morning, you arrive earlier than usual. The hallway is quiet and the nurses mid-shift change. You carry two cups of vending machine coffee that you know Hoseok isn't supposed to have. It's a peace offering or maybe a bribe. You're not sure there's a difference anymore.

He's already awake when you nudge the door open with your hip, propped up against the elevated headboard with his eyes fixed on the window. The morning light catches the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw that used to be softer. He looks like a pencil sketch of the person you grew up with, with all the right lines but now, thinner.

"You're early," he says without turning. His voice carries that raspy quality it has before noon.

"Couldn't sleep." You set both cups on his tray table, nudging one towards him. He eyes it, then eyes you, with a lifted brow.

"Is that coffee?"

"It's a vending machine's best interpretation of coffee."

He takes it anyway, wrapping both hands around the paper cup like it's something precious. You watch his fingers as they appear thinner than they should be, the knuckles more pronounced. He catches you staring and you look away too quickly.

"You've been weird," Hoseok says.

You blink. "What are you talking about?" You say it with a scoff.

"Weird. Weirder than usual." He takes a careful sip, wincing at the taste but drinking again anyway. "You keep looking at me funny. And you chew your lip when you're holding something back– you've been doing that since high school." He gestures vaguely at your mouth with the cup. "You're doing it right now."

You release your bottom lip from between your teeth. Damn him.

A silence stretches, filled only by the rhythmic beep of his heart monitor and the distant squeak of a cart rolling down the hallway. You pull the chair closer to his bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor. When you sit, your knees are almost touching the bed rail.

"Hobi," you start, and the nickname alone shifts something in the room. His expression doesn't change, but you notice the way his fingers tighten around the cup. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to let me finish before you say anything."

He regards you for a long moment, lips pressed together, before he gives a single nod.

You don't start where you expected to. You thought you'd begin with the plan, with Namjoon's blueprints and Yoongi's flash drives and the clinical structure of it all. Instead, what comes out is Jungkook's name.

"I fell in love with someone." The words feel foreign and familiar at once, like a language you used to speak fluently. "His name is Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. He's– he was my boss. CEO of a film production company." You pause, tracing a scratch on the bed rail with your thumbnail. "I was supposed to be a distraction. That's all. And those were Namjoon's word, not mine. Just get close, earn his trust, keep his attention somewhere else while Yoongi and Jimin did their thing."

Hoseok's brow furrows, but he stays silent to honour his promise.

"But I fell for him, Hobi. Completely. Stupidly. The kind of falling where you don't realize it's happening until you're already at the bottom." You swallow hard. The coffee in your hand has gone lukewarm but you grip it tighter. A breath shudders out of you. "He told me he loved me, and I said it back, and I meant it. I meant every syllable."

Something akin to a mimicking ache shifts behind Hoseok's eyes.

"And then I robbed him."

The words drop like stones into still water. You watch the ripple cross Hoseok's face. It’s confusion at first, and then a slow, dawning understanding that rearranges his features entirely.

"We took two and a half million dollars," you continue. Your voice feels flat and mechanical because if you let yourself feel it now, you'll never finish. "The Gemini Pictures merger… Jungkook's company was about to become one of the biggest production firms in the industry. We stole the deal. Yoongi hacked the system, Jimin and I broke in at night. I used a secret entrance Jungkook had shown me in confidence. I used his password, which was the date we first met, to access his computer." You pause. "He'd changed it to that date because it mattered to him. And I used it to steal from him."

Hoseok's jaw tightens. He sets the coffee cup down carefully, deliberately, the way you set down something when your hands need to be free.

"He found out with security cameras we missed. He showed me the footage over a dinner I cooked him– sat across from me with flowers and an envelope and watched me unravel." You're not crying yet, which surprises you. Maybe you've cried it all out. Maybe the numbness has finally won. "He didn't press charges. He just… left."

The heart monitor beeps and in the silence that fills between the both of you, it beeps again.

"Why?" Hoseok's voice is barely above a whisper. It's the first word he's spoken, and it cuts deeper than any sentence could.

You look at him, really look at him. At the nasal cannula, the oxygen tanks, the constellation of wires that tether him to the machines keeping him alive. At the boy who used to outrun all of you, who danced until his shoes wore through, who laughed so loud it filled whatever room he was in.

"For you."

The next onslaught of silence that follows is not like the others. It doesn't settle, it detonates. Hoseok's face doesn't crumble the way you expected. It hardens into something ugly. You watch something cold move across his features, something you've never seen directed at you in all the years you've known him.

"For me," he repeats. There's no question mark attached to it, only a plain statement.

"Your medical bills were–"

"I know what my medical bills are." His voice is quiet, but the edges of it are bladed. "I see the invoices. I'm sick, _____, not blind." He shifts in the bed, the movement costing him visible effort, and you instinctively reach forward to help. He stops you with a look. "Don't."

Your hand hovers, then retreats.

"So let me get this straight." Hoseok's breathing has quickened, the cannula hissing faintly with each inhale. "You, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin— my best friends— decided to become thieves. To steal from people. To ruin someone's life." He holds up a trembling hand when you open your mouth. "I said let me finish."

You press your lips shut, the irony of your own request being turned against you.

"You fell in love with this man. And then you robbed him. While he was falling in love with you." He lets the words breathe, each one more clipped than the last. "And the whole time, I was unconscious. You just decided—all of you— that my life was worth more than your souls and you never once thought to ask me if I agreed."

The tears come now. Of course they do.

"Hobi–"

"Who asked you to do that?" The question snaps out of him with a force that startles you both. The heart monitor spikes briefly and a nurse peeks through the window before Hoseok waves her away with a shaking hand. He waits until the footsteps recede before he speaks again, quieter now, but no less sharp. "Who asked any of you to do that for me?"

"Nobody had to ask!" Your voice breaks open. "You're our family, you were dying, Hoseok, and we couldn't just–"

"You turned yourselves into criminals for me," he says, and the way he says it is almost disgusted and that disgust mirrors itself in you. "You destroyed a man who loved you. For me. And I didn't even get to have a choice."

A sob wracks through you. It's so ugly and uncontrolled. You press the heel of your palm against your mouth, trying to contain it, but it spills through your fingers like water. Hoseok watches you cry. He doesn't reach for you. He doesn't soothe you. For the first time in your friendship, he lets you sit in it.

When your breathing steadies to something resembling functional, Hoseok speaks again. "And now?" He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with a sharpness that reminds you he was always smarter than any of you gave him credit for. "You didn't come here just to confess. There's something else."

Of course he knows. The realization almost makes you laugh– a watery, broken thing. You drag your sleeve across your face.

"Namjoon has another plan. And it’s bigger, way bigger." You force yourself to hold his gaze. "Half a billion dollars. And it’s tied to Jungkook's company." You watch his eyes widen, his lips parting. "I told them I wouldn't do it unless you knew. Unless you were there. And unless you had the right to tell us to stop." You tell him everything about the plan, as much as you can remember from Yoongi's technical terms to the fact that there's a gala hosted by Jungkook they want you to attend.

Hoseok stares at you for a long time. Long enough for the light in the room to shift, the morning sun climbing higher past the blinds, painting warm stripes across the foot of his bed. His jaw works, lips pressing and releasing. You can see the war behind his eyes and the fury wrestling with something else, something softer and more complicated.

"You want to take me to a gala," he says slowly. "Me." He gestures at himself with the wires, the tubes, the hospital gown. "Looking like this."

"I don't care what you look like."

"That's not the point and you know it." He exhales, the sound rattling in the way that makes your stomach clench. He looks towards the window. "Do you still love him?"

The question catches you off guard, an ambush from a flank you hadn't defended. Your mouth opens and then closes. You think of the carnival, the Ferris wheel, fireworks reflected in Jungkook's dark eyes. You think of Lyara the penguin, waterlogged and drenched on your apartment floor. You think of the blue plastic ring.

"Yes." It comes out barely audible and the confession itself even startles you. You haven't been able to even admit it to yourself. "I don't think I ever stopped."

Hoseok closes his eyes. The heart monitor beeps its steady rhythm, indifferent to the weight of what's unfolding.

"Then you need to know something." He opens his eyes, and when they meet yours, the anger has dimmed. What remains is the Hoseok who held your hair back at parties, who proofread your essays at 3am, who once drove four hours in a thunderstorm because you called him crying. "If I let you do this… if I agree to be part of whatever the hell this is– it's not so you can steal from him again."

Your brow creases. "Then what—"

"It's so you can tell him the truth." His voice is firm despite its fragility, carrying a conviction that his body can no longer match. "About me. About why. About everything." He holds your gaze, unyielding. "You said he asked why, and you couldn't answer. This is your answer, _____. I am."

The simplicity of it winds you.

"If we walk into his world," Hoseok continues, "I'm not going as your alibi or your excuse. I'm going so he can see what you were trying to save. And then he can decide for himself whether it was worth what you took from him." He pauses, chest rising with a laboured breath. "That's my condition. Not Namjoon's money. Not Yoongi's code. The truth."

You stare at him, this man held together by machines and sheer will, and you realize that in trying to save his life, you forgot to account for who he actually is. He’s not a cause nor a justification but a person. One with more moral clarity in his deteriorating body than the rest of you have managed with your healthy ones. It's the Hoseok you've been fighting to keep alive.

"And if I tell him the truth," you say quietly, "and he still hates me?"

Hoseok's expression softens. For the first time since you started talking, you see the ghost of his heart-shaped smile but it’s not the full thing– just the scaffolding of it.

"Then at least he'll hate you for who you really are. Not for who he thinks you are."

You exhale. It feels like the first real breath you've taken in a year.

"And if Namjoon…"

"I'll deal with Namjoon." There's a glint in Hoseok's eye, something almost mischievous buried beneath the exhaustion. "He's not going to like it. But the last time I checked, it's my life you're all wagering with. I think that earns me a seat at the table."

You look down at your hands. They've stopped shaking. When you look back up, you reach for his hand gently, careful of the IV line taped to his wrist. He lets you take it this time. His fingers are cold, but they tighten around yours with surprising strength.

"I'm sorry, Hobi." The apology sits differently now. It's not the performative kind you've been rehearsing. It's genuine.

He squeezes your hand once. "I know." He regards you carefully and you wonder what he must be thinking. "But you owe that apology to someone else more than you owe it to me."

You nod, because he's right. He's so devastatingly right.

Outside the window, behind the curtains neither of you can see past, the autumn wind picks up. Somewhere on the path below, a young man in a black suede trench coat tucks his camera glasses into his breast pocket and pulls out his phone.

He dials and the line picks up on the second ring.

"She told him everything," he says, his boxy smile pulling wide. He pauses, listening. Then: "No, not yet. But she will."

A voice on the other end is quiet.

"Understood, Mr. Jeon. I'll keep you updated."

The line goes dead. Kim Taehyung pockets his phone, adjusts the grip on his cane, and walks back towards the parking lot. The first leaves of autumn skitter across the concrete behind him, carried by a wind that seems to know exactly where it's going.

Namjoon doesn't take it well.

You expect this, of course. You've known him long enough to read the weather patterns of his anger. The tight jaw comes first, then the nostril flare, then the deadly calm that precedes the storm. What you don't expect is for Hoseok to be the one holding the umbrella.

It happens the following evening. You're the one who texts Namjoon, a simple 'come to the hospital.' With no context. He arrives within the hour, Yoongi trailing behind him with his hands buried in his hoodie pockets and his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. They enter Hoseok's room expecting a logistics meeting. Instead, they find Hoseok sitting upright in bed– truly upright, not the half-reclined slouch he usually settles for. The TV is off and the overhead lights are turned to full. It feels less like a hospital room and more like a courtroom.

"Sit down," Hoseok says.

Namjoon glances at you. You're already seated by the window, arms crossed, offering nothing. It feels like when you're younger and your sibling is about to get in trouble. You can only watch from a distance and although it will be satisfying, it will also suck. He pulls up a chair, the legs squealing against the tile. Yoongi claims the far corner, perched on the windowsill with his legs dangling.

"She told me." Three words. Hoseok lets them land without a cushion, watching the impact register on Namjoon's face. To his credit, Namjoon doesn't flinch. But you see it, the barely perceptible tightening around his eyes and the way his fingers flatten against his thighs.

"Told you what?" Namjoon asks. It's not denial. It's a test– he wants to know how much.

"Everything." Hoseok holds his gaze. "RED Hotel. Jungkook. The two and a half million. The fact that four people I'd take a bullet for became thieves while I was unconscious, and nobody thought to mention it once I woke up."

The room goes vacuum-sealed. You hear the oxygen tank hiss beside Hoseok's bed, marking time in soft, mechanical breaths. Namjoon's jaw works. You recognize the motion as he's building an argument, assembling it brick by brick behind his teeth.

"Hoseok–"

"I'm not done." Hoseok's voice carries an authority you haven't heard from him in years. It's faint, sure and it’s carried on compromised lungs and thinned breath. But the steel in it is unmistakable. Namjoon's mouth closes. "I know why you did it. I understand the reasoning. I even understand the math." He gestures faintly toward the machines flanking his bed. "Trust me, nobody in this room is more aware of what it costs to keep me alive than the person it's actually costing."

The guilt hits all three of you simultaneously. You see it in the way Yoongi's gaze drops to his sneakers and Namjoon's throat bobs with a hard swallow.

"But you didn't give me a choice." Hoseok's eyes are glassy now, though nothing falls. "You decided my life was worth whatever it cost and you took that decision away from me." He pauses, the effort of sustained speech visible in the rise and fall of his chest. "I'm the one dying, Joon. Don't I get a say in what people destroy to keep me here?"

Namjoon leans forward, elbows on his knees, head dropping between his shoulders. For a long, terrible moment, you think he might cry. Namjoon doesn't cry. You've seen him through breakups, through his father's funeral, through the night Hoseok collapsed and the ambulance took twenty-three minutes to arrive. He didn't cry then. He’s organized, he’s planned, he’s calculated. Crying was a luxury he never permitted himself.

He doesn't cry now either. But it's close. When he raises his head, his eyes are red-rimmed, his voice stripped of its usual command.

"What was I supposed to do?" The question is so raw, so unlike the Namjoon who always has an answer, that it physically hurts to hear. "Watch you die? Sit in that waiting room and count ceiling tiles while they told us you had weeks?" His voice cracks on the last word. He catches it, swallows, presses on. "There was no version of this where I did nothing. I couldn't– I can't do nothing. Not when it comes to you."

The confession unpins something in the room. Yoongi turns his face toward the window, his reflection caught in the glass with a tight jaw and distant eyes. You wonder if he's thinking the same thing you are: that Namjoon never once framed this as anything other than a mission, a plan, a stratagem. Never once admitted that underneath the blueprints and the bravado, it was just a man terrified of losing his best friend.

Hoseok exhales a long, thin whistle through the cannula. "I know," he says, and there's no anger left– just a bone-deep weariness. "I know you can't sit back and do nothing. It's the most annoying thing about you." There's the faintest crack of a smile but it's gone as quickly as it appears. "But here's what's going to happen."

Namjoon straightens. You see him shift instinctively into listening mode, the same posture he adopts when a plan is being laid out. Old habits.

"I'm going to the gala," Hoseok says as if he's announcing he's going to the cafeteria. It's so matter-of-fact and decided, it surprises you again. "Not as a prop. Not as your sick friend who justifies everything. I'm going because _____ owes someone the truth and she's not going to do it alone." His eyes find yours and hold. "And I'm going because if this is what my life is costing, I want to look the price in the face."

Namjoon opens his mouth–

"I'm not finished." Hoseok's hand raises, trembling but firm. "The job goes forward. I'm not going to pretend I can stop you, you're all too stubborn and too stupid for that." The faintest ghost of warmth in his voice. "But the truth comes first. Before Yoongi touches a keyboard, before anyone transfers a single won, _____ tells Jungkook why. She shows him me. And if after he knows, if after he sees what you were trying to save, he still wants us gone? We go. We walk away. No arguments. I don't want to hear it."

"That's—" Namjoon starts.

"Non-negotiable." Hoseok meets his stare, unflinching. "You stole two and a half million dollars from that man to pay for my heartbeat. I think the least I can do is show him the heart."

The silence that follows is so absolute, you can hear the fluorescent lights humming above you. Namjoon sits motionless, eyes locked with Hoseok's. Something passes between them that you've only ever witnessed a handful of times. It’s a form of communication that predates the rest of you, rooted in a friendship that started before any of yours did. They were friends first. Before the group, before Jimin, before Yoongi, before you. That foundation carries a weight none of you can overrule.

Namjoon's shoulders drop but not in defeat, in concession. He nods once. "Okay." The word costs him more than the half a billion ever could.

Yoongi speaks for the first time. "For the record," he says from his corner, still facing the window, "I think this is the best idea any of us has had in two years." He turns, and there's something close to respect in his gaze when it settles on Hoseok. "You should've been calling the shots the whole time."

Hoseok smiles and it’s the real one this time, heart-shaped and warm, though it sits on a face too thin to hold it properly. "Yeah," he says. "I should've been."

Two weeks before the gala, your life becomes a choreography of preparation and pretense.

Yoongi sets up a command center of sorts in Hoseok's hospital room, much to the displeasure of the nursing staff. His laptop occupies the guest table, flanked by two additional monitors he smuggled in inside instrument cases. The wires snake across the floor like veins, taped down in haphazard lines that one particular nurse has tripped over three times. You've started leaving her apology chocolates at the nurses' station.

"The system mirrors for exactly seven minutes and forty-three seconds," Yoongi explains one afternoon, pointing to a diagram on his screen that looks like a subway map designed by a lunatic. The lunatic being Yoongi. "During that window, the auditing protocol creates a duplicate ledger. We intercept the mirror, redirect the funds through a series of Obsidian wallets layered on the platform’s blockchain, and by the time the mirror collapses, the money's been scattered across so many nodes it would take a forensic team six months to trace a single transaction."

"And you can do all of that in seven minutes?" You lean over his shoulder, squinting at the screen.

"Seven minutes and forty-three seconds," he corrects. "And no. I can do it in four."

"Then why do we need eight?"

"Because four minutes is for the transfer." He taps a second diagram. "The other four are for you."

You frown. "Me?"

"You need to physically access a terminal at the event. The system requires biometric confirmation from an authorized user to initiate the mirror. A fingerprint scan." He looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "Jungkook's fingerprint."

Your stomach bottoms out. "You want me to get his fingerprint."

"I want you to get him to touch a screen," Yoongi clarifies, pulling up an image of what looks like an ordinary phone. "This. It's a modified device, looks like a standard tablet. The screen captures biometric data on contact. All you need to do is get him to interact with it. Hand it to him, show him something on it. Thirty seconds of contact is all I need."

"You want me to hand Jungkook, a man I robbed and whose heart I broke— a tablet. And have him casually press his finger to it."

"Ideally his thumb." Yoongi's tone doesn't change. "Index works too."

You stare at him until he has the decency to look uncomfortable. From across the room, Hoseok snorts.

The suit fitting happens on a Tuesday.

Namjoon arranges it through a contact, someone who doesn't ask questions and makes house calls to hospitals. The tailor arrives with a rolling rack and a measuring tape draped around his neck like a stethoscope. The irony isn't lost on any of you.

Hoseok hasn't stood unaided in months, but he insists on being upright for the measurements. It takes both you and Namjoon to help him from the bed, his arms draped over your shoulders, legs finding the floor like a newborn colt. The tailor politely pretends not to notice the IV stand trailing behind his client.

"Charcoal or navy?" the tailor asks, unfurling fabric swatches.

Hoseok studies them with more intensity than a dying man should reasonably dedicate to colour theory. "Black," he says finally.

"Black wasn't an option," Namjoon mutters.

"It is now." Hoseok stands a little straighter, the effort whitening his knuckles where they grip the bed rail. "If I'm going to a party to show some billionaire what his money paid for, I'm not doing it in charcoal."

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, but the sound escapes anyway, a wet, breathy thing that's half humor and half grief. The tailor measures him with clinical efficiency: inseam, shoulders, waist. Each number feels like a subtraction, a quantification of how much of Hoseok has been whittled away. His waist is narrower than yours now. The tailor doesn't comment.

When it's your turn, the process is quicker. Namjoon has procured a gown that’s floor-length, deep emerald, with a neckline that suggests elegance and a back that suggests intention. You try it on in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror under fluorescent light that does no one any favours.

You barely recognize yourself, and it’s not because of the dress, but because of the eyes staring back at you. They're harder than you remember. You wonder if Jungkook will notice. You wonder what will happen when you see him again and if you truly are prepared. You're most likely not but whatever, you're used to flying by the seat of your pants.

When you step out, Hoseok is back in bed, but he wolf-whistles, breathy and weak and absolutely ridiculous. And for a single, perfect moment, it feels like old times.

"Stunning," he says. "He won't know what hit him."

You smooth the fabric over your hip. "That's what I'm afraid of."

The days leading up to the gala pass in a strange twilight of hyperactivity and dread. Yoongi runs simulations, Namjoon drills contingencies and Hoseok practices walking.

This last part guts you more than anything else. Every morning, you watch him grip the parallel bars the physical therapist set up along the length of his room, knuckles bone-white, jaw set, legs quaking beneath him as he forces one foot in front of the other. The cannula trails behind him, the oxygen tank wheeled alongside by a patient nurse who's learned to match his agonizing pace. Ten steps the first day. Twelve the second. By the end of the first week, he makes it to the door and back.

He doesn't complain. Not once. Not about the pain, not about the exhaustion that collapses him back into bed afterward, not about the indignity of a twenty-six year old man celebrating the fact that he walked fourteen steps. When you catch him grimacing after a session, he flattens his expression the instant he notices you watching.

"Stop looking at me like that," he says one evening, breathless and sheened with sweat.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm going to break."

You hold his gaze. "Are you?"

He considers this for a moment, genuinely, then shakes his head. "Not yet."

By the second week, he can manage twenty steps with a cane. It's enough. It has to be.

Fifty kilometres away, in a penthouse suite that overlooks the city from the forty-second floor, Jeon Jungkook stands at the floor-to-ceiling window with a glass of whiskey he hasn't touched.

The city below pulses with light and arterial reds of brake lights, the gold spill of storefronts, the cold blue wash of office buildings still lit past midnight. It's beautiful in the way that expensive things are beautiful: perfectly maintained and utterly soulless.

He hears the elevator chime behind him but he doesn't turn.

"She told him," Kim Taehyung's voice carries across the marble floor, accompanied by the rhythmic tap of his cane. "Everything. The first heist, you, the money. All of it."

Jungkook's reflection stares back at him in the glass, translucent, ghostly against the cityscape. He's changed in the year since he walked away from her door. His hair is shorter, cropped close at the sides and pushed back from his forehead. The softness that once rounded his cheeks has sharpened into angles. He looks older. Not in years but in something harder to quantify.

"How did he react?" Jungkook asks. His voice is even, controlled. It’s the voice of a man who's spent twelve months learning how to discuss her without flinching.

Taehyung settles onto the leather sofa behind him, stretching his bad leg out with a wince. "Angry. He didn't know any of it. They kept him in the dark the entire time." He pauses.

Jungkook is quiet for a long time. The ice in his untouched whiskey has melted, the amber liquid diluted to pale gold.

"He's dying. Has been for a while." Taehyung's voice loses its professional edge, softening into something more human. He and Jungkook are friends before they are business associates and have been since Taehyung took a bullet in Busan five years ago that left him with a permanent limp. Jungkook paid for his rehabilitation without being asked. Loyalty between them is a currency that predates money. 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Behind his lids, he sees her. What he doesn't see is the woman who sat across from him at the dinner table, leafing through surveillance photos with trembling hands, but the woman he fell in love with ice cream on her lip, laughing at something he said. 

"I hired you to find out why she did it," he says quietly. "I hired you to get them close enough so I could look her in the eye and understand. That's all I wanted. An answer." He finally lifts the glass, taking a sip of the watered-down whiskey. It's weak and bitter, and he grimaces but drinks again anyway. "I didn't plan for this."

"For what?"

"For a reason that makes sense." He sets the glass down on the sill, harder than necessary. The sound pings across the silent penthouse. "It was supposed to be greed. Something I could be angry at.” He swallows. "Not a dying man in a hospital bed."

Taehyung watches him carefully. "Does it change anything?"

Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out— a small, circular object that catches the city light. A bright blue plastic ring. The paint has faded, chipped in places, but he's kept it. This entire time, he's kept it.

He turns it between his fingers, studying it the way one studies a relic from a past life.

"It changes everything," he says finally. "And nothing. She still lied." He pockets the ring again. "But now I know she had a reason. And that might be worse."

"Worse?"

Jungkook looks at Taehyung, and for the first time, the mask slips. Underneath is not the CEO, or conglomerate head- hell, it's not even the man with his name on buildings and gala invitations. Underneath is a boy with doe eyes who fell in love with the wrong person and hasn't figured out how to fall back out.

"Because I could've helped her." The words land like a confession of their own. "If she had just told me about her friend, about the money, about any of it— I would've helped. I had the resources. I had the means. She didn't have to steal from me." His voice frays at the edges. "She chose to rob me instead of trust me. And I don't know which one hurts more."

Taehyung is silent for a long time. "The gala is in six days."

"I know."

"Namjoon's team is prepping. Your security detail has their profiles. We can intercept at any point."

"No." Jungkook turns from the window, eyes hardened with resolve. "Let them come. I need them to do this for me.” 

Taehyung nods, rising from the sofa with a lean on his cane. He studies Jungkook for a moment, then turns for the elevator. He stops halfway, speaking over his shoulder. "For what it's worth," he says, "I don’t think you’ve left her mind."

"Maybe." Jungkook's voice is barely a whisper. "But eventually she’ll have to leave mine."

The elevator doors close. Jungkook stands alone in the penthouse, the city sprawled beneath him like a circuit board, every light a connection, every dark space a severance. He thinks of a password he once set: eight digits, a date, a beginning. He wonders if endings have dates too.

The night of the gala arrives the way all inevitable things do, too quickly and not quickly enough.

You're in Hoseok's room, the emerald gown pooling around your feet as you sit on the edge of his bed, holding a tube of lipstick you can't seem to apply with steady hands. A garment bag hangs from the curtain rod, Hoseok's black suit pressed and waiting.

Namjoon arrives in a charcoal suit that fits like an apology. He hasn't said much in the days since Hoseok laid down his terms, operating with a quiet efficiency that you've come to interpret as his version of penance. He runs through the plan one final time with Yoongi over comms, voice low and clinical, stripped of the bravado that used to characterize these briefings. Something has changed in him. The desperation is still there, but it's been tempered, reined in by the leash of Hoseok's conviction.

"Comms check," Yoongi says from behind his monitors, an earpiece tucked into his right ear. He'll be stationed in a service van two blocks from the venue, running the operation remotely. "Radio silence unless absolutely necessary. _____, your frequency is channel 3. Namjoon is on standby at channel 7. If anything goes sideways—"

"It won't," Namjoon interrupts. He meets Yoongi's stare. "It can't."

Yoongi holds his gaze for a beat, then nods.

The hardest part is getting Hoseok ready.

It takes forty minutes. You help him into his shirt first, guiding his arms through the sleeves with the gentleness of handling something irreplaceable. Namjoon handles the trousers, steadying Hoseok's legs as he steps into them one at a time, both of them pretending it's not a struggle. The jacket goes last, and when Hoseok is finally dressed, standing between the two of you in his black suit, cane in one hand, cannula removed for the first time in months, you almost lose your composure entirely.

He looks beautiful. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful. The suit hangs on his diminished frame in ways the tailor couldn't fully compensate for, the shoulders a touch too wide, the waist pinched with an extra fold of fabric. But his face– his face is alive. His eyes are bright, focused, burning with a determination that his body has no business supporting.

"How do I look?" he asks, adjusting his cuffs with fingers that only shake a little.

"Like hell," Namjoon says.

Hoseok grins fully, heart-shaped and radiant. "Perfect."

A portable oxygen concentrator has been arranged that’s small enough to fit in a bag and discreet enough to pass unnoticed. The doctor fought against this expedition with considerable force, relenting only when Hoseok signed a release form with the calm resignation of a man who's already made peace with every possible outcome. The nurse attached a pulse oximeter to his finger with a look that said everything her professionalism wouldn't allow.

The car waits at the hospital's rear exit. Namjoon drives. You sit in the back with Hoseok, his hand in yours, his cane propped between his knees. The city slides past the tinted windows in streaks of light and shadow. None of you speak. The silence is too full for words and weighted with everything you're about to do, everything you've done and everything that can't be undone.

Hoseok squeezes your hand once. You look at him.

"Whatever happens in there," he says quietly, "you just need to tell him the truth." His eyes hold yours, steady despite the exhaustion pulling at their edges. "Promise me."

You squeeze back, a nervous smile settling across your face. "I promise."

The car pulls to a stop and your heart beats louder. This is it.

Through the window, you see it, the Grand Meridian Hotel. Its façade bathed in gold light, a procession of black cars depositing glittering figures onto a red carpet that bleeds into the lobby. The building reaches into the night sky like a monolith, its upper floors disappearing into low-hanging clouds. Security lines the entrance in tailored suits, earpieces catching light.

Namjoon kills the engine. In the rearview mirror, his eyes find yours.

"Eight minutes," he says. "That's all we need."

You hold his gaze. "No," you say quietly. "That's all you need."

You step out of the car first, the autumn air biting through the silk of your gown. You turn and offer your hand to Hoseok. He takes it, rising from the car with a controlled effort that costs him more than anyone watching would ever guess. His cane clicks against the pavement. He steadies himself, lifts his chin, and for a moment, just a moment, you see the Hoseok from before. The one who lit up every room. The one who made you believe that sheer force of joy could outrun anything, even death.

The two of you stand together at the base of the steps, staring up at the golden doors. Music drifts out with a string quartet, something classical and expensive. Laughter follows, the tinkling kind that belongs to people who've never had to choose between rent and groceries.

Hoseok glances at you. "Ready?"

You think of Jungkook somewhere inside those walls. Of the love you once shared, although now one-sided. You don't know how you're holding your composure but it's now or never.

"No," you answer honestly.

He smiles. "Good. That means you care."

Together, you climb the steps. Hoseok's cane taps a steady rhythm against the stone, one, two, one, two- a metronome counting down to something neither of you can predict. Your hand stays on his arm. The doorman opens the gilded entrance without a word.

Warmth engulfs you. Light, sound, perfume, the shimmer of crystal and the murmur of a hundred conversations layered over strings. The ballroom opens before you like the throat of some magnificent, glittering beast. Chandeliers hang like frozen constellations. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns orbit each other in practiced elegance, champagne catching light in their hands. It’s the kind of wealth that you only see in the movies. 

A waiter materializes at your elbow with a tray of champagne flutes, and you take two without thinking, pressing one into Hoseok's free hand. He accepts it with a look that says he has no intention of drinking it and every intention of using it as a prop.

"Smile," he murmurs, lips barely moving. "You look like you're calculating an exit route."

"I am calculating an exit route."

"Do it while smiling."

You smile. It feels like something you're wearing, like the gown, like the earrings that are already beginning to pinch. Hoseok's arm is warm beneath your hand, and you focus on that, on the solidity of him, as you move deeper into the ballroom's current.

The room works the way these rooms always do, pulling people into its orbit through some unspoken social gravity. A couple drifts past you, trailing perfume and quiet laughter. A man in a tuxedo gestures broadly at nothing, making a point no one will remember. Somewhere to your left, a woman's necklace catches the chandelier light and throws small stars across the ceiling. You feel so out of place walking amongst the wealth like an imposter that you get caught off guard mid thought when your ear piece goes off.

Yoongi's voice arrives in your ear, low and even. “Perimeter looks clean. Security rotation is every four minutes on the east corridor. Namjoon's in position near the main stairs. You have time.”

You search the crowd of elites and suck in a breath when you see him.

Across the room, half-turned from you, a glass of something dark in his hand. His hair is shorter than you remember, pushed back from his forehead in a way that sharpens the line of his jaw. He's mid-conversation with a silver-haired man, nodding at something being said, his posture carrying the easy authority of someone who owns the room and every wall around it.

Your body responds before your brain can intervene. Heat blooms across your chest, your pulse spiking in places that have nothing to do with fear. You know this reaction, in fact you know it intimately. You know it from every time he walked into a room, every time his hand found the small of your back and every time he had you pinned underneath him with slow, deliberate drags of his– no. You can’t go there. A year of distance has done nothing to rewire it. Your body still recognizes him as something it wants, and the betrayal of that recognition makes your skin burn.

Your breath catches and your fingers tighten around Hoseok's arm.

Jungkook hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he has. You can't tell from here whether the slight tension in his shoulders is for you or for the conversation. That is before a woman joins in. She’s breathtakingly gorgeous, a red gown ten times more luxurious than the one you’ve adorned. Her dark hair falls behind her open back in curls, and what takes you most aback is the way Jungkook lights up when he sees her- gently placing a small peck against her cheek. 

Something sharp and ugly twists in your chest. You have absolutely no right to feel it, and you feel it anyway.

Hoseok follows your gaze across the room. He studies the man who funded his heartbeat without ever knowing it. The man you robbed, loved, and lost. Or you suppose, loved, then robbed and then lost.

"He's tall," Hoseok observes quietly.

You can't bring yourself to respond. Your heart is hammering so violently, you're certain Hoseok can feel it through your arm.

And then, as if summoned by the weight of your stare, Jungkook turns.

As you loosen your grip on Hoseok’s arm, you’re met by the vibrant and bright chocolate doe eyes of Jeon Jungkook while he holds her the way he once held you. 

And the world goes quiet. The music fades. The chatter dissolves. There is only the distance between you, forty feet of marble floor, a year of silence, and every unspoken word that fills the space between.

The look he gives you isn't anger but isn't warmth either. It's the look of a man taking inventory of something he lost. His gaze traces from your eyes to your mouth, lingering there for a beat that makes your skin prickle, before dropping to the emerald neckline and back up. You feel it like a physical thing, like fingers dragging across your collarbone or how soft and careful his kisses were, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

He doesn't move. Neither do you.

The woman in red places a hand on Jungkook's arm, saying something you can't hear. He doesn't look at her. His eyes stay on yours, and whatever she says dissolves into the noise of the room, unanswered.

"You should go," Hoseok says.

"I'm not leaving you standing alone."

"I'm not alone." He nods toward the column. "I have this very sturdy piece of architecture." A beat passes. "And Yoongi will talk my ear off if I ask him to."

“He's not wrong,” Yoongi says in your ear, and you almost laugh despite everything.

You look at Hoseok for a moment longer than you mean to. He's watching the room with those bright, tired eyes, his cane resting against the column, champagne held loosely in one hand. He has spent so much of these last months becoming smaller, quieter, reduced by increments. But here, in this borrowed hour, he has made himself enormous again through sheer will alone.

You squeeze his arm once, and he nods without looking at you, and that's enough. You turn. You begin to move through the crowd.

You catch Namjoon by the main stairs as Yoongi mentioned. He's not just standing there; he's working. You catch him mid-handshake with a man in a navy blazer, his smile sharp and practiced, and as the man turns away, you see Namjoon's left hand slip something small and flat into his inner jacket pocket. A cloned access badge. He's already halfway through his own mission, running a parallel track you can only glimpse in fragments. His eyes cut to yours for half a second with a flicker of acknowledgment, a silent status report and then he looks away. The sight of it settles something cold in your chest, the reality of it all.

Eight minutes, he'd said.

Your heels click against the marble. One step. Then another.

Jungkook watches you come.

He moves before you've fully decided to. Or perhaps you move first. Later, you won't be able to say with certainty. What you'll remember is that the distance between you simply begins to close, pulled shut by something older and more stubborn than either of your intentions. And then there are only a few feet of marble between you, and then there are none.

Up close, he is worse.

That's the only word for it. Worse. More real. The year that stretched between you like an ocean has done nothing to blunt the specific way he occupies space, the breadth of his shoulders, the slight asymmetry of his mouth, the way his eyes catch light and hold it longer than they should. He is exactly as you remember and entirely different and both of these things are devastating in their own register.

The woman in red has drifted away. You caught the movement in your periphery, some acquaintance pulling her into a separate orbit, laughing at something, her dark curls disappearing into the crowd. She doesn't know she's given you anything. She doesn't know there is anything to give.

Jungkook's glass is still in his hand. He hasn't looked away from you since you started moving.

"You’re here," he says.

It's not what you expected. You don't know what you expected, something cooler, something with more architecture to hide behind. But those two words come out slightly uneven, fractionally too quiet for the room, and you watch him register that he's said them wrong before his expression closes over it like water over a stone.

"I was invited," you say.

Something moves behind his eyes that you can't quite read. Then again, it's been a while. "You were." 

The space between those words and his next ones is too long. He fills it by dropping his gaze briefly, just a half-second, taking in the emerald gown, the earrings, the lipstick you finally managed to apply with shaking hands in the car. When he looks back up, his jaw is set in a way you recognize. It's the look he gets when he's decided to be careful.

"You look—" He stops and starts again. "It's good to see you." It isn't what he was going to say. You both know it.

The string quartet shifts into something slower. Around you, the room continues its elaborate performance of itself, glasses lifted, laughter rising and falling in practiced waves, none of it touching the two feet of charged air between you and the man you robbed. The man you loved. The man who is watching you now, like he's trying to solve something.

Your pulse is very loud and you want to ask him why he invited you but instead you call to him.

"Jungkook," you begin, because you promised Hoseok, because there is a clock somewhere running down eight minutes that has nothing to do with why you're really here, because the truth has been sitting in your chest for a year, and it is very heavy. "There are things I need to say to you."

His chin dips slightly. An acknowledgment that isn't quite permission.

"I know," he says.

Something in his tone stops you. Not the words, but the texture of them.

Your eyes search his face. "What do you know?"

He holds your gaze for a beat that lasts too long. His fingers shift around his glass. In another life, in another version of this night, you think he might have reached for your hand instead.

"That you're here," he says finally. "That's enough for now."

It's not an answer. You file that away somewhere and let it sit, because Yoongi's voice is a low murmur in your ear, reminding you of timelines. And across the room Namjoon is still performing his own careful theatre, and Hoseok is leaning against a column with a champagne glass he won't drink from, and you made a promise.

But Jungkook is looking at you the way he used to, underneath the composure, underneath whatever careful thing he's built around himself this past year. Like you are something he thought he'd finished grieving. You feel like you might break under his gaze. The onslaught of emotions hit you harder than that night he left your house. And you can’t help but crave his touch again.

You look away first. You have to.

There's a pillar to your left and you fix your gaze on it for exactly two seconds, long enough to find the floor beneath your feet again.

Then you look back at him, because you promised.

"Can we go somewhere quieter?" you ask. The ballroom feels like it's shrinking, the string quartet and the laughter and the perfume collapsing inward.

Jungkook studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he tilts his head toward a corridor beyond the grand staircase. "There's a terrace."

You nod, and he moves first, setting his glass on a passing waiter's tray without looking. You follow a half-step behind, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne. It’s different from what he used to wear– it’s something darker and woodier. You hate that you notice.

As you pass the staircase, your eyes catch Namjoon's. He's watching you move toward the corridor, his jaw tightening. You give an imperceptible shake of your head of a "not yet". His gaze holds yours for a beat too long before he turns back to his conversation, the tension in his shoulders broadcasting everything his face won't.

"She's moving to the east terrace," you hear Yoongi murmur through the earpiece, talking to Namjoon rather than you. "Timeline still holds. Let her work."

The corridor narrows, the noise of the ballroom dimming behind you like a radio being dialled down. Jungkook pushes through a glass door, and the autumn night hits you, sharp and clean against the heat of the gala. The terrace overlooks the city from a height that makes everything below look insignificant.

Jungkook walks to the stone railing and rests both hands on it, his back to you for a moment. You watch the way his shoulders rise with a breath, then drop. When he turns, he leans against the railing, arms crossed, and the posture is so deliberately casual it hurts. He's armouring himself.

"So," he says. "Talk."

The word is blunt but underneath it, you hear the thing he's actually saying: I've been waiting a year for this. You straighten your spine. You think of everything, every version of the speech you've prepared but you go off pure gut instinct.

"The night you came to my apartment," you start, your voice thin against the open air. "You showed me the photos. You asked me why." The memory is a blade. You distinctly remember his flowers, the envelope, the surveillance stills scattering across the table. "I couldn't answer you then."

"I remember." His voice is flat but his eyes aren't. There's something deep and restless moving behind them.

"I'm answering you now."

Jungkook doesn't speak. He waits the way a man waits for a verdict he's already tried to accept.

"His name is Jung Hoseok." You say it clearly, giving the name its full weight. "He's my best friend. He's been my best friend since we were fourteen years old." You take a breath that shakes more than you'd like. "He got sick two years ago, and nobody knew what it was. The doctors ran every test, every scan, and came back with nothing. Then the bills started. You can't imagine what it costs to keep someone alive when medicine doesn't even know what's killing them."

Jungkook's expression hasn't changed, but you see the shift. There’s a fractional loosening around his jaw, like a door being unlocked without being opened.

"We were drowning," you continue. "Student loans, medical debt, the cost of keeping him in a hospital that could actually help. Namjoon– you remember Namjoon?" You don't wait for an answer. "He came up with the plan. The first one. Then the second." You swallow. "The second one was you."

A muscle feathers along Jungkook's jaw. His arms stay crossed.

"I was supposed to be a distraction. Get hired as your assistant, keep your attention occupied while they handled the technical side." You force yourself to hold his gaze. "That's all it was supposed to be."

"But it wasn't." His voice is quiet. 

"No." The word catches in your throat. "It wasn't. I fell in love with you. I fell in love with the way you held doors open and remembered dates and how you loved me without condition." Your eyes are burning, but you refuse to blink. "I didn't plan on any of it. I didn't plan on you."

Jungkook uncrosses his arms. His hands find the railing behind him and grip it, knuckles whitening. The movement pulls his shirt taut across his chest, and you hate yourself for noticing and hate that even now, even mid-confession, some traitorous part of your brain is cataloguing the way his jaw catches the moonlight, the column of his throat above his loosened collar. You're telling him about the worst thing you've ever done, and your body is remembering the best things he's ever done to it.

The silence between you is different from the ballroom silence, from the hospital silence, from the silence that fell when Jungkook walked away from your apartment a year ago. This silence has oxygen in it. It has room to breathe.

"March 14th," Jungkook says, very quietly.

"March 14th," you repeat. "I typed it into your computer to steal from you, and I hated myself for knowing it." You look towards him. "He's here," you say. "Hoseok. He's inside."

Something crosses Jungkook's face that you can't fully read; surprise isn't quite it because it moves too quickly. It's quickly replaced by something more complex. Recognition, maybe. Like a piece sliding into a puzzle he's been working on in the dark.

"He signed himself out of the hospital to be here tonight. He can barely walk. He has a cane and a portable oxygen concentrator in a bag, and he's wearing a suit that doesn't fit because his body is half of what it used to be." Your voice breaks on the last part, but you keep going because you promised. "He's twenty-six years old, and he's dying, and he's standing in your ballroom right now because he thinks you deserve to know that his heartbeat is the reason I broke yours."

The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint sound of the string quartet from inside, something melancholy, something in a minor key that has no business being this appropriate. Jungkook's chest rises with a deep breath, his fingers releasing the railing.

"Where is he?" he asks.

The question shocks you into stillness. You expected him to still be angry, cold or even dismissal. You expected the same venom that lacerated you at your dinner table a year ago. You had prepped yourself to brace for impact. Instead, he's asking where Hoseok is.

"By the east columns," you manage. "Near the entrance."

Jungkook pushes off the railing. He takes a step toward the door and then stops to turn back to you. The city lights catch the silver of his cufflinks, the sharp line of his jaw, the look in his eyes that you've never seen before. 

"I would love to meet him," he says. "Not for you. For me."

He holds the terrace door open for you, and you walk through it feeling as if you've just stepped off the edge of something with no certainty of where you'll land.

As you pass him in the doorway, the space is narrow enough that your arm grazes his chest. The contact lasts less than a second. It’s silk against cotton, your bare arm against the warmth of him– and you feel it everywhere. His breath catches. Or maybe yours does too. You don’t look at him. You can’t. If you look at him right now, with your defences stripped and his chest warm against your skin, you will do something you can’t take back. You keep walking as he follows. 

Yoongi's voice returns in your ear, sharper now. "Fifteen minutes to mirror. _____, where are you? I need confirmation you're moving to the terminal."

"I need a minute," you say to both of them, though only one can hear you.

The ballroom swallows you both back into its machinery. Jungkook walks beside you but not with you, a deliberate distance maintained. You're aware of every inch of it.

You're halfway across the floor when it happens. A sharp voice cuts through the ambient noise.

"Wait– don't I know you?"

You freeze. The woman in the red dress you saw earlier with Jungkook has stepped into your path, head tilted, eyes narrowing with the specific intensity of someone rifling through their memory. She's even more beautiful up close with expensive jewellery and the kind of face that attends a lot of industry events.

"You worked at GFC, didn't you?" she says. "Jungkook's assistant?"

Your blood goes cold. Beside you, Jungkook stiffens almost imperceptibly.

"I think you're mistaken," you manage, your voice remarkably steady for someone whose heart has just relocated to her throat.

The woman squints harder. "No, I'm sure of it. The holiday party, two years ago? You were handling the guest list. I remember because you—"

"Mrs. Ahn." Jungkook's voice slides in, smooth and warm, and the interruption is so seamless. He steps forward with a smile that reaches exactly as far as it needs to. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight. Have you met the team from Hana Ventures? I believe your husband was asking about their sustainability portfolio. They're just by the bar." Oh. She’s married. You can’t help but feel relief. 

It's a redirection so elegant it borders on art. Mrs. Ahn's attention pivots to Jungkook entirely, her recognition of you dissolving into the social gravity of a CEO's full attention. She brightens, adjusts her necklace, and allows herself to be guided toward the bar with a delighted "Oh, wonderful!"

Jungkook glances back at you over his shoulder as he walks Mrs. Ahn away. The look lasts one second. In it, you read: Stay. I'll be back.

You press your back against the nearest column, heart hammering, and wait. Jungkook returns within two minutes, his composure fully restored.

"Thank you," you breathe.

"Don't thank me yet." The words carry a weight you don't fully understand. "Come on. Show me your friend."

You navigate the remaining distance to the east columns. Hoseok is where you left him, still propped against the column with his untouched champagne. His cane is hooked over his forearm while he's watching a couple dance. His expression carries a wistfulness that makes your throat close. From this distance, in this light, in that suit, you could almost forget he's sick.

Hoseok senses your approach. His gaze shifts to you, then past you to the man walking in your wake. His eyes sharpen. He straightens with a conscious effort, drawing every reserve of energy he has to meet this moment upright. He sets the champagne glass on the column's ledge, frees his cane, and faces Jungkook fully.

The two men regard each other across a narrowing distance. You step to the side, because this isn't yours anymore. This is between the man whose life was bought at another man's expense and the man who paid the price without knowing.

Jungkook stops three feet from Hoseok. He takes him in, the ill-fitting suit, the too-sharp cheekbones, the way he leans on the cane with practised subtlety. You watch Jungkook's eyes trace the details the way he used to study you. It’s as if he’s cataloguing, absorbing, trying to understand.

"Jung Hoseok," Hoseok says, extending a hand that trembles just slightly. His voice is steady despite it. "I believe you've been keeping me alive.”

You see the impact land on Jungkook's face like a wave of something cresting and breaking behind his careful composure. He looks at Hoseok's extended hand. He then takes it warmly.

"Jeon Jungkook," he replies, and his voice is thick. "I wish we'd met differently."

"So do I." Hoseok's grip tightens before releasing. "But if we'd met differently, I'd probably be dead. So I'll take this."

The bluntness catches Jungkook off guard. You watch him blink to recalibrate. Hoseok does that to people and has always done that. Even diminished, even tethered to machines and measured in borrowed months, he has a way of cutting straight to the marrow of a thing.

Hoseok shifts his weight onto his cane, glancing at you briefly before returning to Jungkook.

"You're quite handsome," he says conversationally. "No wonder she's in love with you."

The floor drops out from under you.

"Hoseok!" His name comes out strangled.

"What?" He turns to you with an expression of perfect innocence that has absolutely no business existing on a man in his condition. "It's true."

You look at Jungkook who is already looking at you. You look away with flushed cheeks and another wave of warmth spreading across the back of your neck.

"He's been on an extraordinary amount of medication," you say to no one and everyone. "Practically braindead. Medically speaking."

"Medically speaking, I have excellent observational skills," Hoseok replies, entirely unbothered. He takes a small sip of the champagne he was never going to drink and grimaces at the taste.

Jungkook lets the silence sit for exactly long enough that you feel every degree of it against your skin. Then, with a grace that costs him something you're certain of, he lets it go.

He turns to Hoseok.

"How are you feeling tonight?" The question is genuine, stripped of the social reflex that usually props up that particular phrase. He means it. You can tell he means it by the way he waits for the answer.

Hoseok glances around the ballroom, at the chandeliers, the gowns, the ancient indifferent wealth of it all. "Great. I haven't been anywhere in months, years some would say. Everywhere starts to look like a hospital ceiling after a while." His eyes return to Jungkook. "This is a very good ceiling."

Jungkook looks up despite himself. The chandelier throws fractured light across his face.

"It is," he agrees quietly.

Something passes between them that you don't entirely have access to. Two people negotiating the strange territory of a connection that has no map, no precedent and no name for what they are to each other.

"I wanted to meet you," Hoseok says. "That was the other reason I came tonight." He pauses. "She didn't know I was going to say that. She'd have talked me out of it."

"I absolutely would have," you confirm.

Jungkook's gaze moves to you then, briefly, warm in a way that undoes something small and load-bearing inside your chest, before returning to Hoseok. "I'm glad you did."

Hoseok nods slowly, as if this confirms something he suspected. He studies Jungkook for a moment with those bright, tired eyes, the same way he studied the ceiling of his hospital room on bad nights.

"You should talk," Hoseok says, looking between you both. "Really talk." His eyes flick almost imperceptibly toward your earpiece before coming back. "Because you owe it to each other."

A chill rolls through you. Time is ticking and quite frankly, you can’t think of how you’re going to pull this off. 

"I'm going to find a chair before my legs stage a mutiny," Hoseok says, straightening with effort. He gives Jungkook a final look. It’s warm with a shot of exhaustion he can no longer mask. "Thank you for meeting me. Whatever you decide…about her, about all of this, I wanted you to know that your money bought time. And I used that time to wake up." He smiles, the heart-shaped one. "That's not nothing." He turns, cane tapping a steady beat against the marble, and you watch him walk toward a chair near the far column. A waiter approaches and Hoseok waves him off politely. 

You turn back to Jungkook. He's watching Hoseok too. His expression is caught between something shattered and something mending.

"Jungkook–" you start.

"Not here." His voice is rough. He drags his gaze from Hoseok's retreating figure back to you. His eyes are wet. "Come with me."

He doesn't reach for your hand. He simply walks, and you follow.

Jungkook takes you through a service corridor that the guests don't see. It’s past stacked chairs, and folded tablecloths, and the muted clatter of the kitchen beyond a swinging door. The noise of the gala dims to a muffle. He stops in a narrow hallway lit by bare bulbs.

He turns to face you. In this light, stripped of the ballroom's gilding, he looks younger. Closer to the boy you met on March 14th. His collar is still open, and in the bare light you can see the faint sheen of sweat at the base of his throat. You wonder if its nerves, or the heat of the ballroom, or something else entirely. You force your gaze upward.

"I need to tell you something," he says. His voice is steady but his hands aren't. You see them at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling. "And you're not going to like it."

Your blood cools. "What?"

He meets your eyes. "This gala. The invitation. You being here tonight." He pauses for a moment. "It wasn't coincidence."

Your stomach folds in on itself. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about Namjoon's plan." The words drop like stones against marble flooring. "I've known for weeks. The Obsidian transfer, the eight-minute window, the biometric scan. All of it."

The corridor tilts. You feel the wall at your back before you realize you've stepped into it. "How?"

"Because I'm the one who gave it to them."

Silence. It’s the kind that has a sound with a high, ringing pitch that fills your skull.

"I hired someone," Jungkook continues, his voice measured and careful. "After that night at your apartment... I hired a private investigator. I needed to understand why. You couldn't tell me, so I went looking for the answer myself." He swallows. “He found your team. He found Namjoon."

Your mind races, tripping over itself. "Namjoon doesn't know," you say, the realization bleeding through the shock. "He thinks this job is real."

"It is real." Jungkook's jaw tightens. "The funds exist. The transfer window is genuine. Everything Yoongi built, everything Namjoon planned, it works. I just made sure I was on the other end of it."

"Why?" The word comes out shredded. "If you knew– if you've known this whole time…why let us get this far? Why let me walk in here and–" Your voice breaks. "Why let me tell you about Hoseok like you didn't already know?"

Jungkook flinches. It's the first true crack in his composure, a visible wound. "Because I needed to hear you say it." His voice drops. "I needed to know if you'd actually tell me the truth this time. Or if you'd just steal from me again."

The words land like a hand against your cheek. It’s not a violent slap per se, more devastatingly soft. Like the way he used to cup it before planting a kiss on your lips. 

You stare at him, tears sliding silently, and the worst part isn't the betrayal. The worst part is that you understand. You understand because you would have done the same thing. Maybe you already did.

"So this whole time," you say slowly, "you've been watching us. Watching me. Planning this the same way Namjoon planned the first heist." A bitter laugh escapes you, wet and fractured. "You out-heisted the heist."

"I didn't want to." The urgency in his voice surprises you. He steps closer, and the distance between you shrinks to something dangerous. You can feel the warmth of him, smell the cedar and something underneath it. It’s something that's just him, unchanged and achingly familiar. Your back is against the wall and he's close enough that if either of you breathed too deeply, you'd touch. But neither of you breathes too deeply and neither of you steps back.

"I didn't set out to trap you," he says, and his voice is low enough that you feel it more than hear it. It’s a vibration that moves through the small space between your bodies. "I set out to understand you. And then Taehyung told me about Hoseok, and how you sleep in a bed next to his almost every night." His voice wavers. "And I realized you weren't a thief. You were desperate. The same way I was desperate to know why."

His eyes drop to your mouth just for a second. It's just long enough for you to feel it like a physical touch. You press your back harder against the wall, as if the concrete can anchor you, because every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the distance and every rational thought is screaming at you not to.

"There's more," he says, pulling his gaze back to your eyes with visible effort. "The half billion you came here to steal, it's not mine."

You blink. "What?"

"The parent fund, GFC Capital,” he starts. “My name's on it. Every press release, every letterhead. But the money inside it isn't clean." His jaw tightens with controlled fury. "Three board members have been siphoning funds through shell companies for two years. Foreign accounts, fabricated invoices, phantom subsidiaries. By the time my forensic auditors flagged it, they'd already moved close to $400 million through channels I couldn't touch without exposing the entire fund which includes the legitimate investors who'd lose everything."

"Your own board has been stealing from you."

"From everyone. Pension funds. Institutional investors. People who trusted GFC Capital with their futures." His voice is cold now, but the coldness isn't aimed at you. "And I couldn't go public because the moment I do, the fund collapses, the stock craters, and thousands of people lose their retirement savings. The corruption has to be excised without killing the patient."

The medical metaphor isn't lost on you.

"So you need someone to move the money," you say slowly, the architecture of his plan assembling itself in your mind. "Someone outside the system. Someone untraceable."

"Someone who's already proven they can get in, take what they need, and disappear." He holds your gaze. "I didn't pick your team because of our history. I picked them because they're good. Yoongi's Obsidian protocol is better than anything my security consultants could design. And Namjoon's operational planning is…" He pauses, a reluctant admission pulling at his mouth. "Annoyingly brilliant."

"So we're not robbing you."

"You're robbing the people who robbed me. And the $500 million you redirect through Obsidian doesn't vanish. It gets funnelled into a forensic trust that my legal team uses to build a case. Every transaction Yoongi routes becomes evidence, every node, every wallet, every timestamp." You realize it's a paper trail that looks invisible from the outside but reads like a confession from the inside.

You stare at him. The magnitude of it settles over you in layers. First, it’s the relief that you're not betraying him again, then the fury that he manipulated you into it, then the grudging, bone-deep recognition that it's exactly what you would have done.

The relief that floods through you is so disproportionate to the moment that it embarrasses you. You press your lips together, looking at the ceiling, and you hear him exhale.

Jungkook’s expression sobers. He reaches into his jacket pocket. His hand passes close enough to your hip that you feel the displacement of air, and what he pulls out makes your breath stop.

A bright blue plastic ring. It's faded, chipped and absolutely ridiculous that it's here in front of you. It's the one you won him at the carnival, the one he wore for the rest of the night because it matched his shirt.

He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it in the bare light. You watch his hands, the same hands that held you, turn it slowly, and your throat tightens with something that isn't only grief.

"I could've helped," he says quietly. "If you had told me about him from the start, I would have helped." His voice frays. "You just had to trust me."

"I know," you whisper. Because what else is there? He's right. He's been right this entire time, and the most excruciating part is that some desperate, frightened version of you from two years ago knew it too and chose theft over trust anyway. That's what it was at the end of the day, pure desperation.

His hand rises almost involuntarily and his thumb grazes the edge of your jaw. It's featherlight and barely there, gone before you can lean into it. The touch lasts less than a second, but it sends a current through you that buckles your knees. He pulls his hand back like he's been burned, fingers curling into his palm.

"Sorry," he says. He doesn't look sorry. He looks wrecked.

"Namjoon and Yoongi," you manage, dragging yourself back from the edge. "Are you going to—"

"Nobody's getting arrested." He says it firmly. "I told you before, it was never about the money. It's still not." He exhales. "But the transfer needs to happen tonight. The way Yoongi designed it."

In your ear, Yoongi's voice returns, oblivious. "Four minutes to mirror window. _____, I need you at the east wing terminal. Where are you?"

You close your eyes.

"What do you need from me?" Jungkook asks you. He looks at you for a long time. The bare bulb flickers once, casting his face in a brief strobe of shadow.

You look down at the purse hanging off your shoulder and unclip it open. From there, you pull out the small tablet Yoongi placed earlier with the calibration screen already on display for his fingerprint. 

“Preferably your thumb or index finger.” You repeat Yoongi’s words.

As Jungkook registers his fingerprint, you stare at him. You stare at the ring still in his fingers, the boy underneath the CEO, at the man who kept a worthless piece of plastic in his pocket for over a year because it was the last honest thing you’d given him. 

"Go," he says softly, turning the tablet back to you and creating space between you as he steps back. "Clock's ticking."

You go but before you do, Jungkook grabs your wrist and spins you toward him and then his mouth is on yours and every carefully constructed thing inside you comes apart at once.

It isn't gentle. It isn't the kind of kiss that asks permission or makes apologies. It is a year of silence compressed into something urgent and graceless and completely beyond either of your better judgments. His free hand comes up to cup the side of your face with a pressure that says stay even as everything around you is screaming go. You feel the cold of his ring against your jaw and it undoes you further.

You kiss him back. Of course you do. You kiss him back like you've been holding your breath for over twelve months and he is the only available air. Your fingers twisting into the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer.

He makes a low sound against your mouth. His hand slides from your face to the back of your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw on its way. It’s unhurried despite the chaos assembling itself on the other side of the ballroom. You feel the warmth of his palm against your bare skin and your brain goes briefly, completely white.

Then his forehead drops to yours. Both of you breathing, the fraction of space between your mouths charged and unbearable.

His jaw tightens. "I couldn't make myself believe you were only that."

"Jungkook–"

"Go." His voice comes out rough at the edges. He pulls back, not far, just enough to look at you, and what's on his face is the full version of everything he's been carefully not showing all evening. Raw and steady and terrifying in its patience. Like a man who has decided he can wait a little longer now that he knows there's something worth waiting for. "Come back when it's done."

It's the come back that breaks you open.

You release his lapel. You smooth the fabric with your palm out of some automatic instinct toward repair, and his hand falls from your neck slowly but his fingertips last. It's like he's reluctant to confirm the absence.

You step back. Then another step. Your heels find their purpose again.

"When it's done," you repeat. A promise shaped like an echo.

His eyes hold yours until the crowd swallows you.

The east wing terminal is exactly where Yoongi's schematics said it would be, tucked behind a service door at the end of a corridor branching off the main ballroom. Namjoon is already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his charcoal suit jacket unbuttoned. He straightens when he sees you.

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice is a controlled hiss. "Yoongi's been—"

"I know." You cut past him and approach the terminal. A sleek console is embedded in the wall, its screen dark waiting. "I'm here. Let's go."

Namjoon studies you and you hope he doesn’t notice the distinct flush of your cheeks. He has that look, the one that precedes an interrogation. But there isn't time.

"Yoongi," you say into the mic. "I'm at the terminal."

"Finally." His relief is audible. "Placing the tablet on the scanner now, biometric should authenticate in three… two…"

A soft chime. The screen illuminates, casting blue light across your face.

[BIOMETRIC AUTHENTICATION: ACCEPTED]

"We're in." Yoongi's voice accelerates, the flat effect giving way to focused energy. "Mirror sequence initiating. Seven minutes forty-three seconds. Starting the Obsidian routing, first tranche moving through Node Alpha." Whatever he said is all gibberish to you as you watch numbers cascade down the terminal screen too fast to comprehend. 

Your palms are slick against the console's edge. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck, disappearing into the fabric of your gown. Every sound is amplified, the hum of the terminal, your own breathing and the distant echo of the ballroom.

Then you both hear footsteps in the corridor behind you. 

You spin. Namjoon's hand shoots to your arm, pulling you behind the terminal alcove. You both press flat against the wall, heartbeats competing. Through the crack in the service door, you see a security guard pass with an earpiece in, flashlight sweeping in a lazy arc. He pauses at the junction, tilts his head like he's listening to something on his radio, then continues down the opposite corridor.

You don't breathe again until his footsteps fade.

"Security sweep, east wing," Yoongi reports, his voice tight. "Routine. You're clear. Five minutes remaining."

Namjoon steps back to the terminal, eyes fixed on the screen. "It's working," he breathes. For the first time in months, you hear something in his voice you'd almost forgotten. It’s unguarded, uncalculated hope. "It's actually working."

You feel sick.

"Namjoon," you say quietly, your eyes still on the screen. The numbers keep cascading. Four minutes left.

"Not now."

"It has to be now."

Something in your tone makes him turn. His brow creases, then furrows, then drops into the expression you've come to associate with the moments before everything goes wrong.

"What did you do?" he asks.

"It's not what I did." You finally look at him. "It's what Jungkook did."

The name hits him like a slap. His eyes narrow. "What about him?"

"He knows, Joon." You say it plainly, the way Hoseok told you the truth deserved to be said without cushion. "He's known the whole time. The job, the Obsidian protocol. He's the one who set it up."

Namjoon goes very still. It’s not the calculated stillness of a strategist processing variables its the stillness of a man whose operating system has crashed.

"That's not possible," he says.

"The investigator who fed you the job, he works for Jungkook. Has been the whole time."

You watch the sequence unfold on Namjoon's face. It's disbelief, analysis, and fury. Each phase is distinct and each lasting exactly as long as it takes for the next to overwhelm it. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

"He played us." The words come through his teeth.

"He guided us." You echo Jungkook's word deliberately. "Namjoon, the money we're moving right now is not Jungkook's. It belongs to corrupt board members who've been embezzling from his fund for years. We're not robbing him. We're helping him clean house."

"I don't give a damn whose money it is!" Namjoon's voice rises, bouncing off the corridor. "He manipulated us and he used us like fucking tools—"

"The way we used me?" The question leaves you before you can measure it, and it lands with surgical precision. Namjoon's mouth snaps shut.

Two minutes left. The numbers keep falling.

"He's not pressing charges," you say. "He never was. He built this so we could do what we're good at and so the people who actually deserve to be caught get caught."

Namjoon's chest heaves. He looks at the terminal, at the cascading numbers that represent everything he's spent months planning, and you watch the terrible realization settle over him: his masterwork was never his. Every contingency he mapped, every variable he accounted for, every sleepless night spent perfecting the plan– all of it ran on tracks that Jungkook had laid first.

"Ninety seconds," Yoongi reports. "Third tranche routing clean. No flags."

Namjoon stares at the screen. His fists unclench, finger by finger.

"Does Yoongi know?" he asks quietly.

"Not yet."

He nods. Something shifts behind his eyes. "The board members," he says. "Who are they?"

"Jungkook has the details."

"Of course he does." A bitter exhale. Then, quieter: "Is the evidence actually solid? If this goes to prosecution–"

"He has a forensic team. The Obsidian routing creates the trail. Every transaction we move tonight becomes a timestamped record."

"Thirty seconds," Yoongi's voice. "Final tranche clearing now."

Namjoon watches the last numbers fall. When the screen flashes [TRANSFER COMPLETE — MIRROR SEQUENCE CLOSING], he lets out a breath that seems to carry years in it.

"So we just helped a billionaire take out his own trash," Namjoon says flatly.

"We helped a man who could've sent us to prison choose to give us a second chance instead."

Namjoon's jaw clenches. He doesn't look at you when he speaks again.

"I want to talk to him. Directly."

"He's in the ballroom."

"Fuck. Okay." Namjoon pushes off the wall, buttoning his jacket with sharp, precise movements. He pauses at the corridor entrance before half-turning to you.

"For what it's worth," he says, his voice stripped of its usual command, "I'm sorry. For putting you in the middle of this. For making you the weapon." He swallows. "You deserved better than that."

Before you can respond, he's gone.

You stand alone in the corridor. The terminal screen has gone dark. The earpiece is silent, Yoongi running post-transfer protocols in focused quiet surely.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes.

When you return to the ballroom almost thirty-five minutes later, the scene that greets you is one you couldn't have predicted.

Hoseok is seated at a table near the east columns, his cane propped against the chair beside him. Across from him sits Jungkook, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He's listening to whatever Hoseok is saying that has Jungkook's complete attention. It’s not the typical polite, half-engaged attention of a CEO at a networking event, but the focused, full-bodied attention of a person hearing something that matters.

And Hoseok is laughing.

It's not the full, room-filling laugh you remember from before. It's thinner, breathier, punctuated by pauses where his lungs catch up. But it's real. And Jungkook is smiling. An actual smile, slightly crooked, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

You stop mid-step, afraid that moving closer will break whatever fragile thing is happening between them.

Hoseok spots you first. He waves you over, and as you approach, you catch the tail end of whatever story he's been telling.

"—and she just stood there with spaghetti sauce on her face, trying to convince Namjoon that Italian cooking was her hidden talent." Hoseok wheezes slightly on the last word, pressing a hand to his chest. "She burned the garlic bread so badly the smoke detector went off twice."

Jungkook's eyes flick to you as you reach the table, and the amusement in them is so unexpected it winds you. "Sounds familiar," he says, and there's a warmth there that has no business existing tonight. "She tried to make me dinner once. I think I'm still recovering."

"Slander," you manage, sinking into the chair between them. "Both of you."

Hoseok's laughter fades into a cough but it’s just one and it's enough to remind everyone at the table of the stakes. He waves off your concern before it reaches your face.

Then Namjoon appears.

He approaches the table with the measured stride of a man who has reorganized his entire worldview in the span of a hallway walk. His eyes move from Hoseok to you to Jungkook, where they settle.

"Mr. Jeon," Namjoon says. His voice is level.

Jungkook rises from his chair. He stands a full inch shorter than Namjoon, but the height difference isn't what fills the space between them. It's everything else.

"Kim Namjoon," Jungkook says. Neither extends a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Apparently not as much as you already knew."

A moment passes. Then, impossibly, the corner of Jungkook's mouth twitches. "Your operational planning is impressive. Taehyung's words, not mine."

"I'll be sure to thank the man who conned me," Namjoon replies, dry as bone. But there's no venom in it- just pure exhaustion and grudging respect.

Jungkook gestures to the chairs. "Sit down. We have a lot to discuss."

Namjoon glances at you. You nod.

He sits.

And from his chair, cane resting against his knee, oxygen concentrator humming quietly in the bag beneath the table, Hoseok watches the architect of his survival sit down across from the man whose money built it.

He reaches for his water glass, takes a slow sip, and closes his eyes.

For the first time in a very long while, he isn't counting breaths, he's just breathing.

Jungkook speaks quietly. "The board members, Park Chansik, Lee Minho, Kwon Jaesung– my legal team has everything they need as of forty minutes ago. The Obsidian routing created a clean timestamped trail. Prosecution is already in motion." He looks at Namjoon evenly. "No one at this table will be contacted by law enforcement. That was never the intended outcome."

Namjoon is quiet for a long moment. His hands are flat on the table. You watch him work through it, the last of the resistance, the pride that has kept him upright through years of operating in margins and shadows. You watch him set it down.

"You could have done this without us," Namjoon says.

"Yes."

"But you needed someone who wouldn't leave a trail back to you."

"I needed people who were good at what they do," Jungkook says. "There's a difference."

Another silence. Then Namjoon exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. "If you ever need anything," he says, each word measured, "done legitimately." He pauses. "You know where to find me."

It isn't quite gratitude. It isn't quite an apology. It is, you think, the closest Namjoon has ever come to either in a single sentence.

Jungkook nods. "I do."

Namjoon stands, straightening his jacket. He looks at you and something passes across his face that's complicated, brief and genuine.

"Take care of yourself," he says.

Then he's gone, swallowed by the ballroom's glittering current, and you think that wherever he ends up next will be somewhere worth being.

Jungkook turns to Hoseok.

He doesn't ease into it. You've come to understand this about him, that he reserves gentleness for his delivery, not his honesty.

"I'll be covering your treatment going forward," he says. "Full continuity of care. Whatever the next stage requires." He holds Hoseok's gaze. "No debt and no condition attached to it."

Hoseok is quiet. The ballroom moves around you three in almost slow motion. 

Then Hoseok slowly nods in the way you'd accept something you'd almost stopped believing was possible. His jaw works briefly and then steadies. His eyes are very bright but nothing falls.

"Okay," he says softly. The same word Jungkook gave you earlier, carrying the same impossible weight. There's no reason to say thank you. What's done is done and he can only be internally grateful.

Jungkook nods back. The matter is settled in the way that only truly important things are, in the space between two people who have decided to mean what they say.

Under the table, you find Hoseok's hand and press it once. He squeezes back and doesn't let go for a long moment. He’s going to be okay. 

You take Hoseok out through the east corridor, away from the crowds, his cane tapping its familiar rhythm against the marble. At the rear exit, where the town car is already waiting, you both stop.

The autumn air is sharper now. Hoseok tilts his face up toward the sky, eyes closing briefly, and you watch him breathe it in deliberately.

"Hoseok—"

"Don't," he says gently, eyes still closed. "Don't do the thing where you cry and then apologize for crying."

"I wasn't going to cry."

"You absolutely were." He opens his eyes and looks at you, and the smile that follows is the full radiant one, the one that has survived everything. "Go back inside. Yoongi will ride with me." As if summoned, your earpiece crackles.

“Already on my way down,” Yoongi says, flat and fond in equal measure. “Go back inside.”

You look at Hoseok for a long moment. At the ill-fitting suit and the too-sharp cheekbones and the eyes that are still, despite everything, the brightest thing in any room he enters.

"You planned this," you say quietly. "All of it. Getting me here, saying what you said to him."

"I have limited time and unlimited audacity," he replies serenely. "It seemed efficient."

A sound escapes you that is almost a laugh. You step forward and press your forehead to his, carefully, the way you handle things that matter. His free hand comes up to the back of your head and holds you there for a moment.

"Go," he murmurs. "Be happy. That's an order."

You pull back. You smooth his lapel and he lets you.

The ballroom has thinned. The late hour has winnowed the crowd to its most committed members, small clusters of people with nowhere better to be. The string quartet is replaced by something low and recorded. The chandeliers are still burning but they feel softer now.

You find him where you somehow knew you would. Not waiting dramatically or posed. He’s simply there, standing near the tall windows at the far end of the room, looking out at the city below with his jacket unbuttoned and his glass long since abandoned. Like a man who has finished the work of the evening and is simply existing in what remains of it.

He hears your heels before he sees you. You watch his shoulders shift slightly, just a fraction, the body registering something before the mind catches up.

When he turns, his eyes find yours immediately.

"Hoseok?" he asks.

"With Yoongi. And Namjoon."

His expression softens. "Good.”

He looks at you across the remaining distance, and there is nothing careful in it anymore. The composure that has been doing its careful architectural work all evening has finally, quietly, stood down.

"My suite is on the fourteenth floor," he says.

It isn't a question and it isn't quite an invitation. It is simply a fact, offered plainly, leaving the rest entirely to you.

You cross the distance between you.

"Then take me there," you say.

The elevator ascends in silence.

You're aware of everything. The warmth radiating off him where your arm almost touches his. The slight unevenness of his breathing. Your own reflection in the mirrored doors, the emerald gown and the lipstick worn down to almost nothing. It’s the evidence of a night that has taken you apart and put you back together in a different order.

His hand finds yours somewhere between the eighth and ninth floor. It’s not dramatic but it does knock some kind of breath out of you. It’s the way his fingers slide between yours like they belong there and they remember the divots.

You look down at your joined hands. You don't say anything and neither does he.

The doors open.

His suite is at the end of a quiet corridor, all muted carpet and low light. He unlocks the door and holds it open and when you step through, you hear it close behind you. The sound of the latch catching feels like the period at the end of a very long sentence yet your heartbeat quickens. You can’t believe you’re here with Jungkook. After everything, the year of inner turmoil and hospital stays. 

You turn and Jungkook is already looking at you. 

And then there is no more careful distance. No more city full of people between you and this.

He reaches you in two strides and his mouth finds yours, and it's nothing like the kiss downstairs, which was urgent, surprised and compressed. This is slower and more devastating, his hands cupping your face with a pressure that says I have been thinking about this for a very long time and his mouth moving against yours like he intends to be thorough about it.

"I've thought about this," he says against your mouth, low and rough at the edges. "More than I should have."

"Tell me," you breathe. His mouth feels so good on you.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intent. What's on his face is the unguarded version, the one with nothing between you and it.

"Every version of how it should have gone," he says. His thumb traces your jaw, slowly, deliberate. "Every version where you stayed."

Something in your chest cracks cleanly open.

You pull him back to you.

He finds the zip at the back of your gown with careful hands, drawing it down slowly, like he's unwrapping something he plans to take his time with. The silk loosens around you and he peels it from your shoulders with a patience that borders on unbearable, pressing his mouth to each inch of skin he uncovers. He starts at your shoulder then moves along the curve of your neck to the line of your collarbone.

The gown pools at your feet.

He looks at you. Really looks, in the low warm light of the suite, with an expression that makes your skin feel like it belongs to you differently than it did before.

"God," he says softly.

You reach for his shirt buttons. Your fingers are steadier than they were this morning with the lipstick and you're obscurely proud of this, working each button open while he watches you with that lustful, patient attention. His hands rest at your hips as if he's restraining them.

You push the shirt open and run your palms flat up his chest, feeling him pull in a slow breath.

"Your turn," you say.

It seems as though his patience reaches its limit as something shifts in him. 

He walks you backward to the bed, not roughly but with a decisive authority that makes your breath catch, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your ear, cataloguing you the way he always did.

When the backs of your knees meet the mattress he lowers you onto it and follows, bracing above you. The weight of him bracketing you feels like the answer to a question you've been carrying for over a year. 

"I missed you," you say. The words come out unplanned. 

He goes very still above you. His doe eyes find yours in the low light.

"I know," he says. And then, quieter, his forehead dropping to yours: "I missed you every single day."

The words dissolve whatever was left of the distance. 

What follows is desperate in the way that only reunion can be, the kind of desperate that isn't frantic but deep, the satisfaction of finally filling a space that has been hollow too long. 

He starts at your throat.

His mouth drags slowly down the column of your neck, and you feel the graze of his teeth at your pulse point before he soothes it with his tongue. Your fingers go into his hair automatically, the muscle memory of a body that never forgot him even when you were trying to. He makes a low sound of approval against your skin that vibrates all the way down your spine. His hands map you like he's reclaiming territory. Palms sliding up your sides, thumbs tracing the undersides of your ribs, learning the topography of you with an unhurried thoroughness.

He cups your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra and watches your face when he does it, taking in your reaction with those dark intent eyes.

"Still the same," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, unclasping your bra and drawing it away. He looks at you in the low light of the suite for a long moment, chest rising and falling. It’s like he’s learning you back like a language he was afraid he'd forgotten. He then dips his head and takes one nipple into his mouth and you arch off the bed with a sharp inhale.

He is not merciful about it. He takes his time, his tongue circling and his teeth grazing, one hand attending to what his mouth isn't. By the time he moves lower, your hands are fisted in the sheets and you have entirely abandoned any pretense of composure.

His mouth traces down your sternum, your stomach, pausing at your hip to press a kiss to the bone that is soft enough to undo you in an entirely different way. His fingers hook into the last of your underwear and draw it down slowly. He looks up at you from where he is and the expression on his face is dark, patient and wanting. It makes your breath stall completely.

"Jungkook—"

"I've got you," he says quietly. And then his mouth finds the most sensitive part of you and every coherent thought you had evaporates.

He is meticulous. Devastatingly and deliberately meticulous, like he has all night and intends to use it. His tongue works in slow controlled strokes against your clit while his hands hold your hips with a firmness that makes it clear he'll set the pace, not you. You try anyway, your hips rolling, chasing, but he presses down until you still beneath him.

"Stay," he says against you, the word more felt than heard.

You make a sound that is almost his name.

He takes you apart with a patience that borders on cruel, bringing you to the edge twice and pulling back. He reads your body with an attention to detail that makes you feel known like he did back then. By the time he finally lets you fall over it, you've said his name so many times it's lost all meaning and found a new one.

You're still catching your breath when he kisses his way back up your body. He tastes of you when his mouth finds yours and you feel it everywhere. His weight settles over you and you reach between his legs, wrapping your hand around the thick and warm cock. You feel him shudder against your throat. 

And then you flip him.

He lands on his back with a slight exhale of surprise and you rise over him with intent. There’s a look on his face when he registers what you're doing. Surprise cedes to something darker and more interested, sending heat flooding through you all over again.

You take your time the same way he did, because you have your own year's worth of thinking about this. Your mouth traces his chest, his stomach and the deep cut of muscle below his hip until his hand fists in your hair and his breathing has gone ragged.

"_____." His voice is strained. A warning and a plea at once.

"Stay," you say against his skin, throwing his own word back at him.

He says something under his breath that might be a curse.

You take him into your mouth and his whole body goes taut, the hand in your hair tightening. A low broken sound escapes him that you feel in your chest like a struck chord. You are thorough about it in the same way he was thorough about you. You're being carefully slow and attentive. You're entirely in control. 

His grip in your hair tightens further and he pulls you up with a firmness that makes it clear the balance of power has shifted again.

He rolls you back beneath him in one fluid motion.

"Enough," he says roughly, and his voice has lost all its careful edges. He looks at you with his hair disheveled and his chest heaving and every last layer of composure completely dismantled. He truly is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. "I need to feel you."

"Then feel me," you say.

He does.

The moment he presses into you for the first time you both go very still. His forehead drops to yours. Your hands grip his shoulders. The room is completely quiet except for both of you breathing.

"Okay?" he asks softly.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes."

He begins to roll his hips back before thrusting forward. 

It's slow at first, deep and measured with each movement deliberate. You haven’t had sex in so long, it feels like the first time again. The uncontrollable way your skin buzzes with need makes your hands slide down his back and pull him closer. It’s urgent and he obliges, the pace building in increments that winds you tighter with every thrust. 

His mouth finds your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. He says your name once, quietly, like it's something he's been holding carefully for a long time. You can’t help the onslaught of moans that bleed past your lips. Feeling him like this again is so sinfully beautiful. 

Then the slowness runs out.

What replaces it is urgent, consuming and entirely mutual. His hands grip your hips and yours grip him back, both of you chasing the same thing with equal desperation. The headboard and the low sounds he makes against your throat is everything that has been held tightly finally, completely releasing. You feel it building at the base of your spine, tightening. He must feel it too because his hand slides between you and finds exactly the right place to be. You shatter with his name in your mouth and your fingers in his hair as he drags his thumb in circles around your sensitive bud. 

He follows moments later, his whole body going rigid, your name broken apart on his lips as he buries himself deep and holds there. 

The feeling of it, of him, of this, of all the right pieces finally back in place, is so complete that your eyes sting with something that has nothing to do with sadness.

Afterward the room settles around you like an exhale.

He gathers you against his chest without a word, one hand moving slowly through your hair. Your ear is pressed to his heartbeat and you count it without meaning to. It's the way you've been counting Hoseok's breaths for months, the habit of holding onto proof of life.

His heartbeat is steady and real and yours again. 

The suite holds you both in its quiet, the city burning silently beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, all that distant light doing nothing to touch the stillness in here. His hand moves through your hair in slow, absent strokes. Your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest without deciding to.

This is the part you didn't let yourself imagine. Not the wanting, you'd lived inside that for twelve months without permission. But this. The after. The specific peace of lying in the wreckage of everything that was held too long and finding it habitable. Finding it, impossibly, like home.

"I have something to tell you," he says eventually. His voice is low and unhurried. It's the voice he uses when he's simply finding the words for it.

You tilt your head up to look at him.

"Tonight at the gala" he says, his eyes on the ceiling. "When you walked across that ballroom toward me." A pause. "I'd been planning every variable for months. Every possible outcome." His jaw shifts. "And then you were just…there. In that dress. Walking toward me like it cost you something, and I couldn't remember a single thing I'd prepared."

You're quiet for a moment. "Good," you say finally. "That means you care." Echoing Hoseok’s words. 

He looks down at you. 

He exhales something that is almost a soft laugh, and presses his lips to the top of your head. You feel him settle more completely into the mattress beneath you, some last residual tension finally locating the exit.

"I want to do this properly," he says. "Whatever comes next. I want to do it right."

You think about what right means, after everything. After the theft and the year of silence and the gala and Hoseok. After Namjoon's careful penance and Yoongi running an operation from a service van two blocks away because that's simply the kind of person he is. After all of it.

"Right doesn't look the same as it did before," you say carefully.

"No," he agrees. "It looks like this. Like whatever this is." His arm tightens around you slightly. "I just want it to be honest."

You press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath it.

"Then we start there," you say.

He turns his head and finds your mouth in the dark, slow and soft. It’s the kind of kiss that isn't going anywhere because it doesn't need to.

You fall asleep before you mean to, somewhere between one breath and the next, his heartbeat counting you down into something that feels, for the first time in a very long time, like genuine rest.

Spring arrives quickly, the days in winter blurring into one giant thing.

Hoseok's new facility is twenty minutes from the city center, close enough that you can visit twice a week without rearranging your life around it. The room has a window that faces east, which he requested specifically because he has developed strong opinions about morning light now that mornings are something he's decided to keep having.

He looks different. Not restored to before but present in a way that was once uncertain. The sharpness has softened back into his face by degrees. He laughs fully now, the room-filling version, and his lungs mostly cooperate.

Today he's sitting up in the chair by the window when you arrive, a book open in his lap and Jimin cross-legged on the floor beside him, arguing about something with the comfortable ferocity of people who have known each other long enough to mean nothing by it. That’s right, Jimin is back and his hair is blond now. It came as a text on a random Tuesday to let him into your house and he never left again since.

"She's here," Jimin announces without looking up. "Tell him he's wrong about the ending."

"I'm not getting involved," you say, setting the takeout containers on the table.

"You're already involved," Hoseok says. "You brought food. That's a political statement."

Jungkook arrives twenty minutes later, still in his work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sight of him in this room, standing in the doorway of the place his money is keeping lit and warm and full of morning light, does something to you that nine months hasn't made ordinary.

He crosses to you first. Presses a kiss to your temple. His hand rests at the small of your back like it lives there, because it does now.

Hoseok watches this with the expression of a man who has been right about something for a very long time.

"I'm not going to say I told you so," he announces to the room.

"You absolutely are," Jimin replies.

"I told you so," Hoseok says serenely.

Yoongi arrives last, because Yoongi always arrives last, sliding into the remaining chair with a convenience store coffee and the flat affect of a man who finds this entire situation both deeply chaotic and exactly correct. He looks around the room. At Jimin on the floor. At Hoseok in the light. At you and Jungkook and the space between you that has finally, completely closed.

He takes a sip of his coffee.

"Good," he says simply.

And it is. It genuinely, completely is.

Namjoon sends a message that evening, while you're in the car going home with Jungkook's hand over yours on the console. A single line, no context, typical of him.

Started something new. Legitimate. Thought you should know.

You show it to Jungkook. He reads it and smiles.

"Good for him," he says.

You lean your head against the window. The city moves past in its familiar blur of light and shadow. Jungkook's thumb traces slow circles on the back of your hand.

Nothing was returned to its original shape. That's not how any of this works. People don't unbreak, they rebuild differently. The seams show, and that's fine. That's more than fine.

You turn your hand over from under his and lace your fingers together.

Outside the window the city burns on, brilliant and ordinary and alive.

So do you.

all rights reserved © jeongi

[A/N]" *taps mic* is this thing on??

it's been a long wait my friends but i hope it was worth the 6 year wait. i hope this closes a chapter you all have been waiting for and as always, i hope you enjoyed tmnl jungkook again (: i promised it would be a happy ending xx

thank you for your patience and thank you for continuously supporting me after all this time. i love you to no end ♡

[calisverse]

Park Jimin

BTS' SWIM Dance Performance Arirang Album (2026)

[sugar-petals]

🔥 bts comeback tweets because that’s how you make an album 🔥

[anastcie]

¡ ㅤ bts lockscreens ᡴꪫ‎

[uranoazzul]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 ⊹ 𓊝 ࣪ ˖

𝐛𝐭𝐬 '𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠' 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐬.

𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐌

𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗆 (𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘮)

𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𓊝 𝗳𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 skin.

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒

𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝘄𝗲 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗌 𓇢𓆸

𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 ǝɟᴉl '𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝗂𝗌 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹.

𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋

𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖾 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖾 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝙗𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛 ⟭⟬

𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁, 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙡.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝗂 𝖽𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵, but i 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 slow down

this 𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆-𝗴𝗼-𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 ─── ✶

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍

i 𝗿𝘂𝗻, dark days

and 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 the 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𖤓

today, after four long years, i feel like i’m finally back home. my home, my safe place — the harbor i call bts. i don’t know how to express how happy i am about their return. i think i just… feel peace. just enjoy these bios. they’re simple, but i hope you like them, army! 💜

[everybodysaynoooooo]

Can I come over ? [Pjm ff]

Synopsis : It really shouldn’t bother you that Mia —the new girl in your Physio class—has suddenly taken an interest in Jimin. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It’s none of your business, after all. You couldn’t care less. At least, that’s what you tell yourself —right up until she shows up with that hopeful smile and asks you for advice on how to win over her crush. And suddenly, you’re gritting your teeth. You don’t care. You really don’t. …So why does it bother you so much? -> Or, alternatively, a story told through so much gossip it stops making sense in the end.

Pairing : Park Jimin x reader (one shot)

Genre : College au, secret fuckbuddies to lovers, love triangle (not a real one but still) miscommunication, ANGST, bits of fluff, smut

Word count : 18,3 k

Warnings : Miscommunication, lots of angst and bits of fluff (not kidding like 75% angst 15% smut 10% fluff), annoying side characters but Hobi is the sweetest, smut (oral (both but m more described) sex in different positions, vanilla (kinda ???? Idek), some fingering and lots of whining, I kinda suck at writing smut pls don't come at me), minors dni!

Authors note : Le me on a random thursday night : "hey let's write something short real quick" (... ;n;)

An2 : anyway lol hope you'll love this fic for my precious Mini as much as I do :)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

“Mia’s got a thing for Jimin,” Noelle leans in to whisper in your ear right in the middle of an awkward silence during physiology class.

Of course, she says it at the exact moment you're wondering —for the hundredth time this hour— what the hell you're even doing here, while the professor has ordered complete silence so you can work on an exercise you don’t —unsurprisingly— understand at all.

You never should’ve ended up in physiology in the first place. You got stuck in this class because of a registration error at the start of freshman year —and out of sheer loyalty, Noelle signed up for it the following semester just to be with you. Probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you. You don’t think she realizes how grateful you are —you wouldn’t last a minute in this hell on your own.

“What?” you mumble back, completely lost. Rubbing your eyes, you silently pray she doesn’t take offense at your frown and suddenly blurt something out way too loudly, like she usually does. Noelle isn’t exactly subtle, and if she accidentally shouted right now, you’d both be stuck in detention every evening for the rest of the week.

“Mia. The new girl,” she whispers, like it’s obvious. As she leans over to scribble a calculation on your paper —the one you’ve been pretending to work on for at least twenty minutes— your gaze drifts toward the front row, landing on Mia’s perfectly tight red bun.

From where you're sitting, you only see her back and the side of her face, but it’s enough to make out her lifted chin, straight nose, and soft, rounded cheeks. Like always, she’s sitting perfectly straight, her neck slightly tilted as she looks down at her sheet. You can’t see her eyes, but you know she’s completely focused on the exercise. She’s probably the only one.

“A crush on Jimin? Seriously?” You murmur, unconvinced, frowning. Mia shares most of her classes with you and Noelle, which is already odd enough, but since she showed up a month ago, you’ve barely paid attention to her —and nothing about her has ever suggested she might be into Jimin.

Then again, she’s pretty discreet. Always polite, so small and slight you barely notice her most of the time, and constantly buried in her notes —you’ve probably exchanged, what, seven words with her at most.

You’ve seen her with a few friends here and there, but never with guys —or even just Jimin— and she’s clearly not the type to show up at parties. Honestly, she strikes you as the kind of girl who puts her studies first and everything else second. Aside from her notebooks, she doesn’t really look at anyone, anyway.

“Mhm,” Noelle nods quickly, completely certain. Eyebrows raised, she absentmindedly picks at her nail with the cap of a Bic pen. “Trust me, I’m never wrong about this stuff.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. She just rolls her eyes in response.

“Okay, fine,” she finally sighs. “I heard her telling her friend during the break that she wants to ask him to the movies. But shh,” she adds, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. She really is such a little snoop.

The rest of the class goes by in relative silence —much to Noelle’s frustration. She doesn’t have any more information on Mia and her crush, which, for someone as nosy as her, is practically an insult. She keeps muttering that she’ll investigate on her own, frowning.

It makes you smile faintly, but you just nod and stifle a yawn. Like everyone, you like gossip —but you much prefer it when Noelle does the digging and brings it to you.

Still, when the professor finally dismisses the class, you find yourself lingering. And before you can stop it, your gaze drifts back to Mia.

You’d think, after spending this long with Noelle, you’d have learned that curiosity only leads to trouble —you’ve lost count of how many times she’s dragged you into a mess chasing the latest rumor— but you can’t help it.

You don’t know how to explain it, but there’s something about this girl that unsettles you. Intrigues you.

As usual, she doesn’t pay attention to anyone —not even her supposed crush. She barely glances at him. Doesn’t look at you either, even though you're standing right there in the middle of the room. She just packs her things and disappears into the hallway.

You lean slightly to follow her with your eyes, but within seconds she’s gone, and soon you can’t even hear her footsteps anymore.

That’s when Jimin catches your attention instead.

He didn’t look at Mia —but he must’ve felt you staring, because two rows ahead of you, he turns and glances over his shoulder. At first, he looks surprised to find you already watching him, but then his face breaks into a wide smile that crinkles his eyes.

You don’t smile back. You just nod when he gives you a small wave —and somehow, his grin only grows wider as he shakes his head.

Not the least bit bothered, he heads out with his friends.

You stay there for a moment, leaning against the table, staring into space.

Mia and Jimin. It’s… weird. Normally, you're the last person to care about this kind of thing, but this time, it’s like you keep getting stuck on it. They’re so mismatched you can’t even picture it.

“What were you doing?” Noelle asks when you finally join her in the hallway.

Your eyes fall on Jimin again, a little further ahead, smiling at something one of his friends said.

“Nothing,” You answer absentmindedly, frowning.

In your head, you try to imagine what a Jimin-and-Mia relationship would even look like. You can barely form a clear picture —and when you do, you end up grimacing. It feels even less believable.

But then again… why not?

“Where did you put your chemistry notes again?” Noelle grumbles, lifting piles of papers one after the other.

“You took them like… two days ago.”

She looks up, frowning when she sees you glued to your phone. Finals are less than a month away, and let’s just say you wouldn’t exactly suffer from doing some serious studying. “What? No way.”

“Yes way. I remember.”

She clicks her tongue, then turns to Hoseok. “Give me your notes.”

At least he makes the effort to look up from his screen. “What notes? I’m always asking you for yours.”

“I suck at chemistry, I always take Y/N’s,” she shoots back, pointing at you. Hoseok shrugs, and you sigh, already opening your mouth to explain that you probably left them at the apartment —but you're cut off by a sudden throat clearing.

In unison, the three of you look up at the newcomer —and you have to summon all your self-control to keep your eyebrows from shooting into your hairline when you realize it’s none other than Mia standing there, her round glasses perched high on her nose, just big enough to hide the redness of her cheeks.

Behind her, looking almost nervous, is another girl about her height with short brown hair —you quickly recognize her as one of the friends Mia usually hangs out with.

Her eyes land on you, and she offers a soft smile. “Are you studying for the chemistry finals? Would you mind if we joined you?” she asks, her voice full of hope. “We just transferred into the section, and we wouldn’t mind a little help…”

Behind her, her friend nods vigorously. You stay frozen like an idiot, unsure what to say. When the silence stretches a little too long, Noelle turns toward you, lips parted, brows slightly drawn together —the exact look she gets when she smells gossip. You only notice because you know that look by heart, though : to anyone else, she just looks surprised.

Hoseok, on the other hand, is terrible at poker face: when he turns to you, he looks downright horrified, and you wince without meaning to.

It’s not that you don’t like Mia —she unsettles you, and you can’t quite figure her out, but you're not about to refuse her a seat at your table. And Hoseok’s never even met her, so it’s not like he has a reason to dislike her.

What you don’t like, though, is the idea that she came over expecting you all to magically guarantee her a good grade.

Someone should probably tell her that Noelle and Hoseok systematically copy your notes because they understand absolutely nothing —despite the fact that your own grades are barely enough to scrape through the semester. And judging by the look Hoseok’s giving you, you get the feeling that someone is supposed to be you.

Except Mia flashes the shyest yet brightest smile you’ve ever seen —and you cave. “Of course. No problem!”

They sit down with you, relieved. Hoseok shoots you a death glare, while Noelle looks delighted, like she’s already plotting the best way to pry information out of Mia. Because for all the talk she never stops about it, days have passed, and Mia and Jimin haven’t spoken —or even crossed paths— once.

At first, you actually try. Noelle “coaches” them on how to take proper notes —which turns out to be completely useless, since Mia’s notes are ten times cleaner and more relevant than yours— and Hoseok tries to answer a few of their questions, before inevitably turning to you for silent help.

Barely ten minutes in, you realize they’re both adorable —and Mia even helps you understand a few points you’d completely missed. Hoseok and Noelle just nod politely, fully aware they’ll just “borrow” your notes later anyway.

You're still proud of the three of you —you last almost two hours before giving up. Mia and her friend keep working quietly, but you and Hoseok have long since gone back to your phones, resuming that stupid game you’re obsessed with, while Noelle is back to squealing about some senior girl and whatever “insane thing” she supposedly did at the last party…

At some point, Mia’s friend surprises everyone by offering to go grab sandwiches —despite having been silent until now. You start to get up, but quickly notice Mia doesn’t move at all. Feeling oddly sympathetic, you sit back down and send Noelle and Hoseok with her instead, after making them promise to bring you something.

They walk off chatting, and silence settles over the table again, broken only by the low hum of studying around you. The lounge in Building D isn’t your favorite place on campus, but you’ll admit —it’s the calmest spot if you actually want to focus. You’d never get this kind of quiet at your apartment, especially with J—

“You know if Jimin has a girlfriend?”

Mia’s voice shatters the silence, and you freeze.

On your phone screen, the dumb mobile game keeps running on its own —because you're too stunned to move a single muscle.

Slowly, very slowly, you lift your head.

On Friday afternoons, these lounges are always half-empty —that’s why you come here— but suddenly, the room doesn’t just feel quiet. It feels mute. Like everyone else has disappeared, leaving you alone with Mia and no way out of answering.

“Uh… no idea,” You mutter after a moment, nervously chewing on the end of your pen. “Why are you asking?”

Behind her oversized green glasses, Mia blushes, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Clearly, she hasn’t noticed your heel bouncing under the table. “Oh, um… just wondering,” she says, and you frown. Why do you hate that tone? And why do you get the feeling she waited for Noelle and Hoseok to leave for this?

“I mean… he’s so handsome, and nice, but I never see him with any girls, so I—”

“Maybe he’s just gay,” You cut in, annoyed, letting your pen drop onto the table with a sharp clack. You hate people with assumptions like that.

She freezes. Even from the corner of your eye, you can see her go pale. “Oh,” she says after a few seconds —more than enough time for you to lose interest and go back to your game.

When she speaks again, her small, shaky voice almost makes you roll your eyes. “You… really think…?”

“No,” You sigh. “Mia, why are you asking me?”

It’s not like you’re friends. Honestly, this might be the most you’ve ever spoken.

You can see her twisting her fingers under the table, but you say nothing. Partly because your own restless foot isn’t much better. Partly because you already know why she’s nervous. Mostly because you just don’t care.

Mia isn’t your friend. Not even close. You're already being nice letting her use your notes —you're not about to give her flirting advice too.

Still, she doesn’t give you much choice.

“Well, I heard you were friends…”

She pauses, waiting for you to confirm it. You just raise an eyebrow. “We had the same classes in first year,” you mutter. That’s all. That’s enough.

She looks surprised, like she expected more —but you don’t have more to give. Your relationship with Jimin could be summed up like that: you had the same classes in first year.

“I’d like to ask him out,” she finally admits, her face turning so red you briefly wonder if she’s having an allergic reaction. She bites her lip, nervous. “But it scares me… every time I see him, I completely lose it. Seriously, he must think I’m an idiot —I can’t even get three words out. Do you think I have a chance?”

For a second, Mia softens you. Just a little. She’s almost endearing like that —clearly flustered, clearly sincere. The way her eyes light up, the blush on her cheeks… she really likes him.

She looks like a teenager with her first crush.

It would be cute —if you were still in high school.

But you’re not. You have finals in less than a month, and if someone has to play cupid, you’d much rather it be Noelle. You have absolutely no time for this.

Still, you choose your words carefully.

“If he does have someone, he’s keeping it secret,” you shrug. “Because I haven’t heard anything.”

You almost regret it —because her whole face lights up.

She opens her mouth to speak, suddenly excited —but right then Noelle and the others come back, and she freezes.

You don’t know if it’s your expression Mia misses or just her own excitement, but Noelle looks at you suspiciously. You subtly shake your head, exasperated, and take the sandwich Hoseok hands you as a distraction.

They barely sit down before Mia starts whispering with her friend, both of them giggling with sparkling eyes —and this time, you can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

You knew you shouldn’t have answered.

Noelle and Hoseok obviously notice, and Hoseok lets out a quiet snort, one eyebrow arching in amusement. Noelle, realizing she’s missed part of the story, looks personally offended and nudges you with her elbow, her eyes firing off a very obvious silent question —unlucky for her, subtlety has never really been her thing.

Mia’s friend catches the exchange. Her hand immediately comes down over Mia’s, and Mia’s mouth snaps shut.

Noelle smiles sweetly like nothing happened, but an odd chill settles over the table, leaving all of you too awkward to speak —and Mia’s friend doesn’t look remotely ready to stop glaring daggers at you.

You spend the rest of the hour in silence. You clear three levels on your game before getting bored.

“Call later?” Noelle throws over her shoulder as you step out of the building, already heading off toward her place —in the exact opposite direction of yours. You nod automatically, flashing her a thumbs-up before going your own way. Hoseok left earlier to pick up his boyfriend at the bus stop, and by the time you decided to call it a day and head home, the whole ridiculous situation had completely slipped your mind.

Which, clearly, isn’t the case for Mia.

Like any self-respecting model student, she lives right on campus. That part, you already knew —it’s not exactly hard to figure out. The only people who manage to show up every single day and actually be on time are the ones who live there.

What you didn’t know, though, is that the path to her building just so happens to be the same one that leads to yours. You’ve barely taken a step when she slips her arm through yours.

“So…” she starts, before you even have time to process the sudden closeness. “The girls he dated before —what were they like? Should I be direct, or take it slow? And do you think—”

“Hey, hey, relax. Breathe,” you grumble, your irritation snapping back in under a second. She takes it as a joke and laughs softly, but she does calm down a little.

She has a pretty laugh —the kind that rings like something straight out of a TV show— and as much as that alone annoys you, you still prefer it to her endless stream of questions.

She keeps firing them at you until you can’t even remember what she started with. You grit your teeth and answer them one by one, reminding yourself over and over that in five minutes you’ll be home, everything will be fine, and she won’t be glued to your side anymore.

Honestly, you can help her a little, right ? A few tips here and there never killed anyone —and it’s not like you're personally invested. Like you keep telling her, you don’t even know Jimin that well, and everything you're saying could be found in under a minute on Google.

Once she’s satisfied with your pathetic answers, she’ll leave you alone, you guess.

“I was thinking of asking him to the movies —what do you think?” she finally asks, looking at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

Internally, you sigh. You're tempted to explain that for a first date, sitting in a dark room for two hours without being able to talk is the worst idea possible —you speak from experience— but you don’t. Because suddenly, the student housing building is just a few meters away, like salvation finally within reach. So you take a deep breath.

“Yeah. A movie sounds perfect.”

Your small smile seems to convince her. She beams back at you, lighting up entirely, and you almost feel bad. She looks like a kid full of dreams.

“Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re saving my life!” she gushes, over and over. For a second, you're afraid she’s going to throw herself at you for a hug —but she doesn’t. She just flashes you one last huge smile before disappearing into the building.

You wait until she’s out of sight before letting out a long breath.

Automatically, you head home, distracting yourself by replying to the memes Hoseok sent you —each one accompanied by about ten completely nonsensical emojis.

Coming home always feels like freedom, but today, after Mia’s forced interrogation, it feels even better. Noelle’s already bribed you over text to spill everything, which you fully intend to do after a shower —but for now, you just want to unwind. You're not particularly antisocial, but you really don’t enjoy being dragged into other people’s drama like this.

The sound of the door slamming behind you, the feeling of finally kicking off your shoes —it’s heaven.

A very short-lived heaven.

Barely ten minutes later, your phone buzzes on the couch.

Mia added you as a friend! the notification chirps cheerfully, like it’s mocking you.

You sigh slowly. Then, after a brief moment of deliberation, you follow her back —if only because Noelle already does.

Deep down, she’s not a bad person. Just… a little too much.

You don’t even have time to put your phone down before a message pops up.

Hello Unnie! Thanks again for ur advice, u have no idea how much it reassured me! I’ll try to ask him tomorrow, fingers crossed! <3 <3 <3

You hate that you smile at it. Hate that you care enough to read it twice. Hate that you're already starting to type a reply. You hate playing hypocrites.

But you don’t even get the chance.

Before your thumb can hit send, someone pounds on the apartment door so hard you jump like an idiot.

You grumble under your breath —can’t even get a moment of peace at home, for God’s sake— before setting your phone down and slipping on your slippers to go open it.

The door swings open, and there he is: messy brown hair, angel face. His eyes darken the second they meet yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his perfectly plump lips.

Slowly, he leans against the doorframe, closing the distance until your faces are just inches apart, your noses almost brushing. You sigh softly —almost on instinct. It’s always the same, and somehow you're still surprised to find him here.

“Your roommate home?” he asks, like he always does, his voice rougher than usual. A little breathless, too.

You shake your head slowly. “He’s at his boyfriend’s. Won’t be back until tomorrow.”

A wicked smile spreads across his lips, his eyes narrowing into crescents. He doesn’t need to hear it twice.

You barely finish speaking before his hand finds your waist, and then Jimin is kissing you —full on.

He exhales against your lips like he’s been waiting for it all day, and the reprimand you had ready dies on the spot. You let yourself go instead.

You let him take the lead as he pulls you closer, his tongue dragging yours into a frantic kiss. Let him take over as he kicks the door shut behind him and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He doesn’t need directions. Eyes closed, he crosses the short distance to your room —he’s walked this apartment so many times he could do it blind.

Your phone keeps buzzing on the table where you left it —but then Jimin tosses you onto the bed and buries his lips in your neck, and nothing else matters.

Nothing but his mouth, his warmth against you, the scent of him wrapping around your senses.

“Safeword?” he murmurs against your skin, his hands already finding every spot that makes you shiver.

A smile slips out before you can stop it.

“Same as always.”

“Well, looks like her little situation is going pretty well…”

“Hm?”

You lift your head, frowning. Across from you, Noelle is lazily sucking on a lollipop, her gaze drifting over the courtyard. It almost makes you snap.

Your binder sits open on your lap, filled with notes and scattered exercises she hasn’t even glanced at. You know math isn’t her thing and she’s already accepted she’s going to fail her finals, but she could at least pretend.

You ? You’ve been doing nothing but studying —for days. At first, you thought you had time —but it caught up with you fast, and now you’d settle for just passing. Even barely passing would be fine, honestly.

With all that, you barely get time to breathe —except for the nights you see Jimin.

“What situation?” you mutter, scratching your chin, trying to refocus. Thinking about him definitely won’t help your grades.

“Mia’s situation,” Noelle shoots back, pulling the lollipop from her mouth to point in Mia’s direction.

You follow her gaze easily —Mia and her friends are sitting by the fountain, giggling. And yeah, the redhead looks thrilled.

You hate how fast your mood drops.

“Oh, that? Yeah… it’s going somewhere,” you mumble, dropping your eyes back to your notes, a heavy feeling settling in your stomach. It takes you less than a second to decide you hate it.

Noelle perks up instantly. “Wait, you know something?”

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, but you have to force it into existence. “Yeah. Though I’d be surprised if I know more than you.”

“Go on.”

You make a face, thinking back to all the late nights she kept you up texting for advice. All the times she caught up with you after class just to gush about the latest update. All the times —almost every time— she made you reassure her for minutes on end that her outfit was fine, that she wouldn’t say something stupid…

Just thinking about it gives you a headache.

You shrug. “She asked him to the movies, then for ice cream. I think he walked her back after class, and… they went to the fair, I think?”

Noelle’s eyes practically pop out of her head. “Wow, seriously?!”

When you nod, she turns back to the group with an impressed whistle. “Damn, that was fast… Honestly, when I heard she wanted to go for it, I didn’t believe it. I mean, I’ve never seen Jimin in a relationship, ever —but hey, good for her. She’ll have to teach me her technique…”

You could just ask me, you almost say —but you bite your tongue in time. You've passed the age for being petty.

“So what do you think?” Noelle asks after a few seconds.

Sighing, you hesitate.

For a split second, you want to admit that your stomach twists every time you picture Mia and Jimin together —so badly it’s hard to swallow.

But you don’t. Partly because that would take way too much explaining. Partly because you're ashamed of it.

So instead, you mumble, “She really seems to like him. Good for her, I guess.”

Noelle nods, still watching the girls, slowly sucking on her candy.

You wait a few seconds, then drop your gaze back to your notes, ignoring the dull ache tightening in your chest.

Later that afternoon, as you leave your last lecture, Noelle suddenly freezes —then shoves you against the wall, out of sight.

You groan, already starting to complain, but one look at her face tells you this isn’t the time —so instead you lean in to see what has her so shaken. You don’t have to search long.

A few steps away, there’s a redhead you know very well now —and a tall, lanky boy with messy brown hair.

She says something you can’t hear, nervously pushing her glasses up her nose. Even from here, you can see her cheeks flushing ridiculously fast.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is the way Jimin smiles back.

A huge, genuine smile that stretches across his entire face —paired with a soft laugh that’s usually just for you.

“I can’t believe it, they’re so cute…” Noelle whispers, completely smitten as something in you breaks.

All you can do is nod, jaw tight as you ignore the punch sinking deep into your stomach.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Are you kidding? Of course not!” Noelle blurts out before you even get the chance to react, pushing her bag aside so Mia can sit with you.

If Hoseok notices the way you tense up, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans closer, his voice soft as he keeps trying to walk you through this stupid math lesson. You keep your eyes firmly fixed on his notebook, on the words he points at, doing your best to ignore how his shoulder brushing yours here and there feels like some kind of protective shield.

Unfortunately, Hoseok’s quiet voice isn’t enough to drown out Noelle and Mia’s chatter.

“Honestly, I could really use some help with chapter six in chemistry. I joined late, and it’s complete gibberish to me!”

Your best friend falters for half a second —but Noelle being Noelle, she recovers instantly. “No one gets it, don’t worry. I was already planning to ask one of the nerds in our group for their revision notes. Namjoon probably won’t agree, but with a bit of luck, Jimin might…”

You can practically hear her face lighting up.

“Now that I think about it, you could even put in a good word for me! You two have gotten pretty close, right…?”

Hoseok’s finger freezes on the page, and you both look up at the same time. Once again, if he notices your leg bouncing under the table, he doesn’t comment.

“Well…” Mia smiles, flushing with obvious pleasure. “Yeah, I guess you could say that…”

Noelle’s grin is so bright it could blind someone. “Come on, spill the tea!”

Mia has the decency to hesitate for a second —though it’s pointless, because the very next moment she’s already rambling.

“He’s so sweet, seriously! Like, perfect! Every conversation with him is super interesting, he’s funny, polite, and thoughtful —oh my God! The other day, I told him I had this super stressful test, and he remembered! He asked me how it went that same evening! And when we went to the fair, it was insane, he practically fought me so I wouldn’t have to pay!”

They both dissolve into excited giggles, completely wound up —Noelle going on about how completely smitten Jimin must be, and Mia marveling at how lucky she is.

They clearly don’t give a damn about the poor students at the nearby tables who are actually trying to study for finals, because soon enough, the two girls are all you can hear —and they don’t even seem bothered by it.

What bothers you is that you can’t breathe —and that you can’t stop listening to Mia at the same time.

You thought you knew how far things had gone between them. 

Clearly, you were wrong.

A warm hand suddenly presses down on your knee, holding it still, and that’s when you realize your leg has started bouncing twice as fast. The look Hoseok gives you is just as warm and steady as his hand —but it’s not enough to calm the storm in your chest or the punches landing in your stomach.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent question in his eyes, and seeing his confusion makes you realize just how bad you feel.

You feel sick.

“Honestly, I owe it all to Y/N. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her advice, really.”

The storm inside you doesn’t settle —and yet you're swept into another the very moment you hear Mia say your name.

The next second, Noelle’s inquisitive gaze is locked onto you, and you feel like you’ve just been shoved under a spotlight. “Really? I had no idea…”

“I didn’t do much,” you mutter quickly, brushing it off with a wave of your hand.

“Are you kidding?” Mia exclaims, almost offended. “If you hadn’t suggested it, it never would’ve crossed my mind to take him to a romantic movie. He loved it!”

Next to you, Hoseok frowns —you can tell he’s holding back a comment. Anyone who knows Jimin knows he loves romance stories. His favorite movie’s The Notebook, after all…

“And that time you told me to go stargazing after the fair! Seriously, genius idea —I still get butterflies just thinking about it!”

Mia keeps going, listing every single suggestion you gave her —fully aware Jimin would love them— and you feel like you're trapped in an endless tunnel.

Like you can’t move, can’t do anything except stare at the exit without ever reaching it.

Hoseok’s hand tightens slightly on your knee. You know he’s trying to catch your eye again, to ask you that silent question —but you can’t.

All you can see is Jimin smiling at Mia, laughing at something she says. All you can hear is her listing all the perfectly romantic things they’ve done together.

And you feel like you're going to throw up.

You need to get out of here. Now.

As if answering your silent plea, your phone vibrates in your pocket. Once. Then twice.

Hoseok says something you don’t catch, joining the conversation, and you take the opportunity to pull your phone out under the table and unlock it.

For a second, you're almost glad he’s not looking at you —because you're ashamed of the way you react to the message on your screen.

Jimin – 8:42 PM I’m alone at the apartment tonight. Jimin – 8:42 PM Wanna come over?

You know, just from the way something bursts to life in your stomach reading those words, that it’s a bad idea.

But you feel awful. Truly awful. Your chest aches with something you can’t shake —and all you want is a distraction.

And so far, Jimin has always been the best one.

“I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, making everyone jump as you suddenly stand up. “I just remembered I need to do some shopping. You can keep my notes if you want,” you add distractedly to Noelle, already gathering your things and grabbing your bag.

Confused, Noelle says something —a string of surprised questions— but you barely hear it.

Instead, your eyes find Hoseok’s.

And there it is —that familiar look. The one that says he understands something no one else has even suspected. The one that made him your closest confidant.

But he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Text me when you get there,” he murmurs as you lean down to kiss his cheek, too quiet for the girls to hear. “And call me if you want me to come get you.”

“Deal,” you reply simply before waving at the girls and walking away.

It’s only when you reach the other end of the hall, pushing the door open to slip out, that you hear Noelle’s voice behind you—

“What shopping? I thought you did that yesterday?”

It’s almost ridiculous how you don’t even need to look where you're going to take the right path.

You’ve walked it so many times over the past three years —either because Jimin invited you, or because you asked if you could come over— that you could probably do it with your eyes closed.

Once you get off at the usual bus stop, you just have to walk up the street until you reach the small residence a few meters to the left. Punch in the same code that hasn’t changed in three years —613— then climb the thirteen stone steps, until you land on the soft doormat outside Jimin’s apartment.

And yet tonight, your steps are slower. Almost hesitant.

When you finally reach that familiar doormat, you just stand there like an idiot, not daring to ring the bell.

As if this time were different from the hundreds before.

Back in first year, it used to be almost every night —you at his place, or him at yours— and yet you're just as nervous as if it were the first time.

So much so that when your phone vibrates in your bag, it takes you a moment to gather the courage to pull it out —and once you do, you almost regret it.

Mia – 8:59 PM Noelle seemed a bit worried earlier, I hope everything’s okay. Also, sorry to bother you so late when you looked really tired, but I was wondering if you could help me. I’d like to invite Jimin to a restaurant, but I’m not sure wha—

You sigh louder than necessary, not even bothering to read the rest.

You literally ran away right in front of her —and she’s still bombarding you with questions. If she knew where you are right now…

As if summoned by the thought, the pain in your chest comes rushing back, sharp and sudden, twisting your stomach.

God, if she knew…

You're a terrible person. Listening to her talk about her crush, then coming here… you feel awful. Maybe you should just leave…?

You swallow and shake your head.

You're just trying to be nice to her. You’ve done nothing wrong.

But if talking to her means feeling like this every single time tho, then maybe it’d be better to cut it off now. You're sure she’ll be fine without your advice…

Except when you don’t reply, she just keeps sending messages. Over and over, until you snap.

You – 9:03 PM He loves Paris-Brest pastries.

You bite your tongue, immediately regretting typing the first thing that came to mind just to get her off your back —but as you start writing another message, the door suddenly swings open in front of you .

“I knew I heard something,” Jimin says, a wide grin spreading across his face when he sees you jump back in surprise. Then his eyes linger on your face, softening. “You okay?”

You stand there, frozen, as breathless as if you’d just run a marathon. Slowly, you let your phone drop back into your bag, forcing a small smile.

“Of course. Why?”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, making it even worse —which only makes you want to reach out and fix it. You already know how soft it is.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, stepping aside to let you in. “You seem… somewhere else.”

Immediately, you're wrapped in the scent of cinnamon and wood smoke that fills his apartment. That scent that’s so him you’d recognize it anywhere.

You sigh softly, setting down your bag and slipping off your shoes with such ease you’d think you lived here. He watches you, arms crossed, his oversized hoodie practically swallowing him whole —something that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but on him just makes him look… cozy.

Suddenly, it’s hard to remember why you felt so nervous before coming in.

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” you shake your head, wrinkling your nose. “Finals. I’m stressed, I guess.”

Something flickers in his eyes as you shrug, playing it off, and he steps closer, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll get the best grades in the whole class.”

You raise an eyebrow at his teasing grin, studying him as he gets so close you have to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously! I believe it.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes, letting him.

“Funny, because I know a certain pain in the ass who never studies and still gets straight A’s.”

“Are you talking about Namjoon?”

“No. I’m talking about you,” you grumble, pinching his cheek. He bursts out laughing.

“Hey, don’t be like that —it’s not my fault I’m a genius!”

“Oh, please,” you sigh, pretending to step away —but he just laughs harder, hooking his fingers into your belt loops to pull you back toward him.

“Don’t be like that,” he repeats, smiling —and somehow, without you noticing how, he’s suddenly so close your chests brush, you can feel the warmth of his hips against yours —yet you don’t want to pull away.

“You know, even geniuses get stressed about finals…”

“…Is that so…”

“But if you insist…” he murmurs, his voice dropping, something darkening slightly in his gaze. “I could help you relax.”

Slowly, his hands slide from your waist to your hips, tracing every curve so gently it sends shivers blooming under your clothes. He’s so close his breath grazes your skin, waking every nerve —and suddenly, it’s not enough. You want to get rid of these stupid clothes, feel his hands everywhere.

“You’re pretty bold tonight…” you murmur against his lips, eyebrow raised —though you can’t quite hide your smile.

“What can I say? I missed you,” he breathes, right before crushing his lips against yours.

A soft sound escapes you, caught off guard —but you don’t hesitate for a second before matching the urgent, almost desperate rhythm of his kiss.

Trapping your lip between his teeth to gently pull, he takes advantage of the moan that escapes you to slide his tongue in until it meets yours. You follow the movement as he licks, sucks, your tongues dancing while your hands explore. His hands slip under your top to find your ribs and graze your breasts, drawing delicious shivers from you, while yours grip his shoulders before sliding down his back.

Then his hands find your hips, making them sway against his, and suddenly you need more.

"Fuck, babe," he curses, right as the bulge against your abdomen makes you gasp.

"Your room. Now." Hurried, you grab the collar of his sweatshirt and help him take it off, drooling as he pulls it over his head and reveals he’s wearing nothing underneath —nothing but his perfectly sculpted torso and nipples hardened by arousal.

Slowly, you swallow. You want to take one in your mouth, just to see his reaction. As if he can read your thoughts, he smiles, winking at you . "Who’s being bold now, hmm?"

You don’t have time to answer —because then he kisses you again, so deliciously that you even forget what you were talking about. Without breaking the kiss, he gently pushes you toward his bedroom, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach —your ribs, your breasts, your lower back, your butt, as if he’s trying to map the area. His skin is burning against yours, electrifying, and every caress so light that the shivers they create only make you want to snuggle against him, to feel your body fit with his, to have more, more, more.

Your knees hit the edge of his bed, making you fall back with a gasp of surprise, and he leans down to follow you onto the mattress. You stop him, licking your lips.

His mouth opens in a silent question, but your hands have already found the hem of his belt, and you hear him hold his breath, his lip caught between his teeth.

"Take off your top," he sighs as his jeans fall around his ankles. You obey, grabbing your t-shirt and pulling it over your head before tossing it randomly into the room, his gaze almost immediately lost in your bra. As you get on your knees, one hand on his thigh, the sight of his Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat as he swallows is enough to make your thighs rub against each other.

The air is cold against your skin, but at this moment, you feel like you're burning.

Sliding your fingers under the elastic, you lower his boxers and let it fall with his jeans, salivating at the sight of his member —proudly standing before you, already red and begging for a little attention. Jimin swallows again when you take him gently in one hand, trembling against you as you make a few small up-and-down motions to prepare him.

With your thumb, you spread the drop of pre-cum that escaped before, never leaving his gaze, licking from bottom to top. He groans, already trembling as you’ve barely started, and almost gasps when you finally wrap your lips around the tip, taking him in. You suck, gently.

One hand gripping his thigh to steady yourself, you take him in your mouth a little deeper, again and again every second, until your nose brushes the hair at the base of his belly and you have to relax your jaw so you don’t choke.

Then you start again.

Again and again. Slowly at first, taking your time to hollow your cheeks, to slide your tongue underneath just like you know he loves —then, as his legs tremble and his breathing gets louder, his moans more frequent, you go faster and faster, deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, yes, babe, right there," he hisses, lip caught between his teeth. You can see his abs flex as he slides a hand into your hair, ruining your hairstyle to instead tangle his fingers in the strands and press on your scalp to guide your movements. Pushing on your head, the pace becomes more urgent, clumsier, but better too —his moans get louder, so sincere and breathless that you can feel your panties dampening.

With your eyes closed, you slide a hand between your closed thighs and sway your hips, welcome the heat pooling there —just trying to get a tiny bit of friction, to…

"Shit, shit, shit, stop," he suddenly hisses, pushing you away as gently as he can. You look up at him, thighs trembling and lips shiny with saliva, just fast enough to see him swallow, his gaze dark as he devours you with his eyes.

"What?" you blurt out, surprising yourself at how trembling your breath is.

"On the bed," he simply replies, panting. "I need to be inside," he rushes to add, grabbing you by the waist to pull you up before placing you on the bed.

He joins you there as you bounce on the mattress —his mouth finds your neck, already sucking on a sweet spot under your jaw. While one hand caresses your hip, slides into your back to unhook your bra, the other finds its way between your thighs to your clit, drawing thigh circles on it with his thumb, drawing a surprised moan from you.

"Fuck, Jimin…"

"I know, I know, babe," he sighs against your neck, licking then biting that exact spot between your neck and collarbone that makes you see stars. As he lifts your hips to take off the last few pieces of clothing you have left, he reaches into a drawer with his other hand to pull out a condom. You take it from his hands, opening it with hurried movements to put it on, and he smiles softly when you groan as he slips two fingers inside you, a muffled moan escaping you.

"Jimin," you whisper, your voice trembling. Your walls tighten around him, wanting —no, needing— nothing more than to finally feel him inside you, filling you completely —but he gently cuts you off, placing a series of small kisses along your jawline.

"Need to prep’ you," he whispers, looking just as tense and impatient as you, but still so attentive even in moments like this.

"I don’t care, just go," you urge, and he hesitates just a second before obeying.

You moan together as he enters —so thick you can feel your walls shaking around him. He curses, burying his head in the crook of your neck as an anchor, and you can only cling to his shoulders, one hand lost in his messy hair as he sways his hips, pulling out gently before slamming back in, almost hitting your cervix.

Rapidly, the up-and-down of his hips accelerates, encouraged by yours rising and swaying to meet his movements. He grips your hips harder, so hard it’ll surely leave a bruise, and leans on his knees for more leverage, hitting points that make you scream against his neck. He just speeds up, goes harder, deeper every time, until you see stars, until you grip his bicep so hard your nails will surely leave marks.

He goes further, faster, deeper every time. Slides a hand between your bodies to tease your clit with his thumb, eyes down to where your bodies meet as if he can’t look away, mesmerized. Your walls swallow him harder and tighter each time as the knot tightens in your lower belly, again, again…

Until it snaps.

You scream his name, arching your back as your head falls back, stars before your eyes, and he joins you quickly, stifling his moans in the crook of your neck, holding himself up on his forearms.

Your chests fall and rise again and again, in unison, and only when his breathing has returned to a roughly normal rhythm does he let himself fall back onto the bed beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Slowly, when you prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him, he smiles. "Stay the night?" he asks softly, as if saying it out loud would ruin everything.

You smile gently, just before coming to snuggle against him, your head nestled in his neck —and he welcomes you with open arms, holding you tight against him as if his life depends on it.

When you close your eyes that night, you are enveloped in a scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke, and you can’t help but smile.

Waking up at Jimin’s place has always been a little unsettling for you.

Not because you're scared of what it means, or worried you might mess something up —no, it’s unsettling because of how natural it feels.

Like you belong here —in his arms, in this house that’s far too big for a bunch of broke students. And honestly, it’s almost true. There’s a pair of slippers in your size by the door, ridiculously small next to the guys’ shoes, and part of Jimin’s closet is basically yours now, filled with as many of your clothes as there are hoodies and sweatpants you’ve stolen from him.

It’s not that you don’t like it —quite the opposite. That’s exactly what scares you.

The idea that one day, just like that, all of this could disappear. Just because one of you meets someone else.

“Here.” He hands you a steaming mug of tea before dropping down beside you on the floor, his thigh brushing lightly against yours. With his own cup in hand, he stretches an arm behind you, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Seriously? You’re already back at it?”

It takes you a few seconds to react, too distracted by the warmth between your fingers —raspberry tea, your favorite— and the look on your face when you finally turn to him makes him laugh softly.

“I don’t have a choice,” you mutter, feigning annoyance, which only makes him laugh harder. “Sleeping in is great and all, but I’ve got a semester to pass,” you grumble, sighing as you glance at the dozens of revision sheets spread out in front of you. You're never going to make it in time.

He doesn’t answer, and you jump slightly when, a few seconds later, he rests his head on your shoulder, his half-asleep eyes scanning your notes.

For a moment, you're thrown off by how comfortable it feels to have him this close. His warm breath against your skin, steady and soothing. The way you can trace the clean line of his profile without even trying.

“You know, if you’re really struggling with physio, I can help,” he says after a while, pulling you abruptly out of your thoughts.

“What?” you mumble, then quickly recover. “Oh. Yeah —I mean, if you don’t mind, ‘course.” He smiles, and you shoot a slightly embarrassed glance at the mess of papers in front of you. “I don’t understand a single thing that prof says. It’s a disaster.”

That earns you a quiet laugh before he straightens up —so fast you almost miss the warmth of his head on your shoulder. “It’s easier than it looks. You’ll see.”

If there’s one thing that’s clear, it’s that Jimin should become a teacher someday. Sure, half his students would probably end up hopelessly in love with him —if not all of them— but no one would ever fail.

There’s something about the way he explains things, the way he catches your attention and holds onto it, that’s honestly impressive. He doesn’t show off or talk down to you —he just reframes things, tries every possible angle until something finally clicks.

And even if it’s not instant, by the time the sun rises high enough to flood the living room with light, he’s pulled off a small miracle: you actually understand the chapter. Not perfectly —but enough that you might, maybe, survive finals.

He’s stretching —bare torso, low-slung sweatpants, the whole unfair package on display— when the front door slams open and muffled electro music spills in with it. A giant with messy hair falling over his eyes steps inside, unbothered.

He freezes when he sees you, then arches a brow as he pulls his headphones off. “Oh? The girlfriend’s back?”

“Taehyung,” Jimin clicks his tongue at the exact same moment you groan, “Please, not you…”

Taehyung takes advantage of Jimin getting up to wash your mugs to stick his tongue out at you while kicking off his shoes. You flip him off in return, which he completely ignores.

“Jesus, guys, how many times do I have to tell you to air the place out when you hook up?” he complains loudly, wrinkling his nose. “It stinks in here!”

“Oops!” Jimin calls back from the kitchen. “Sorry, man. You might wanna open your bedroom window, then.”

You nearly choke when you see Taehyung ’s face fall. “You’re kidding me?! I said not in my room!”

He storms upstairs two steps at a time, yelling something unintelligible from up there that sends you both into laughter.

When he comes back down, he’s sulking —and even grumpier. “What’s wrong, your hookup from last night kicked you out once sober she saw your face?” Jimin teases, unable to help himself.

“Shut up. And put a shirt on, asshole —you two look like some childless married couple.”

“You’re just jealous,” you singsong, just to get on his nerves. This time he flips you off without hesitation, which only makes you laugh harder —especially when Jimin comes back and smacks him on the back of the head.

“You guys went to a party last night?” Taehyung suddenly asks.

You blink at the abrupt change of subject, but Jimin doesn’t even react. You’ve always thought Taehyung had serious attention issues, but according to Jimin, he just thinks faster than everyone else. The idea is oddly endearing —and cute— so you don’t dare contradict.

“No, why?”

By the coffee machine, Taehyung shrugs, pulling his phone out. “Saw you on some girl’s story. Looked like a party. Here.”

Jimin takes the phone, biting into a cookie, but glances at the picture for less than a second before shaking his head. “That wasn’t last night. That was the fair.”

And just like that, you freeze.

Something about Jimin and a fair makes your stomach twist almost instantly.

You don’t hear the rest of their conversation —it doesn’t really matter, you're not part of it anymore. But you do follow the movement when Jimin sets the phone down on the coffee table after Taehyung disappears into the kitchen.

Nowou can see the picture clearly —and you're not sure you like it.

Jimin, grinning wider than you’ve ever seen him. Happier than you’ve ever seen him. And next to him, a petite redhead, just as radiant.

Mia.

Your stomach knots tighter and tighter until it feels like something’s about to snap. You can’t look away. They look so happy. So at ease. You’d had trouble picturing them together before —but now…

Now, seeing them like this, Jimin looking better than ever, you start to think maybe… maybe…

“You’d tell me if you wanted to stop, right?”

When you finally look up, it’s just Jimin in the living room —Taehyung’s gone somewhere. Jimin stares at you, completely caught off guard.

“Stop what? Us?” he asks after a second, clearly confused.

You nod, swallowing.

Your chest hurts. Like your lungs don’t have enough room to expand.

“Why would I want to stop?”

It hurts. God, it hurts.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, your voice suddenly empty. You can’t meet his eyes anymore. “I just figure it would suck if one of us started feeling… stuck. In our —whatever this is.”

You swallow hard.

You've never put a name on this. It just happened. You woke up in the same bed after a party, realized it had been the best sex of your lives, and decided to keep going. No rules, no labels. Just… this.

And it used to be enough. Now it terrifies you .

“Well… that’s not how I feel,” he says slowly, almost hesitant —but with that soft smile he uses to reassure people. “But if it ever is, trust me —you’ll be the first to know.”

You force a smile and nod.

It hurts so much.

You open your mouth to say something else —because from the look on his face, he knows something’s wrong and he’s about to ask— but Taehyung’s voice cuts in from upstairs, calling for him.

Jimin hesitates, eyes flicking between you and the stairs before deciding. “He never yells like that. I should check,” he mutters, frowning. “I’ll be right back, just a minute.”

You barely have time to respond before he leans down and kisses you, quick and easy, then disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone —with flushed cheeks and thoughts that won’t line up into anything coherent.

And in the quiet that follows, you realize something. What scares you most… …It’s how natural that felt.

The way he leaned in and kissed you, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It scares you.

No —it terrifies you.

And God… why does your chest hurt so much?

“I can’t do this,” you declare, your head in your hands.

Sitting across from you on the edge of the fountain, Hoseok looks up sharply, one eyebrow raised. “Chapter thirteen. I don’t understand a single thing,” you explain, sighing.

He thinks for a second, then glances over the overwhelming spread of notes in front of you and wrinkles his nose. “Oh, that one. Yeah, I skipped it. It’s on my sacrifice list.”

“Your what list?”

“Mhm. All the chapters I know I’ll never learn in time, so I ditch them and focus on the rest,” he proudly explains, leaving you confused for a few seconds.

Slowly, you nod. “Right. Makes sense. I should probably do the same… Any chance you could explain the chapter on exponential functions?”

“Sacrificed. That crap is straight out of high school, I don’t even get why we have to go through it again.”

“Chemistry, chapter three?”

“Sacrificed.”

“Four?”

“Sacrificed.”

“Okay… and, uh, let’s say, all of this semester’s physio?”

He grimaces. That’s your answer.

“Sacrificed, got it,” you sigh. “So… is there anything you didn’t sacrifice, or—”

“Of course there is! The very first one, about cell structure, well fun fact—”

“Hoseok! Y/N! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

Mia cuts him off, bursting into the courtyard at full speed —so fast she has to dig her heels into the ground to keep from face-planting into the massive fountain. Hoseok jumps up instinctively, startled, while you throw your arms over your head on reflex —but she manages to stop just a couple steps away from you.

“You are never gonna believe this!” she gasps, hands on her knees, more out of breath than you’ve ever seen her. Hoseok shoots you a quick, concerned glance.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mia run, and definitely not with a smile like that. Her cheeks are flushed, her glasses are slipping down her nose —but you’ve never seen her look so radiant.

“You won the lottery?” you mumble at the exact same time Hoseok blurts out, “You found a valid excuse to skip finals?”

“No!” she beams. “Jimin agreed to come to the party on Friday with me!”

…What?

You and Hoseok go completely still —him in surprise, you, though you hate to admit it, in something closer to horror.

“The Friday party? Like the ones that happen every week in the campus building?” Hoseok finally asks, upbeat and curious, just before the silence turns awkward.

“Exactly!” Mia practically bounces in place, totally oblivious to the global —your, really— discomfort. “He hesitated at first, but I convinced him! I still can’t believe it!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hoseok frown, and when your gazes meet, you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. Jimin never goes to those parties. They suck, they get shut down by the police half the time, and his frat already throws the best ones around. So for Mia to convince him…

“Really? How’d you pull that off?” Hoseok asks, still smiling uncertainly as he high-fives her.

“Oh, I just told him one of my friends was bringing Paris-Brest,” she says proudly, then turns to you. “By the way, thank you so much for the tip!”

She looks like she’s about to throw herself at you for a hug, and all you can do is blink at her, just as confused as Hoseok when he turns to you, completely lost.

“Me? Why are you thanking me?” you mumble, pointing at yourself.

“For telling me it’s his favorite,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Behind her, you can practically see the moment Hoseok connects the dots. “I didn’t think it’d work that easily —seriously, thank you!”

She laughs, bright and carefree —and you smile back.

Inside, though, you're frozen solid.

You vaguely remember mentioning it in a message, yeah, but you can’t recall the context —and you don’t see how a cake would be enough to convince him. That’s ridiculous… right?

No. Deep down, he probably already meant to say yes. Yeah. Jimin wanted to go to that party with Mia. Maybe they’ve gotten closer than you thought —maybe he wants them to get even closer, maybe—

“Don’t thank me, I had no idea he liked it that much,” you protest, uneasy. The hollow in your chest has never felt this wide.

“Are you kidding? You guys used to eat it every day when you were kids!”

This time, it’s not just you —Mia freezes too at Hoseok’s words.

Standing behind her, he sees your face fall apart, realizes instantly that he messed up —but she doesn’t need to see him. Your expression is enough.

“What?” she asks softly, all the joy gone from her voice in less than a second.

You're frozen —completely unable to move. As she turns toward him, all you can do is beg Hoseok with your eyes, nausea rising in your throat.

“Uh… we knew each other. Before. The three of us —with Jimin,” he tries, but his voice is way too hesitant, and he gives up with a grimace. “Well —I got there in middle school, but Jimin and Y/N knew each other before that.”

You barely have time to shoot him a death glare before Mia turns back to you —and as soon as her back is to him, he sends you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen.

Behind her round glasses, Mia’s gaze is sharp. It makes you sigh —but also irritates you, just a little.

“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You seriously don’t see why she’s reacting like this. Sure, this whole thing brought you a bit closer —but not nearly enough for you to spill your entire life story. The way she’s acting like you owe her something, like you’ve betrayed her —seriously…

“Our moms were friends, so we were too in elementary school. Then Hoseok showed up in middle school, and Jimin met his group of friends around ninth grade, and after that we stopped talking until we ended up at the same college,” you say in one breath, your tone flat. “It doesn’t change anything, you know.”

She seems to think you have a point, because she softens. And it’s true —from her perspective, your past with Jimin changes nothing. If anything, it explains why you know so much about him.

“You could’ve told me,” she mutters one last time, then moves on almost immediately.

She starts asking what she should wear, how she should act around him —and Hoseok, amused and mostly relieved to have dodged a disaster, answers her, matching her excitement until she has to head back to class.

When she’s gone and silence settles back in, you're left alone under Hoseok’s heavy gaze.

“You didn’t tell her,” he says simply, but that’s all it takes for you to know exactly what he means.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I didn’t tell anyone. You’re the only one who knows —you and Jimin’s friends, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I feel special?”

“Obviously,” you nod —but he clicks his tongue.

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“I know you.” He sighs, almost pained.

“Yeah, and?”

He hesitates, discouraged by your evasive gaze, but pushes on anyway. “What does Jimin say about it?”

You let out a short laugh —there’s no humor in it. “He doesn’t say anything, what do you think? That I’m gonna go tell him I’ve been helping some girl from physio flirt with him? That if she knows all those details about him, it’s because I can’t keep my mouth shut?”

He doesn’t answer, and you pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them, bitterness creeping in. “No. Of course not. Anyway, I don’t think I’m the person he’d want to talk about that with. He never talks about Mia when we’re together,” you add when you catch his surprised look.

Out of all your friends, Hoseok’s the only one who knows about you and Jimin. Being inseparable since middle school probably helped —but truth is, you never planned on telling him until he literally walked in on you two halfway through freshman year. Perks of having roommates.

He gave you hell for it at first, but honestly, it worked out for him too. When you went over to Jimin’s, he could invite Yoongi, his boyfriend. And when Jimin came over, Hoseok would disappear for the night. Convenient.

He’s also covered for you more times than you can count when Noelle questioned your constant absences —but the downside is, between knowing everything and being annoyingly good at reading you without words, he’s gotten very good at dragging things out of you.

“Maybe he doesn’t see things the same way?” he tries gently —but even he must hear how unsure he sounds.

You just shrug, your gaze drifting to the rippling water of the fountain. It takes him a moment before he speaks again —and when he does, his voice is softer.

“And you? What do you think?”

Another shrug. It takes more effort than you’d like to ignore the ache in your chest and fall back on your usual answer.

“I think it’s good for them. Mia really likes him. And when they’re together, Jimin looks… happy.”

“Y/N,” Hoseok clicks his tongue, almost scolding —and you snap.

“What do you want me to think?! I don’t get to think anything about it! I’m not his girlfriend, and we never even said it was just the two of us! If he wants to try something with her, I don’t see what right I’d have to—”

“That’s not true, and you know it. It’s more than just a sex arrangement —Jimin isn’t the kind of guy to—”

“Even if it is, it doesn’t change anything. Mia’s funny, cute, and four times smarter and more interesting than the girl he’s been sleeping with for three years just because it was easier than finding someone else!”

The words spill out all at once —and you don’t know if you feel lighter or worse when you realize something in your chest has shifted.

“Honestly, Hoseok, I… I think I’d understand if he wanted to end things with me to focus on her. I mean, we’re not going anywhere with our—”

“Okay, no. That’s enough.”

He cuts you off, and he looks angrier than you’ve seen him in months.

“I’m not sitting here listening to you talk about yourself like that. I don’t know what he said —or didn’t say— to make you believe this crap, but I swear I’m this close to going to have a word with him.”

He exhales, calming down when he notices you’ve gone quiet. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

You press your lips together, trying to remember. “Last week? When I stayed over, I think.”

His eyebrow lifts, surprised. “And you haven’t talked since?”

In another context, you might’ve smiled. First year, you saw each other like four times a week. Second year, almost every night. Not seeing each other this long is practically a miracle.

“He texted a couple times, I think, but with finals I didn’t really have the headspace for it…”

You don’t need to finish. And with Mia, you didn’t want to deal with it.

He thinks for a long moment, then sighs. “I really think you should go talk to him. Not to tell him you basically helped Mia get close to him,” he adds, rolling his eyes when you open your mouth to interrupt. “Just to clear things up. Tell him this whole situation makes you uncomfortable. That you don’t think you can keep doing this. And most importantly—”

He taps your nose with his finger, his tone turning serious again.

“Make it very clear that my best friend is not a second choice. And if he messes with you, I’ll personally punch his face in —and have Yoongi slash his tires.”

You groan, pushing his hand away —but you can’t quite stop the smile pulling at your lips.

He grins back, that soft, heart-shaped smile of his, so reassuring.

“Thanks, Hobi. I’ll try.”

You didn’t try.

You could have —worse, you know you should have. But it didn’t take long to realize it was too delicate, too hard for you to handle. Just thinking about texting him we need to talk makes you feel sick. And showing up at his place? Not even an option.

You know it makes you weak. You should’ve pulled yourself together sooner —because now it’s too late, and it’s a disaster.

A disaster, because you missed your chance. And now it’s only a matter of time before Mia and Jimin get together.

“Tonight, I’m asking him out! I hope he kisses me —oh my god, do you think he’ll kiss me?!”

Mia and her friends hang around us so much these days you’d think you were all best friends. Maybe from their perspective, you are. From ours… it’s obvious even Noelle is starting to get fed up with the constant chatter, and Hoseok —well, he can tell it’s dragging you down, so he’s not thrilled either.

Then again, Mia only ever talks about one thing —Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. It was cute at first. Now it’s exhausting. Even Noelle, who usually lives for this kind of gossip, has asked them to change the subject more than once —and when the break barely lasted a few minutes before Mia circled back to him, she officially labeled her as an annoying pick-me. A little harsh… but not wrong.

You and Noelle keep telling yourselves that after tonight, it’ll calm down. That maybe they’ll make things official, and Mia won’t need your advice anymore —maybe she’ll finally leave you alone.

You don’t know if that thought comforts you… or destroys you.

“I’m so excited for you!” one of her friends squeals. “Do you know what he’s gonna wear?”

“No, but I know what I’m wearing! I planned my whole outfit to match the bracelet he gave me!”

That one sentence doesn’t faze Noelle in the slightest —but you and Hoseok both snap your heads up at the same time, and suddenly your throat goes dry.

“You’re so lucky your guy gives you cute little gifts like that… mine won’t even buy me flowers for Valentine’s,” another girl grumbles, eyeing the thin braided bracelet on Mia’s wrist. Soft orange and green —colors that suit her perfectly.

Slowly, Hoseok turns toward you —and he doesn’t even need to see your face to go pale.

For your birthday in first year, Jimin gave you a delicate gold bracelet with tiny stones set into it. Probably fake —he was broke then, still is— but it meant everything to you. You wore it every day. And whenever he spotted it in the halls, he’d get this small, knowing smile —like it was a little secret just for the two of you.

You hate how quickly you tug your sleeve down to hide the chain you haven’t taken off in three years. You can’t help it.

“I can’t wait for tonight!” Mia gushes, practically vibrating with excitement —and for once, you agree.

You can’t wait either.

Because maybe after tonight… You’ll finally know where you stand. Maybe you’ll finally be able to move on.

The upside of taking biology as an elective is that almost no one else did —so you spend most of the afternoon without Mia’s running commentary threatening to make you cry.

The downside is that you end up alone in the university halls as night falls, when all you want is to crawl into bed.

The few students in your class seem to feel the same way. The second the professor dismisses you, everyone scatters, heading for the nearest exit that leads back home. You, unfortunately, have to pass through the main hall —and let’s just say it’s not exactly comforting when the corridors are dark and completely empty.

You pull out your phone to distract yourself, replying to the messages Noelle and Hoseok sent during class, walking fast without even needing to look where you're going. You're so focused on your screen, on typing back to yet another one of Noelle’s dumb comments, that you barely notice when you step into the large hall —or that there are people already there.

Their voices reach you, but you don’t bother making sense of them, too tired for that.

A quick glance to avoid walking straight into them is enough to register two guys —and without missing a beat, thumbs still flying across your screen, you shift to the left to pass by.

As you draw level with them, you glance again, ignoring Taehyung ’s raised eyebrow and the unimpressed look he throws your way, focusing instead on—

Wait.

Taehyung ?

Taehyung is never on campus this late. Actually, you were pretty sure Taehyung didn’t go to class at all —so what the hell is he doing here?

And then it clicks.

The party.

Taehyung must’ve agreed to come after Mia invited Jimin…

Shit.

Before you can stop yourself, your pace quickens. You just need to get out of this damn hall —once you're outside, you can run, catch the first bus you see, just get away from here.

But you barely have time to grab the handle of the massive front door before a voice you know all too well calls out behind you —splitting your chest open in the process.

“Y/N! Hey —wait!”

You freeze.

Footsteps echo behind you, quick and urgent, and then Jimin is there beside you, barely out of breath. His dark eyes lock onto yours instantly, his lips parting as he runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair —and the ache in your chest triples.

Like one word from him could break you.

Behind him, the hall is empty. Taehyung’s gone —probably headed straight to the party. Which leaves you alone with Jimin and a gaze that’s far too gentle for how much this hurts.

“Hey,” he says finally, still a little breathless. “You’re leaving?”

He looks genuinely surprised. Almost disappointed.

It takes you a full minute to answer, cornered, confused. “Uh—I… yeah,” you stammer, hating how stupid you sound. Hating how easily he throws you off balance. “I’m already late, I need to get home…”

“Oh… okay,” he murmurs, nodding slowly —and for some reason, he almost looks relieved.

He steps closer.

For a split second, you hesitate —should you move toward him, or step back? In the end, you just stand there like an idiot, frozen in the middle of a mental battle you can’t win.

“I was thinking…” he starts, wetting his lips nervously, and it’s obvious he’s tense —though you don’t understand why. “After the party, do you maybe want to come over? The guys won’t be there. I would’ve asked earlier, but you seemed… busy. So I figured…”

He trails off, the question hanging between you.

But you don’t answer.

You can’t.

He fidgets with his keys, his eyes flicking over your face like he can’t quite settle, waiting.

You grip the strap of your bag tighter, forcing yourself to swallow.

For a second, you almost say yes.

Then you think of Mia. Her excitement. Her smile. The bracelet. The fact that she’s going to ask him out.

And suddenly, all you can think is that you're a horrible person.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, your voice shaking so badly it sounds like you're about to cry.

Jimin goes still, frowning.

“What?”

You swallow again, panic tangling with the pain in your chest. You search for the right words —but they don’t come.

“I have to study for finals,” you say instead, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. “B-But you should ask Mia. I’m sure she’d love to.”

This time, he looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What? What are you even talking about?”

For a second, Hoseok’s advice flashes through your mind —be honest. Advice you should’ve followed a long time ago.

“I—I just mean…” Your voice breaks, hitching as tears well up. “If things get serious between you two, then I… I think it’d be better if we—”

“Y/N, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?!” he cuts in, panic creeping into his voice. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his eyes careful, searching —and it breaks you all over again. Even now, he’s trying to be gentle. Why does that hurt so much? “What’s going on with Mia?”

“She’s going to ask you out!” you burst out, not even trying to wipe the tears streaming down your face.

He recoils slightly —but now that you’ve started, the words won’t stop.

“And it’s obvious you’re going to say yes, and I am not going to be the girl who ruins your relationship, so it’s better if we just stop!”

You're practically shouting now, but you can’t hold it in anymore. You’ve been bottling this up for too long.

“I want us to stop.”

The words fall flat between you.

You're out of breath. He just stares at you, unreadable. Your vision is blurred —you don’t see the hurt in his eyes, or the way his lips part and close again as he searches for something to say.

What you do notice is the silence.

And the fact that his hand has left your shoulder.

The hollow in your chest burns —twists— like something’s tearing you apart from the inside. You want to scream. You want to cry.

You feel so ashamed.

Ashamed for reacting like this when it’s obvious Jimin only ever saw this as something convenient. Obvious he doesn’t feel the same.

Your vision swimming, you take a step back, looking away.

He reaches out, saying your name —but you can’t listen. Not when it hurts this much.

You need to leave.

“Babe, please, look at m—”

“I have to go,” you mumble, wiping your nose with the back of your hand as you push the door open.

The cold evening air hits your face, sharp and unforgiving —but you turn your back on him anyway, walking away without trying to stop the tears streaming down your cheeks.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

So much that you don’t even hear him call your name as he runs after you.

“Finally free!”

“How’d it go for you guys?”

“Seriously, who actually studied that garbage chapter?! No one!”

“Anyone up for a drink to celebrate? First round’s on me!”

“They’re idiots,” Noelle snorts, watching students lose their minds outside Building A, where all the exams took place. “I bet not even half of them passed their semester, but hey, let's celebrate!”

“Careful,” you point out, earning a small laugh from her. “You weren’t so confident when you saw the physio exam.”

“Please. Physio’s been on my sacrifice list for ages, so…”

“Oh, great. So Hoseok really did infect everyone.”

“Speaking of, wanna grab a drink?” she cuts in with a bright grin, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “We should celebrate. Our personal hell is finally over!”

“Yeah… until next semester,” you mutter, which earns you an elbow to the ribs.

With another sigh, you let your gaze drift over the groups of smiling students heading off together. Just imagining yourself out there with them gives you a headache.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I need a nap. A long one.”

She gives you the kind of disappointed look only a mom can pull off. “I keep telling you, you handle stress terribly. Hoseok refuses to believe me. When’s the last time you actually slept through the night?”

“No one sleeps properly in college, Noelle.”

That gets you smacked on the back of the head. “Go home. And don’t let me catch you saying that again! Call me when you wake up, we’ll go out!”

You promise, even though you both know you probably won’t, and you split up —her heading toward the nearest bar with the others, you toward your apartment.

It’s empty when you get there —Hoseok’s gone out to celebrate with Yoongi— and the silence is just enough for you to collapse onto the couch and fall asleep within minutes.

When you wake up, you feel like you’ve got a hangover, that heavy, dull kind of exhaustion —and the mess around you doesn’t help. It’s dark outside, leaving the apartment half in shadow, but you can still make out the dozens of revision sheets scattered across the living room, the sticky notes on the fridge, the clothes you left lying around this morning.

Hoseok still isn’t back —considering the late hour, he probably decided to stay the night at Yoongi’s— so you grab your phone from the floor and turn it on.

The simple motion sends a sharp pang through your chest.

Friday night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn it off —because Jimin was flooding you with messages you couldn’t bring yourself to read. You spent the night crying until exhaustion knocked you out. The days after that, you refused to let yourself fall apart like that again —so you kept it off, shoved under the couch so you wouldn’t be tempted, and buried yourself in studying.

Hoseok noticed something was wrong, of course —but after trying and failing to get you to talk, he stopped pushing and just stayed with you. Silent support. Like he was saying, whether you’re ready or not, I’m here.

But Hoseok isn’t here tonight.

And as your screen lights up —9:27 PM in glaring numbers— the notifications from the entire weekend start vibrating in your hand, one after another, relentless, and you don’t have his shoulder to lean on this time.

Slowly, you scroll.

Noelle – 7:07 PM You awake? Noelle – 7:12 PM Okay prolly not, sleep well :D

Team Rocket – 2 days  No_L sent seven videos.  Hoba._. sent eight videos.

Hobi – 8:24 PM Noelle said you went home don’t stay alone if you don’t have to, okkkk? call me if you need Yoongi said you can come over if you want

Automatically, you swipe away Mia’s notifications. You're not that much of a masochist.

But there’s one you can’t bring yourself to delete.

Your thumb hovers over the screen for a long time before you finally give in —already hating the way your eyes sting with tears.

Jimin – 3 days ago – 9:03 PM Y/N please can we talk pls I just want to explain Y/N Y/N pls it’s late don’t be like this I’m worried

Jimin – 3 days ago – 9:32 PM pls just tell me you got home safe

Jimin – 2 days ago – 2:42 PM Hey can we talk? pls

Jimin – yesterday – 5:28 PM I just want to see you and talk pls doesn’t have to be at my place we can grab coffee if you want pls just tell me you’re okay

Every day, dozens of messages like that. All unanswered.

He sounds genuinely worried —and guilt twists in your chest. You shouldn’t have left like that. You shouldn’t have shut him out.

Wiping at the tears threatening to fall, you scroll further —down to the most recent ones. The ones from this morning.

And you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from sobbing.

Jimin – 7:35 AM don’t stress too much about exams, okay? you know your stuff, you’ll do great you always do

Your phone slips from your fingers, landing on your thigh.

Why does it hurt so much?

Jimin has always been like this. Always putting others first, never worrying about himself as long as the people around him were okay. It’s just who he is —and how many times did Hoseok and you get on his case for losing himself in the process?

And now all you can think about is him.

Jimin, who has the softest, most reassuring smile I’ve ever seen. Jimin, who knows your favorite tea without asking. Jimin, who sat through hours of a show he hates just because you love it. Jimin, who always welcomed you into his place like you already lived there. Jimin, who dropped everything more times than you can count just to be there when you were having a bad day.

Jimin, who used to light up when you bought him a slice of Paris-Brest after school —so much that you decided it was worth spending your allowance just to see that smile.

Jimin, who makes everything feel so easier just by being there.

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

To realize you’ll never be the girl he falls asleep holding again. The one he smiles at first thing in the morning. The one he curls up with on the couch, rambling nonsense just to make her laugh.

You should get up. Go for a walk. Clear your head.

But you don’t move.

You just want to stay here, curled up on this empty couch, waiting for sleep to take you again. For time to pass. For it to hurt less.

You just—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Silence.

You freeze, staring toward the front door, faintly lit by the lamp near the coat rack. Slowly, wiping your cheeks, you frown.

No one ever comes by this late. The building’s mostly older people and students with schedules like yours —after seven, it’s dead quiet.

Hoseok’s at Yoongi’s. Noelle’s probably out partying. You didn’t order anything…

Your hands tremble as you reach for the handle —but you don’t stop. Your throat tightens even before you open the door, like you already know who’s standing on the other side.

And then he’s there.

His eyes lock onto yours instantly —like a shipwrecked man finally finding land.

It must be raining —his hood is up, strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead. But that’s not what hits you.

It’s the way his shoulders seem weighed down. The exhaustion on his face.

Has he been crying?

You’ve never seen him like this. Never without that easy, playful smile he always wears. And seeing him here —soaked, worn down, standing at your door— pulls at something in your chest until it aches.

“Hey,” Jimin rasps, his voice rougher than usual. He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

You should say no.

You should.

But you can’t.

You're still too weak when it comes to him —too incapable of shutting the door in his face when he looks like that.

So you step aside.

He doesn’t give you time to change your mind before walking in, kicking off his sneakers by the door out of habit. You watch as he stands stiffly in the living room, glancing around, clearly uncomfortable.

“Hoseok’s not here,” you mutter.

He looks back at you, his gaze locking onto yours again, making you swallow hard. He nods. “I know. He’s the one who told me to come.”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah, I—uh…” He scratches the back of his neck, forcing a small smile. “Ran into him this morning while I was looking for you. He told me to come see you. I didn’t at first, then I went for a walk to clear my head, got lost, and… anyway. I’m here.” He smiles again, barely giving you time to process before adding, “So —how was your day?”

You stare at him, thrown by the sudden shift.

“I… managed,” you say eventually. “With a bit of luck, I’ll pass.”

“Cool,” he replies quickly —too quickly.

“And you?”

“Me? Oh, a disaster. I’ll probably have to retake. It’s fine,” he shrugs.

You frown.

Jimin? Retakes? Impossible.

Sensing your reaction, he keeps up the act for a second before letting it drop, grimacing as he rubs his neck. “I haven’t really slept these past few days. Hard to focus.”

The look he gives you is so heavy with something —guilt? hurt?— that you want to pull him into a hug and tell him he doesn’t have to explain anything.

You don’t.

Instead, you take a breath and cross your arms.

“Jimin, what are you doing here?”

“I told you, Hoseok said I should—”

“Jimin,” you cut in, exhausted. “Just… answer.”

His Adam apple rolls in his throat. “I wanted to see you,” he says, his voice trembling enough to make you freeze. “You weren’t answering, so I thought maybe something happened to you.” He stops, watching you like he’s waiting for something that never comes. Then he looks away with a sigh. “That was stupid. Forget it.”

Before you can react, he straightens and heads for the door. You reach out —but too late, he’s already there.

So this is how it ends. Maybe… maybe it’s for the best.

You tried.

But just as you brace yourself for the sound of the door slamming shut, it doesn’t come.

He’s still there. Standing in front of it, back to you, tense and unmoving.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Are you okay, at least?”

Thank God he’s not looking at you —because the tears are back, and suddenly you have to bite on your lip not to let out a cry.

“Mm-hm,” you mumble, your throat tight. “Exams are over. Break’s coming. Everything’s great.”

You don’t sound like yourself.

He hears it too —because he turns, and his eyes are just as shiny from tears as yours are.

“Oh.” His gaze finds yours, pleading —but he doesn’t say it. “Okay. I mean, otherwise I know a guy studying psych, he could maybe—”

“Jimin,” you cut in, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

“Great. Then maybe we could go out?” He takes a step closer, fidgeting with his sleeve. “There’s this new restaurant downtown, I went with Taehyung, it was—”

His eyes shine with unshed tears.

Your chest aches.

“Jimin. Go home.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is so soft, so hopeful, it hurts. “We could go to a movie, or just walk. There’s birds that sing at night in the park, it’s—”

Until it hurts too much.

And you snap.

“Jimin, just go home, damn it! You shouldn’t be here!”

“Since when shouldn’t I be here?!” he fires back, louder than you —and suddenly he’s right in front of you, so close you could reach out and touch him. “Y/N, I’ve spent almost every night here since freshman year —what the hell suddenly changed?!”

“What changed is that there’s Mia now!” Your voice breaks.

His face freezes —then shifts from desperation to confusion.

“What does Mia have to do with anything? Why do you keep talking about her like—”

“Because if I were your girlfriend, I’d hate knowing you’re spending the night with someone else —so just leave!”

Silence.

You regret yelling instantly —but he doesn’t even seem to register the tone.

“What?”

You sigh, exhausted. “What do you mean, what?”

“Mia’s not my girlfriend,” he says suddenly, frowning. “Wait —is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”

Silence.

You freeze.

Did you hear that right?

“Of course she is,” you stammer. “She confessed to you Friday at the—”

“I didn’t see her Friday,” he cuts in. “I left as soon as Taehyung told me you weren’t there. I was too worried.”

“I… I thought you really wanted to go because she said she’d bring Paris-Brest…?”

He blinks. “Wow. Didn’t realize you thought that little of me.”

“It’s not—”

“What the hell would I even go do at one of their stupid parties?” he insists, shaking his head, and your mouth snaps shut. “I only said yes because Mia told me you were bringing some, and we’ve never really gone to parties together, so I just thought… it’d be an excuse. Damn, did you really think…?”

You stay silent, stunned. This has to be a hallucination. There’s no way.

“B-But you’ve gotten so close these past few weeks…”

He shrugs. “Yeah. She’s nice.”

“You went to the movies together?”

“I was gonna see that film anyway. I just didn’t dare ask you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“And the fair?!”

“Jungkook and Seokjin were going with their girlfriends —it was more of a group thing than anything else,” he explains, starting to look almost panicked under your relentless questions.

“I don’t get it,” you shake your head. “You even gave her a bracelet!”

“What? That?” He stares at you, incredulous, then bursts out laughing, almost relieved. “Y/N, I’ve been making bracelets for people since I was a kid! Taehyung has so many he keeps them all like paper cranes, like if he gets a thousand he’ll earn a wish! I had one on me, she liked it, so I gave it to her. That’s it. Wait —does that have a romantic meaning or something?” he adds suddenly, eyes widening. “‘Cause if it does, someone should warn Taehyung—he’s got a whole box…”

You stand there, unable to process a word, and slowly, a shy smile starts forming on his lips as he refuses to look away from you.

This is impossible. Have you really misunderstood everything… this whole time?

“I… I can’t believe this… I thought you were interested in her! I thought—”

“Y/N, I spent the entire week trying to see you,” he cuts in, gently reaching out to take your fingers in his. “Like every other week before that. Did you really think I didn’t care about you?”

You swallow, then shake your head stubbornly. “What I thought was that you were finally getting close to someone after three years without anything serious, so yeah…”

“Yeah, because I didn’t care about seeing anyone else as long as I had you!”

His words hang in the air between us as he freezes, biting his tongue, his whole face tightening. Slowly, you raise an eyebrow, your heart hammering against your ribs, and he lifts his hands in surrender.

“Okay, hang on, that sounded way better in my head.”

You narrow your eyes, feigning offense. “It better have.”

The truth is, your heart is pounding so hard it’s ringing in your ears.

Softly, he smiles. “What I mean is… yeah, Mia’s adorable, and I liked helping her settle in since she’s new, but…” His fingers find yours again, gripping them like his life depends on it. “She’s not you. She doesn’t have the most addictive smile I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t tease me every time I say something stupid, or look at me the way you do, or… I don’t think about her all the time. I don’t want to see her every single day.”

“…And me? You do?” You whisper, convinced you must be dreaming.

“Y/N, I always want to see you,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, squeezing your hand tighter as if to prove it’s real. “Talk to you. Make you laugh. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be in the same room as you and not be able to sit next to you because Noelle would start asking questions? To see the way Hoseok looks at me every time, knowing he’s judging me because I’m too scared to make the first move?”

“…Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

He swallows, running a hand through his hair. His palm is warm against yours —so warm, so familiar, you wonder how you managed this long without it. “Because it terrifies me. It’s just… we never put a name on… us. And I swear, I was okay with that… until that asshole started hitting on you last year and I realized I couldn’t stand the idea of you being with someone else.”

“…Dave?” You blink, surprised. Dave had been in your math class, and yeah, he’d tried something —but you’d shut it down fast, and he didn’t insist. You never thought—

“At that point, I really thought… I was going to lose you,” Jimin stumbles a little, searching for words, but this time he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t let you look away. “So when he left, I told myself I’d tell you —or at least ask you out— but I… I was too scared you’d push me away. I thought maybe you wanted it to stay just physical, and I freaked out at the idea that telling you everything would make you leave, so I… I stayed like this instead.”

“But… why? You—”

“Because I’d rather have a little of you, in secret, than nothing at all,” he says, and your heart skips a beat. Your lips part, tears burning your eyes, but he shakes his head. “Even if it’s cowardly. I don’t care.”

His fingers tighten around yours, threading through them, and you can’t speak —too overwhelmed by his confession. You just stare at him, at the hope in his eyes growing when you don’t pull away.

“Y/N… say something, please…”

You clench your jaw, pressing your lips together to keep the tears from spilling.

“You’re an idiot.”

Now it’s his turn to freeze, stunned. “Uh… thanks?” he tries. “But, uh… why?”

“Jimin, I’ve had a crush on you since at least fifth grade. I thought you didn’t want anything more than sex!”

“What ?” He stares at you, completely wrecked. “…Shit,” he finally mutters, and you can’t help but laugh softly.

Seeing you smile seems to bring him back to life. His face lights up, and he lifts his free hand to wipe your tears away with his thumb, while the other slides up your arm to settle at your waist.

His touch is gentle, deliberate —like he’s made it his mission to chase away every single tear that dared fall. You could pull away.

You don’t.

You let him.

Lost in the way his eyes focus on you, your hands find their place on his shoulders naturally.

“So… Mia…” you whisper after a moment, barely daring to break the silence.

“And what if we just stopped talking about Mia, hmm?” he clicks his tongue, mock-scolding. “She was barely even a friend anyway.”

“Was?” you echo softly, eyebrow raised, a smile tugging at your lips.

He frowns —but smiles anyway. “She definitely isn’t anymore, if she made you cry like that.”

“Jimin…”

He doesn’t give you time to finish. His hand cups your cheek, and he leans down, kissing you.

His lips meet yours —soft, full, tasting faintly of the soda he drank earlier— and you sigh into the kiss, into that closeness finally reclaimed. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pulls you against him, until your body is pressed to his and you're held securely in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, desperate, your mouths moving slower, deeper. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot, you’re right. I should’ve told you everything when that jerk showed up. Forgive me,” he breathes, leaving your lips to kiss your cheek, then your eyes —like he’s apologizing for every tear.

Softly, you smile, tightening your arms around him. “I should’ve talked to you too. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Your hand slides into his hair, pulling him back to you. He smiles against your lips.

“It’s forgotten,” he murmurs, his cold fingers tracing your waist. “Next time, just promise you’ll talk to me directly instead of asking impossible questions, hmm?”

You huff, thinking back to your disastrously awkward conversation at his place, but you still tug his hair a little for good measure.

“Deal. And you stop being so nice to everyone. People get the wrong idea.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “If you hadn’t helped her, we wouldn’t be here.”

He laughs softly when you stick your tongue out, but you end up smiling too. When his laughter fades, he lingers, eyes lost in yours.

“But I promise. Whatever you want, love.”

He kisses you before you can answer, your lips moving together like a promise finally sealed.

This kiss feels different.

Not rushed, not stolen like before —like you knew your time together was limited. No.

This one is slow. Deep. Certain. This time, you take your time.

His hands slip under your shirt. Yours drag lightly down his back. You both shiver.

This time, he lingers —mapping your skin with kisses, learning you all over again. Your neck, your collarbone, every place that makes you gasp his name like it matters.

When he carries you to the bed, it’s not in a hurry —but with care. Like he has all the time in the world. Clothes fall away slowly. Reverently.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, with such intensity it feels like the first time he’s ever seen you.

That same intensity when he moves between your thighs —kissing, tasting, worshipping like it’s the only thing that exists.

Until you're pulling at his hair, arching so hard it hurts, whispering his name like a plea, like a prayer.

“Jimin, please…”

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmurs against your skin, soft as if he’s handling something fragile.

“You,” you breathe, burning. “Just you.”

He doesn't answer with words, doesn't need to —your mixed breaths are sufficient proof of your desire, your need for each other. He moves up your body, leaving a trail of kisses behind him that make you shiver. His hands trace furrows of fire on your skin, unstoppable as they graze your breasts before grabbing your hips to place you flat on the mattress, back to him.

He props a pillow under your pelvis, not failing to massage it with his agile fingers, smiling at the hungry look you shoot him over your shoulder and the strangled moan that escapes your breath as he brushes against your entrance.

You spread your thighs, wet and tight and impatient as he rubs against you to moisten himself, making you moan just from the sensation of his hard member against your entrance —then he leans down to kiss your shoulder, one hand on your hip, the other by your head, and enters.

He finds that same fervor as he pushes until he bottoms, until you moan together as your walls clamp down so tight, as he is so hard, as the wet sounds escaping you echo in your ears.

He whispers praises in your ear as he starts again, again and again, until your hips match the slow, deep rhythm of his, until every meeting of your pelvises draws a moan of pleasure from you, makes you pant together. Until you feel only him, until you have no idea where your body ends and his begins.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, panting, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I let you think otherwise. I love you."

He kisses your shoulder, your neck, again and again until you turn your head and his lips meet yours. He sings those little words like a prayer, repeating them over and over, until his hand slides down your abdomen and slips between your legs. Until the tight circles of his thumb against you make you moan so loud you can't answer, until your walls clamp down so hard around him that his movements become livelier, clumsier, more urgent.

"Jimin," you moan, out of breath, "I-I'm gonna..."

"I know, love," he breathes, just as tense as you. "Do it for me, go on..."

The knot snaps in your stomach, and your head buries itself in the pillows as a cry escapes you, stars dancing before your eyes. You can feel him tense inside you, his head nestling in your neck, and soon he joins you, his lips articulating your name against your skin.

Suddenly, there's only your hurried breaths to break the silence around you, and it's so perfect that you're almost disappointed when he pulls away to fall beside you, breathless. The separation is so quick that you're suddenly chilled, shivering under your thin layer of sweat without his body to warm you.

Perfectly sensing this, he smiles calmly before extending an arm to pull you against him, even grabbing the duvet to cover you both as you snuggle against his chest.

His arms surround you protectively, and he sighs with contentment, nestling his head in your neck and inhaling your shampoo with a smile on his lips.

You watch him, holding him tight against you, your fingers playing with his hair softly.

"Shouldn't you go home?" You whisper after long minutes, another attempt to make sure all of this isn't just a waking dream.

In response, he rubs his nose against your neck, his fingers drawing small circles on your lower back. "I'm home," he murmurs, smiling softly.

In your chest, your heart swells, and beats so loud it seems like it's going to burst out of your ribcage. Jimin must feel it, because he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes softer than ever.

"I love you," I whisper, smiling so hard it hurts your cheeks.

"I love you too."

No_L : Apparently Mia has a new crush – 9:27 I swear it’s true – 9:27 She won’t stop talking about it – 9:27 Lookkkk – 9:27 [Screenshot sent] – 9:28

You squint, trying to make sense of what you're reading even though you're still half asleep.

You let out a small yelp when Jimin leans in to read over your shoulder, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

When you woke up, it took you a few seconds to figure out what the solid thing pressed against your back was, and what that weight resting on your waist could be. It was the scent that gave it away —the thing was his body, and the weight his arms wrapped securely around you. Only Jimin smells like cinnamon and wood smoke like that.

Then the memory of last night came rushing back, and your cheeks burned instantly.

You must’ve woken him up trying to turn around and face him, because since then, he’s refused to let go, holding you tight like you might disappear the second he does.

Not that you're complaining. Those moments are your favorite.

“Hey, girlfriend,” he mumbled when he opened his eyes —only to find yours right in front of him.

“Please, don’t you start too!” You shot back in horror, which only made him burst out laughing.

“Show me, I can’t see,” he whines softly against your shoulder, grabbing your hand to tilt the phone toward him.

“Hey, that’s a private conversation!” you protest, but still lift the screen.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies absentmindedly, already reading as more messages pop up.

You : Honestly, that surprises me – 9:31 No_L : Same – 9:31 No_L : Especially since I don’t get how you can go from Jimin to Taehyung that fast, but okay – 9:31 Hoba._. : Nah, I get it, it’s practical – 9:31 Hoba._. : She can just ask Y/N for flirting advice again – 9:31 No_L : Huh?

Jimin snorts against your shoulder, earning himself an elbow to the ribs that only makes him laugh harder.

“Don't laugh,” you click your tongue, even though you can’t quite hide your smile.

He just chuckles. “I forgot how funny Hoseok is.”

You smile too, then exit the conversation, remembering something Hoseok showed you a few days ago.

“Speaking of, look what he found.”

“Hm?”

Jimin lifts his head, curious —then freezes when he sees what’s on your screen.

“How did he get that?” he asks, stunned, leaning closer.

You smile.

On the screen is a picture of the both of you —eight, maybe nine years old— stuffing your faces with a pastry that looks suspiciously like a Paris-Brest. Hoseok didn’t live in your village back then, but he gets along really well with your mom, so you're guessing she sent it to him.

Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. Just seeing that picture is enough to warm your chest.

“No idea, but I love it,” you smile, looking at your little faces. Jimin looks so young in it, cheeks puffed full of cake, hair just as messy as it is now. “I forgot how cute we were.”

“Mhm, especially you,” Jimin agrees, grabbing your phone to zoom in on your face. “Gosh, you’re so cute —I was seriously blind,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed in himself.

“Hey! Give that back!” You protest, reaching for your phone, which only earns you a fit of laughter.

“Too cute, too cute, too cute,” he sings, peppering your face with kisses while holding the phone just out of reach.

A second later, his other hand moves to tickle you and you brace yourself to scream —but you both stop when the phone vibrates again in his hand, your heads snapping up at the same time.

Hoseok – 9:37 So You guys know I love you both But I have zero want to walk in on you two going at it right after my breakfast, so I figured I’d ask Should I wait a bit longer, or can I come over ?

Slowly, Jimin turns to you, and you stare at each other like two kids caught red-handed —then burst out laughing, completely unable to stop.

“I love you,” you blurt out once our laughter fades, caught off guard by your own honesty —but unable to hold it back any longer. His laugh warms you, his smile softens everything, and in this moment, you're just… happy.

If he’s surprised, it doesn’t last.

A huge smile spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling into soft crescents that make you melt.

And right then, you think you’ve never been happier.

“I love you too.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

@everybodysaynoooooo all right reserved. Please do not copy, use or translate this story for your own benefits without authorization.

[loneliestwhalien]

take a chance with me {jk fanfic)

pairing : idoljungkookxreader

word count : 9k+

genre : Romance | Angst | Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Second Chance | Right person, Wrong timing.

synopsis: a trip to Jeju leads to an unintentional confession between two best friends.

chapter one <<

---

Chapter 2 : Jeju

The concert lasted for three days.

For the last two, your entire world revolved around the stadium—screaming every lyric until your voice disappeared all over again, dancing until your legs hurt, getting swept up in the chaos of their long-awaited comeback.

But somehow, the nights became your favorite part.

The three of you would end up at some random convenience store near the hotel at 2 am, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Jungkook in a hoodie and cap pulled low, Mingyu somehow still loud despite being exhausted, and you standing between them with instant ramen and snacks piled in your arms.

Taehyung would tag along too—showing up late with sleepy eyes and an oversized jacket, complaining about how cold it was before stealing food from everyone anyway.

Then you’d all head back to your hotel room.

Shoes kicked off carelessly. Convenience store bags spread across the floor. The TV playing quietly in the background while conversations overlapped into each other.

Most of the time, it was just nonsense—old stories, constant teasing, Mingyu being dramatic for absolutely no reason while Taehyung kept provoking him on purpose, Jimin eventually joining in too, and Jungkook sitting beside you somehow still full of energy despite how exhausted he should’ve been.

He’s laughing loudly, arguing with Mingyu over something stupid, stealing snacks from your side of the table like he hasn’t eaten all night, and not once does he look tired. If anything, he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a long time—more relaxed, more comfortable, like this is exactly where he wants to be. A second later, Jungkook reaches for yet another cup of ramen with his chopsticks still in hand like he hasn’t eaten enough for three people already. 

“Jungkook,” you rasp out weakly, voice still ruined from the concert, “you’ve eaten three bowls already. How are you still hungry?”

He looks up mid-bite, completely unashamed.

“I danced for three hours.”

“So did everyone else.”

“Yeah, but I danced harder.”

Another laugh breaks out around the room again. By the time the chaos finally starts dying down, the clock on the TV reads 3:32 a.m. Taehyung leaves first, half-asleep and mumbling quiet goodbyes while pulling his hood over his head. Jimin follows right after him, still giggling about something no one else understands as he clings dramatically onto Taehyung’s shoulder. Not long after, Mingyu stretches loudly from the couch before pointing at you from the doorway like he’s about to say something important. 

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“You say that like you’re my dad,” you mumble.

“I practically raised you.”

“You’re two months older than me.”

“Respect your elders,” he says seriously.

You snort.

Jungkook walks them to the door, laughing under his breath before shutting it behind them. The hotel room suddenly feels smaller without everyone else filling it. Empty ramen cups, snack wrappers, and half-finished bottles are scattered across the floor and table while the TV continues playing softly in the background. You kneel down automatically to start cleaning, and a second later, Jungkook quietly does the same beside you.

“You don’t have to help,” you tell him.

He looks at you like the suggestion itself is stupid.

“It’s my mess too.”

You watch him for a second as he starts gathering empty bottles into a plastic bag, sleeves pushed up casually past his wrists.

“You know,” Jungkook says after a while, tying up the trash bag, “your room’s way cleaner than I expected.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, grinning. “You just seem like the type to leave clothes everywhere.”

“That’s literally you.”

“False accusations.”

You scoff quietly, grabbing the remaining snack wrappers off the table. Jungkook glances around once more before sitting down at the edge of the bed with a tired exhale. For the first time tonight, he actually looks exhausted. His head tilts back lightly against the wall, eyes closing for a second like his body is finally catching up to him after forcing himself to stay awake all night. You pause for a moment just watching him quietly. 

“You tired?”

He hums without opening his eyes. “A little.”

“A little,” you repeat skeptically.

That makes him laugh quietly.

“You know me too well.”

He looks tired now. Not stage-tired. Just genuinely exhausted in a way he only seems to show when things finally get quiet and there’s nobody left to perform for. You’re still folding one of your jackets when he suddenly speaks again, voice softer this time. 

“After the concerts,” he says slowly, “we have three days off.”

You glance up. “Oh?”

He nods, resting his arms loosely over his knees. “Some of us are going to Jeju.”

“Must be nice,” you mumble.

“I already asked Mingyu.”

That catches your attention.

“And?”

“He said yes.”

You hum softly. “Of course he did.”

“You should come too.”

Your hands pause slightly.

“What?”

“To Jeju,” he says simply. “Come with us.”

You blink at him. “With all the members?”

“It’s not like a work thing,” he says quickly, almost amused by your expression. “Just vacation.”

“That somehow makes it scarier.”

He laughs quietly at that.

“You already know most of them anyway.”

“Knowing them and vacationing with them are two very different things.”

“You survived three concerts.”

“Barely.”

That earns another laugh from him. Then his expression softens a little.

“Come on,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

You hesitate for a moment—not because you don’t want to go. 

Honestly, that might be the problem. And of course, Jungkook notices immediately.

“You’re thinking too much again.”

You narrow your eyes. “I always think.”

“Yeah, but this is the overthinking face.”

“I do not have an overthinking face.”

“You do.”

You let out a quiet scoff, shaking your head before looking back down at the clothes in your hands.

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m just thinking that I’ll be heading home the day after, right?”

Jungkook stays quiet. 

You continue softly, “Back to my country. Back to work. Back to normal life.” 

The room grows quieter after that because saying it out loud suddenly makes everything feel a little more real. Jungkook watches you carefully from the edge of the bed, his earlier teasing fading little by little. 

“And?” he asks after a moment.

You shrug lightly, avoiding his eyes. “Jeju just feels…”

“Too much?”

You laugh softly through your nose. “Maybe.”

He leans back slightly, arms resting over his knees.

“You make it sound like we’re asking you to move here permanently.”

“You said that last time too.”

That earns a small laugh from him.

“Okay, fair.”

You smile despite yourself.

But then his expression softens again.

“Still,” he says quietly,

“I don’t want this to be the last time I see you before you leave.”

Jungkook watches you carefully, waiting.

It’s not that you don’t want to go—you really do. But a part of you knows staying longer would only make leaving even harder later. Jungkook’s eyes stay on you the entire time, wide and soft in that dangerously convincing way of his, looking almost like he’s silently begging you to say yes and come with him. 

You let out a long sigh before finally looking at him.

“Fine.”

For a second, he just blinks like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to say yes that easily. Then his entire expression lights up almost instantly.

“Really?”

You point at him immediately. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“That one.”

He’s already grinning now, exhaustion forgotten completely. And before you can say anything else, Jungkook suddenly pushes himself off the bed and walks straight toward you before wrapping his arms around you without hesitation. Fast. Warm. Careless.

You let out a startled laugh immediately. “Jungkook—”

“You said yes,” he mumbles against your shoulder like that alone explains everything.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you love it.”

“I literally never said that.”

A quiet laugh rumbles against you as his arms tighten slightly for another second before finally loosening. But he still doesn’t let go completely. And for a moment, you freeze—caught off guard by how warm he feels, how natural this somehow is after all this time apart. 

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still loosely around your arms now, grin softer than before.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he says.

—

Jeju somehow feels different from Seoul the second you land. Quieter. Slower. The air smells cleaner near the coast, wind brushing against your skin as everyone drags their luggage through the airport half-awake and sleep deprived. 

Mingyu is complaining immediately.

“I got three hours of sleep for this.”

“You complain every trip,” Taehyung says flatly from beside him.

“Because suffering builds character.”

“You have enough character.”

Jungkook snorts quietly beside you, shoulder bumping yours as the group keeps walking.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” His eyes flick toward you briefly. “You slept late.”

“You literally stayed in my room until four in the morning.”

“That sounds accusatory.”

“Because it is.” A grin spreads across his face instantly. 

The villa they rented sits near the water, tucked away just far enough from the city that everything feels calmer—more private, quieter. But the moment everyone steps inside, the peace doesn’t last. Chaos starts immediately. Rooms are being claimed within seconds, bags dropped wherever they land, shoes kicked off near the entrance, and within the first five minutes someone is already stealing someone else’s hoodie like it’s completely normal.

“I’m taking the suite!” Jin shouts from across the villa, dragging his suitcase dramatically toward the stairs.

“Hyung, you say that every trip,” Jungkook calls out.

“And every trip I deserve it.”

“You say that too,” Park Jimin mutters without even looking up from his phone.

Meanwhile, Taehyung drops onto the couch beside your bag and points at you lazily.

“I’m sleeping with Y/N.”

“No,” Jungkook and Mingyu say immediately at the exact same time.

The room goes quiet for half a second. Then Jimin starts laughing first.

“Oh, that was fast.”

Taehyung slowly turns his head toward them, unimpressed. “Why are both of you acting like her bodyguards?”

“Because you steal blankets,” Mingyu answers instantly.

“And snore,” Jungkook adds.

“I do not snore.”

“You literally do.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“That was one time.”

“Every trip,” Jimin mutters.

You’re already laughing too hard to answer properly. Before the argument can spiral further, Namjoon finally looks up from where he’s been quietly watching the chaos unfold.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “How about Y/N goes and picks a room first…”

Everyone turns toward him.

“…and then we decide who gets to be her roommate.”

The entire room reacts immediately.

“Why does she get first pick?” Mingyu complains.

“Because she’s a guest,” Namjoon answers.

“That’s favoritism.”

“That’s manners.”

Taehyung sits up straighter instantly. “I support this plan.”

“Of course you do,” Jungkook mutters.

Yoongi glances over lazily and adds, “Whatever. I’m in.” 

Hoseok laughs from the side and immediately nods along, “Same, sounds fun.” 

Jin follows right after, pointing like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m not sleeping on the floor, so yes.” 

You laugh under your breath as you drag your suitcase down the hallway. The second floor is noticeably quieter, with large windows letting in soft afternoon light that spills across the wooden floors and the faint sound of the ocean drifting in from somewhere outside. 

Without thinking too much about it, you choose the room at the very end of the hallway. It’s simple and cozy, with sliding doors that open to a small balcony facing the water.

You drop your bag beside the bed before pulling out your phone.

yn: room secured 👍

Downstairs immediately explodes.

taehyung: IM COMING mingyu: don’t move jimin: why are you all insane jin: i call not sleeping on the floor jk: lol

Taehyung ends up rooming with Namjoon and Yoongi, already complaining dramatically before he even reaches the door. Jin somehow gets paired with Jimin, which immediately turns into nonstop teasing and bickering the moment they step inside. 

Mingyu is shoved into a room with Hoseok, and within minutes their side of the villa is already louder than everyone else combined—laughing, talking, and arguing over literally nothing.

And then—the hallway grows quiet again. You’re kneeling beside your suitcase, unpacking a few things when you hear footsteps stop right outside your door. The lights in the hallway are dim. No knock. The door just opens slightly. Jungkook walks in carrying his duffel bag over one shoulder like the decision had already been made hours ago. You stare at him. He stares back. 

He stares back.

“…what are you doing?” he asks.

You glance up briefly. “I’m trying to be quiet?”

A small laugh escapes him through his nose.

“Guess I’m your roommate.”

—

Back in the kitchen, everyone is still loud enough that you can hear them faintly from upstairs. Mingyu is the first one to notice Jungkook never came back down. A dangerous grin immediately spreads across his face.

“Well, well,” he says, leaning back against the counter. “What a coincidence that you’d be the one sharing a room with Y/N.”

Jimin bursts into laughter instantly.

“Right? Out of all the rooms.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look embarrassed.

After everyone has finally settled in, later that night someone randomly suggests swimming—and somehow that single idea turns into chaos. Within seconds, everyone is sprinting toward the pool like overgrown teenagers, laughing and shouting as if they’ve been waiting for this moment all day. 

You stay back, not joining them. Partly because you’re tired. Mostly because the thought of getting into cold water after three exhausting concert days sounds terrible. Jin,Namjoon, and Hoseok went to the convenience store. So it ends up being just you, Park Jimin, and Min Yoongi staying inside.

From where you’re sitting at the dining table, the entire backyard is visible through the glass doors. The pool lights glow soft blue against the dark Jeju night while chaos unfolds outside. Mingyu is yelling about something over the noise, Tae keeps splashing people on purpose like it’s a competition, and Jungkook—Jungkook looks ridiculously happy. His hair is pushed back and dripping wet, laughter spilling out of him as he aggressively splashes anyone within reach. You watch as he dunks Mingyu underwater without hesitation, only to get tackled right back a second later, disappearing into the water with another burst of laughter. 

“He’s insane,” you mumble under your breath.

Jimin walks over carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses, following your gaze outside.

“Mm,” he hums knowingly. “He’s been excited about this trip for weeks.”

Your eyes flick toward him briefly. “Really?”

Jimin pours wine casually. “You coming changed everything.”

Before you can respond, the sliding door opens and Yoongi walks inside quietly, a towel resting over his shoulder while the loud chaos from outside spills in for a brief moment behind him. The second Jimin spots him—

“Hyung!” he calls out dramatically, lifting the wine bottle. “You joining?”

Yoongi looks at the two of you. 

Then at the pool outside. Then back at the wine.

“…obviously.”

Yoongi walks over lazily, dropping into the chair across from you with a quiet sigh while Jimin slides a wine glass toward him.

Jimin suddenly turns toward you, resting his chin against his hand.

“So.”

Your stomach sinks immediately.

“…why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Nosy.”

“I am nosy.”

Yoongi hums calmly. “He’s honest at least.”

Jimin grins.

“When did you and Jungkook start talking again?”

You blink once.

“Oh.”

“You knew about that?"

“Of course we knew,” Jimin says like it’s obvious. “Do you think he’s subtle?”

Yoongi lets out a quiet scoff into his wine glass. “He’s terrible at hiding things.”

You stare at them suspiciously. “What exactly did he say?”

Jimin grins immediately. “Nothing direct.”

“That smile says otherwise.”

“He just…” Jimin waves his hand vaguely. “Started smiling at his phone more.”

Yoongi nods once. “Annoyingly more.”

“And he’d disappear to call someone every night,” Jimin adds.

Your ears grow warm instantly.

“We didn’t know it was you at first,” he continues. “Then suddenly your name started appearing every five business days.”

You groan softly, covering part of your face. “Oh my god.”

Jimin laughs loudly. “So?”

“A few months ago,” you answer carefully.

Jimin raises a brow. “Only a few?”

You nod.

“I texted him congratulations after discharge,” you admit, swirling the wine in your glass absentmindedly. “We just… kept talking after that.” 

Jimin watches the chaos outside through the window for a second before looking back at you.

“He missed you a lot, you know.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

Yoongi glances at Jimin briefly but says nothing.

You laugh awkwardly instead. “I doubt that.”

“I’m serious,” Jimin says. “He talked about you all the time during military service.”

Your eyes widen a little. “What?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly say ‘I miss her’ directly,” Jimin says, leaning back in his chair.

Yoongi snorts quietly. “Because he’d rather suffer than admit things properly.”

“But,” Jimin continues with a grin, “he’d mention random things and somehow your name always came up.”

“Like what?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Jimin immediately grins like he’s been waiting for that question.

“Mostly annoying stuff.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wow. Thanks.”

“He looked happier after you started talking again.” Yoongi adds.

He takes a sip of his drink before pointing lazily toward the window. “He’d be in a good mood for no reason, then suddenly disappear to check his phone.” 

You frown slightly. “And you just… assumed it was me?” 

“The chances were very high.” 

A few bottles of wine later, the conversation starts getting dangerously honest. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol. Either way, the energy shifts completely. Jimin is fully flushed now, cheeks bright red as he clings dramatically to his wine glass like it personally offended him. 

Meanwhile, Min Yoongi somehow becomes more invested with every sip. At first he’d just quietly react to things—but now? Now he’s actively interrogating you. 

“So,” Yoongi says calmly, leaning back in his chair. “Did you like Jungkook before?” You nearly choke on your wine. Jimin immediately loses it beside you, bursting into loud laughter.

“HYUNG.”

“What?” Yoongi asks innocently.

“You can’t just ask that immediately!”

“You were taking too long.”

You stare at both of them in disbelief. “Why are you guys like this?”

Yoongi ignores that entirely.

“Well?”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Are you drunk?”

“A little,” he admits easily.

Yoongi points at you again. “Answer the question.”

You laugh nervously, setting your wine glass down. “No comment.”

“That means yes,” Jimin gasps dramatically.

“It literally does not.”

Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Oh my god.”

Jimin leans closer now, eyes wide despite looking seconds away from falling asleep.

“Wait—did Jungkook ever know?”

“No.”

“Did Mingyu know?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s crazy,” Jimin says immediately.

Yoongi nods once in agreement. “He’s oblivious sometimes.”

You let out a quiet laugh, though it fades almost as quickly as it comes.

“That’s kinda why I left,” you admit softly.

Both of them go quiet.

You stare down at the wine in your glass for a second before continuing.

“I didn’t want things to get complicated.” Jimin’s expression softens immediately at that, while Yoongi just watches you quietly, not interrupting. 

“He’s very different than I am.” Outside, faint laughter drifts in from the pool, Jungkook’s voice carrying somewhere in the distance. You continue a little more softly, “We lived completely different lives.” 

“He was getting bigger every year—busier, more famous, everything around him kept changing so fast.” A faint, almost bittersweet smile touches your lips. “And I was just… normal.”

Jimin looks like he wants to argue immediately, but Yoongi subtly stops him with one glance.

“I knew eventually I’d leave Korea,” you say. “And he’d stay here. Continue his life. Continue being Jungkook.”

The words settle heavily between the three of you.

“So I thought…” you pause briefly. “Maybe it’d be easier if I left before things got messy.”

The room stays quiet.

You swallow softly before adding—

“And with the military service coming up…” a small breath of laughter escapes you, though there’s nothing funny about it. “I thought it was the perfect time.”

Jimin’s face falls immediately.

Yoongi leans back slowly in his chair, gaze fixed on you now.

“Perfect time to disappear?” he asks quietly.

You shrug lightly.

“I figured eventually we’d stop talking anyway.”

The words feel heavier out loud than they ever did in your head.

“So I left first.”

Silence settles over the table after that.

Not awkward.

Just… sad.

Jimin looks genuinely heartbroken on Jungkook’s behalf now.

“That’s actually the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” he mutters dramatically.

You laugh softly despite yourself. “Thank you?”

“No, seriously,” he says, sitting up straighter now despite how red his face is from the wine. “Do you know how miserable he was before enlistment?”

Jimin stares at you carefully now.

“You really thought leaving would make things easier?”

You hesitate.

“Yes.”

“And did it?”

You look down at your glass for a second too long.

Then force out a small shrug.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Neither of them says anything. You smile faintly, quieter this time. “I don’t see him that way anymore.”

“I just…” you exhale softly. “I think of him as a dear friend.”

Before Jimin can continue interrogating you, Yoongi finally sets his wine glass down with a quiet sigh.

“You know,” he says calmly, “I think both of you are making this harder than it needs to be.”

“You keep talking like Jungkook being different from you automatically makes things complicated.” 

A small pause. 

“Yeah, his life’s busy. It’s loud. People know him everywhere he goes. That’s just reality.” 

He shrugs lightly. “But he’s still the same person when all of that’s gone.” Jimin listens quietly for once, unusually still. 

Yoongi continues, voice even. 

“And you’re not wrong for thinking about how different your lives are. That’s fair.” 

“But sometimes people decide the ending of a situation before it even happens.” His eyes shift briefly toward you. “You left because you thought it would be easier for both of you, right?” A beat. “I’m just saying… maybe don’t assume what would’ve been harder for him without actually letting him have a say.” 

The room falls quiet for a moment after Yoongi finishes speaking. Not uncomfortable—just thoughtful, like everyone is processing it in their own way.

Jimin slowly spins his wine glass, his earlier teasing gone a little softer now. “Hyung’s being unusually reasonable tonight,” he mutters.

Yoongi gives him a flat look. “Don’t ruin it.”

Jimin hums, then glances at you again, more gently this time. “He’s not wrong though.”

You let out a small breath, looking down at your glass. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” Jimin says quickly, less playful now. “I’m not saying it is.”

Jimin tilts his head slightly, watching you for a second like he’s choosing his words carefully for once. Then he speaks a little more quietly than before.

“Why not just… give it a chance?” 

Jimin continues, a little more careful now. “I mean… you don’t have to decide everything at once. But you also don’t really know what it could be if you don’t even try, right?”

Before you even get the chance to respond, the sliding door suddenly flies open. Cold night air rushes inside along with loud laughter and dripping footsteps echoing across the floor. You barely have half a second to react before Jungkook and Mingyu appear, both completely soaked from head to toe.

“Oh no,” you say immediately, backing your chair away.

“Oh yes,” Mingyu says.

“You guys better not—”

Too late.

Mingyu grabs one arm while Jungkook grabs the other.

You let out an actual scream as they start dragging you toward the backyard.

“PUT ME DOWN—”

“Absolutely not,” Jungkook laughs.

“I’m literally wearing pajamas!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

The second the cold night air hits you outside, panic fully kicks in. The pool glows bright blue beneath the lights, way too close for comfort.

“Oh my god, Jungkook—”

He’s laughing so hard he can barely hold onto you properly.

“You’re overreacting.”

The closer they get to the pool, the tighter you cling instinctively to Jungkook. Your arms wrap around him without thinking, fingers fist tightly into the back of his soaked shirt as you practically hang onto him for survival.

“JUNGKOOK.”

Mingyu tries pushing both of you closer to the edge, and you immediately tighten your grip around Jungkook even more. And for a second—he freezes, just slightly. Because now you’re pressed fully against him, arms locked around his shoulders while your face hides near his neck, clearly trying your best not to get thrown into the pool. Water drips from his hair onto your skin.

Water drips from his hair onto your skin.

His laughter softens a little.

And before either of you can react—

Mingyu suddenly shoves both of you hard toward the pool. You scream immediately.

SPLASH.

Freezing water crashes around both of you all at once.

“MINGYU.”

“yoU FuCKing ASSHOLE”. Mingyu is already doubled over laughing outside the pool. Suddenly he climbs onto the edge of the pool dramatically.

“Oh no,” Taehyung says immediately, already backing away.

Mingyu raises both arms into the air like an Olympic diver.

“CANNONBAAAALL—”

“WAIT—”

Too late.

—

“My head is pounding.”

You mumble the words quietly as you step outside after showering, still rubbing one of your temples. Between the wine earlier with Jimin and Yoongi, the screaming, the swimming, and nearly drowning twice—

your body is officially exhausted.

Jungkook looks up almost immediately the second you walk outside.

“There you are.”

You hum tiredly in response before dropping into the empty chair beside him. The warmth from the fire hits your skin instantly. Jungkook glances at you once. 

Then again.

“You okay?”

“My head hurts.”

“That’s because you mixed wine with near-death experiences.”

“That was Mingyu’s fault.”

“Everything is Mingyu’s fault,” Taehyung agrees immediately.

“Wow,” Mingyu mutters. “I’m being bullied in this villa.”

Jungkook laughs softly beside you before quietly reaching for the water bottle near his chair.

“Drink.”

You narrow your eyes. “You sound like Yoongi Oppa.”

You complain, but you take the bottle anyway.

The fire crackles softly between everyone’s conversations while Jungkook leans back in his chair beside you, looking oddly content just having you there.

After some time, the noise around the villa starts to soften little by little. Conversations blur into background sounds, laughter fading into quieter laughs, and the fire crackles steadily as if it’s the only thing still fully awake. 

Yoongi is fully asleep at this point, head tilted back against the chair with the blanket still wrapped around him like a burrito. Meanwhile, Jimin and Taehyung are very obviously very drunk now. On the other side of the patio, Mingyu has somehow convinced Hoseok to sing with him.

“NEVER LET ME GOOOOO—” Mingyu belts dramatically into the night.

“That is NOT the key,” Hoseok yells through laughter.

At some point, Jin finally stands up with the exhausted energy of a man who’s had enough.

“I’m going to bed before Mingyu starts harmonizing.”

Namjoon follows right after him, already rubbing his eyes.

“Wake me up if the villa catches on fire.”

“That feels oddly specific,” you laugh.

“It’s Taehyung,” Namjoon says simply before disappearing inside.

Soon it’s mostly just you and Jungkook sitting quietly near the fire while everyone else spirals around you in different stages of exhaustion. Jungkook stretches his legs out slightly, shoulders relaxed now, hoodie sleeves covering part of his hands.

“You still cold?” he asks quietly.

“A little.”

Without another word, he pulls the blanket off the empty chair beside him and tosses half of it over your lap too. You glance at him.

“Wow,” you mumble. “How gentlemanly.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

You smile faintly, pulling the blanket closer anyway. Across the patio, Mingyu is now singing directly to a very uninterested Yoongi who is still asleep.

“You think he knows we’re here?” Hoseok whispers.

“Absolutely not,” Jungkook answers.

The villa grows quieter around you.

Only the sound of waves somewhere in the distance now.

Jungkook exhales softly through his nose before suddenly sitting forward slightly.

“…How about a walk?” he suggests.

“Right now?”

“Mhm.”

“It’s like two in the morning.”

“That’s the best time.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “That sounds like something a serial killer would say.”

A quiet laugh escapes him.

“Good thing you already trusted me enough to share a room.”

“That was against my will.”

“Liar.”

You hesitate for maybe two more seconds before eventually standing anyway, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. Jungkook immediately gets up too, grabbing his hoodie from the back of the chair before nudging your arm lightly.

“Come on.”

The two of you slip out toward the beach path nearby. 

Jeju at night feels completely different. The dark ocean stretches endlessly beside you, the wind carrying the sharp, clean smell of saltwater through the air, and the distant waves crash softly against rocks somewhere below like a steady heartbeat. 

For a while, you just walk side by side with Jungkook—no destination, no rush, just the sound of footsteps on quiet sand and the ocean filling the spaces between words. Jungkook keeps his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket while matching his pace to yours naturally.

“You know,” he says eventually, “hyung’s probably asleep outside permanently now.”

You laugh softly. “Poor Yoongi.”

“He chose the blanket life.”

“He looked comfortable.”

“He looked dead.”

That pulls another laugh from you.

Then suddenly—

Jungkook grins to himself like he just remembered something.

“What?”

Instead of answering, he unzips his jacket slightly and pulls something out from the inside pocket. Your eyes widen immediately.

“…is that soju?”

He looks entirely too proud of himself.

“Maybe.”

“You smuggled alcohol on a beach walk?”

“It’s called preparation.”

You stare at him in disbelief while he shakes the small bottle once dramatically.

“You planned this?” you ask suspiciously.

“The walk?”

“The hidden alcohol.”

A grin spreads slowly across his face.

“…maybe.”

“You’re insane.”

“You knew that already.”

The two of you end up sitting near the shoreline after that, shoes abandoned beside you while the waves roll in softly nearby. The bottle passes between you lazily, no urgency in the way it moves from hand to hand. 

Conversation drifts from random nonsense to quieter things again—old memories, stories from the past, things you missed while being apart. At one point Jungkook laughs suddenly, shoulders shaking lightly beside you.

“What?”

“You used to hate soju.”

“I still do.”

“Then why are you drinking it?”

You glance at him briefly before looking back out at the ocean.

“…because you offered it.”

The bottle is nearly empty by the time the conversation starts slowing down. 

You’re sitting close enough that your shoulders keep brushing every few seconds whenever either of you moves.

Jungkook turns the nearly-empty soju bottle slowly in his hands before glancing sideways at you.

“So,” he says casually.

A grin pulls at his lips.

“Any boyfriends?”

You snort immediately. “Straight to the interrogation?”

“I’m curious.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

He hums softly, eyes dropping back to the bottle for a second.

Then—

“Any hookups?”

You nearly choke on air.

“JUNGKOOK.”

“What?” he laughs. “That’s a normal question.”

“It absolutely is not.”

You stare at him in disbelief while he continues grinning beside you.

“You answer first then,” you shoot back immediately.

Jungkook clicks his tongue softly. “I asked first.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“You’re deflecting again.”

You groan dramatically, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“No boyfriends,” you admit eventually. “And no hookups.”

Jungkook’s brows lift slightly.

“Really?”

“What’s with that reaction?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “You’re pretty.”

The compliment comes out so naturally that it catches you completely off guard.

Your expression falters for half a second.

Jungkook seems to realize what he said immediately after because he suddenly looks away first, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“…that sounded smoother in my head.”

You laugh softly despite yourself.

“Did you have any?” you ask quietly after a moment.

Jungkook leans back on his hands slightly, staring out toward the ocean again.

“A few dates,” he admits. “Nothing serious.”

Something small and uncomfortable twists briefly in your chest anyway.

He notices immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That face says otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. And Jungkook smiles again instantly at the contact alone. Jungkook suddenly leans back onto the sand, arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the stars above Jeju. 

You hesitate for half a second before following him, laying down beside him on the sand. Close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

Just breathing.

Jungkook turns his head slightly toward you.

“You remember that one night?” he asks quietly.

“Which one?”

“The rooftop.”

You immediately laugh softly.

“Oh my god.”

“You remember.”

“Of course I remember. You almost got both of us arrested.”

“That security guard was dramatic.”

“You climbed onto a restricted roof at three in the morning.”

“And you followed me.”

“That’s because you would’ve died alone.”

Jungkook laughs quietly beside you. The sound feels softer out here, almost swallowed by the waves, but somehow more real at the same time. Then silence settles again—not awkward, just full, like it doesn’t need to be filled.

You glance toward him eventually. And realize he’s already looking at you.

Closer now than before, his head resting sideways against the sand, wind brushing lightly through his damp hair. His gaze doesn’t waver when it meets yours—just stays there, steady and unhurried, like he’s not in any rush to look away.

“You know,” he says softly, “you laugh the same.”

Your brows knit slightly. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” A faint smile pulls at his lips. “It sounds the same.”

Something about the way he says it makes your chest ache unexpectedly. You look away first this time, staring back up at the stars.

“You know what I missed the most?”

You glance at him. “What?”

“This.”

“The beach?”

“You.”

The answer comes so easily it almost steals the air from your lungs. Jungkook doesn’t even seem to realize how hard the words hit. He just smiles faintly to himself, gaze still fixed upward.

“Talking to you like this,” he says quietly

Your chest tightens softly. The waves crash gently nearby, steady and unhurried, like they’re the only thing still moving normally. And before you can stop yourself, you look at him a little too long.

Jungkook notices immediately.

His eyes shift toward yours slowly, like he’s been waiting for you to look back. The small smile on his face softens into something quieter, something that doesn’t feel like teasing anymore. Neither of you looks away this time.

The wind brushes through his damp hair lightly, moonlight catching against his skin, making everything feel a little too still, a little too close, like the world has quietly stepped back without either of you noticing. He exhales softly through his nose and looks back up at the sky again.

“You know what the worst part was?”

His voice is quieter now.

You turn slightly toward him. “About what?”

“When you left.”

Your chest tightens immediately.

Jungkook laughs once under his breath, but there’s no humor in it.

“At first I was mad.”

“Actually, no. I was really mad.”

You stay quiet beside him.

“I kept thinking…” he continues slowly, “if I meant anything to you at all, why was it so easy for you to disappear?”

You swallow softly.

“There were a lot of nights where I wanted to text you.” He laughs quietly. “But my pride’s too big.”

“That’s true,” you murmur. That earns a soft smile from him.

“But even when we weren’t talking…” he says after a moment, “everything still reminded me of you.”

Jungkook turns his head slightly toward you again.

“You were just… there all the time.”

Your throat feels tight suddenly.

“In stupid random things I knew you’d laugh at.”

Jungkook watches you carefully now.

“And honestly?” he says softly. “I think I hated that the most.”

“Why?”

“Because no matter how hard I tried…” his voice lowers slightly, “I couldn’t make you feel like a past memory.”

The sound of your heartbeat suddenly feels louder than the ocean. Jungkook looks away first this time, jaw tightening slightly like maybe he already said too much. 

But then, quietly—almost like he’s speaking more to himself than to you—

“I don’t think I ever really got over losing you.”

Your chest tightens so hard it almost hurts. For a second, neither of you moves. The ocean keeps rolling in like nothing changed, but everything between you feels like it just did.

Suddenly the entire moment feels far too real. Far too honest.

So instinctively—you panic. A nervous laugh slips out as you look away toward the sky again, like the stars might offer an easier answer.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you say, trying to make it lighter than it feels.

He exhales—slow, controlled.

“…What if I’m not?” he says quietly.

“I…” you shake your head softly, eyes fixed somewhere out toward the dark ocean. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

When he speaks, his voice is lower now, more careful.

“I know,” he says.

A pause.

“I didn’t expect myself to say it either.”

You pull your knees a little closer to your chest beneath the blanket.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “I just… didn’t think I really mattered that much, you know?”

The moment the words leave your mouth, Jungkook’s expression changes immediately. Like something in him hurts hearing that.

“What?” he says softly.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off.

“I mean—we were young back then. And your life got bigger and bigger after that. I just figured eventually I’d become…” you shrug lightly, “…someone you used to know.”

Jungkook stares at you for a second like the idea itself genuinely makes no sense to him. Then he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head.

“Y/N,” he murmurs.

The way he says your name makes your chest tighten.

“You’re my best friend.”

Jungkook looks at you steadily, brows pulled together slightly like he needs you to understand this properly.

“You were never just some person I used to know.”

Jungkook glances sideways at you again.

“I don’t think you realize how important you are to people sometimes.”

Jungkook exhales, trying to lighten the mood.

“You know Mingyu felt the same way, right?”

Your brows lift slightly. “About what?”

“About you leaving.”

Jungkook leans back onto his hands again, staring up at the sky.

“He was devastated,” he says simply.

You blink at him. “Mingyu?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“He is dramatic.”

“True.”

A quiet laugh leaves both of you, but Jungkook’s expression softens again after a moment.

“He acted annoyed about it at first,” he continues. “Kept pretending he didn’t care.”

“But after you left?” Jungkook glances toward you briefly. “He got really quiet about you.”

“That sounds more like him.”

You stare down at the sand while he keeps talking.

“He missed you a lot,” he says softer this time. “Even if he’d never admit it properly.”

You smile faintly to yourself, eyes lowering toward your hands.

“I missed him too.”

Jungkook hums softly.

“He almost cried when you hugged him at the concert.”

You whip your head toward him immediately. “He did not.”

“He absolutely did.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m serious,” Jungkook laughs. “His eyes got all red and everything.”

“That was because he was screaming.”

“Mhm.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously while Jungkook keeps grinning beside you.

“He missed having you around.”

The teasing fades again. Jungkook brushes his fingers absently through the sand beside yours.

“…We all did.”

Something in his expression softens instantly at that. You let out a small breath through your nose before bumping your shoulder lightly against his.

“Well,” you say softly, trying to lighten the heaviness in your chest, “…I’m here now, right?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long second. Really looks at you, like he’s trying to make sure you’re still here—not just physically, but in the same moment as him. 

A smile spreads across his face again.

Smaller this time. Softer. Less teasing, more relieved—like something inside him just loosened instead of being held so tightly.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

Jungkook watches you for a second.

Then slowly—he turns fully toward you. His whole body shifts in the sand until he’s facing you completely, one arm resting loosely against his bent knee while the other stays near you, close enough that you can feel the warmth even without touching.

Then gently—almost hesitantly—his hand lifts.

Warm fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

Your entire body stills.

Jungkook’s thumb strokes softly along your skin once… then twice. So careful it almost feels like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast. His expression softens immediately at the contact, gaze dropping for half a second to your lips before returning to your eyes again.

“You know,” he murmurs quietly, thumb still resting against your cheek, “I think seeing you again messed me up a little.”

A nervous laugh escapes you softly, fragile in the quiet between waves.

A nervous laugh escapes you softly.

“A little?”

“Mhm.”

His smile is small now. Barely there.

“Maybe a lot.”

Your breath catches.

And then—he moves closer.

Slowly this time. Carefully. Like he’s giving you every chance in the world to pull away if you want to. The hand on your cheek slides gently toward your jaw, warm fingers resting there as his eyes stay locked on yours, searching, waiting.

Your heartbeat turns almost painfully loud.

Close. Too close.

You can feel the warmth of his breath now, see the tiny flicker of hesitation in his eyes—like even Jungkook isn’t completely sure what comes after this, only that he’s tired of not knowing.

But he still leans in anyway.

Instinctively, your fingers tighten slightly against the sand.

And right before his lips can touch yours—you whisper shakily, his name barely forming in the air between you.

“Jungkook…”

He stops instantly.

Not pulling away, not yet—but stilling completely, like your voice is the only thing that could do that to him.

His forehead hovers just a little closer than before, breath uneven now.

“Yeah?” he murmurs softly, eyes still searching yours, voice barely above the waves.

Your chest rises too fast.

You don’t even know what you were trying to say anymore. Maybe nothing. Maybe you just needed one second longer before everything shifted into something you can’t take back.

Jungkook watches you carefully, eyes softer now. Waiting. Patient.

Your gaze flickers between his eyes and his lips before you let out a small, nervous laugh.

“I forgot what I was gonna say.”

For one second, he just stares at you.

Then a quiet laugh slips out of him too, the tension breaking just slightly as his forehead drops lightly against yours.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispers. 

“You almost kissed me.”

A beat.

“And you almost let me.”

Your stomach flips at the words, sharp and undeniable.

Neither of you moves away. If anything, Jungkook’s fingers curl a little more firmly against your jaw now—still gentle, but more certain, like he’s anchoring you there with him instead of asking permission to stay.

The space between you doesn’t disappear.

Then quietly, almost like he’s testing the edge of restraint again, he adds,

“Should I stop?”

The question sounds careful.

But the way his thumb lingers against your skin makes the answer feel like it already belongs to both of you.

Your heart is loud in your chest. Too loud to think properly. But not loud enough to drown out what you already know is happening here.

But you stay quiet. 

And Jungkook notices immediately. His eyes search yours for half a second longer, like he’s making sure.

Making sure you’re not scared.

Making sure you’ll pull away if you want to.

And you don’t.

You just look at him with your breath caught somewhere in your throat—and let him move closer again.

His forehead brushes yours first. Nose grazing lightly against yours while his hand stays warm against your cheek.

The world suddenly feels unbearably still.

Then—

his lips finally touch yours.

Soft.

So soft it almost doesn’t feel real at first.

Your chest tightens instantly.

Jungkook kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for years. Like he’s trying not to scare the moment away.

Gentle.

Careful.

Warm against the cold Jeju night.

Your fingers instinctively tighten in the fabric of his hoodie before slowly relaxing again when he kisses you a little deeper this time.

A quiet breath leaves him against your lips.

And somehow that sound alone nearly destroys you.

The waves crash softly nearby while his thumb strokes gently along your cheek, like he still can’t fully believe you’re here either.

When he finally pulls back—

barely—

his forehead rests against yours again.

Both of you still breathing a little unevenly.

Jungkook’s thumb strokes gently along your cheek once more.

Like he still can’t believe this is real.

His eyes flicker slowly between yours, softer now. Almost dazed.

And maybe that’s what does it.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you— like he’s wanted this for far too long.

Because before he can say anything else—

you kiss him again.

And Jungkook lets out the smallest surprised breath against your lips before kissing you back immediately.

Like he was waiting for it.

Waiting for you.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips when your fingers curl tighter into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer without even realizing it.

The sound nearly wrecks him.

You can feel it.

The way his breathing falters slightly. The way he kisses you softer right after, almost careful again—like he’s afraid this might disappear if he holds on too hard.

Then slowly—

his hand slips from your cheek down to your waist.

Warm fingers settling there carefully before pulling you a little closer against him.

Your breath catches immediately.

The movement is gentle. Instinctive.

Like he’s been wanting to hold you like this for years.

Your knees brush against his in the sand while his arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you tucked against him naturally now.

And somehow that feels even more intimate than the kisses.

The closeness. The way he holds you like he already knows your place beside him.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead resting lightly against yours while his thumb traces absentminded circles against your waist through the fabric of your clothes.

His eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs quietly, almost breathless, “how long I wanted to do that.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

You laugh softly through your racing heartbeat, trying to steady yourself.

“That obvious, huh?”

A quiet smile appears on his face.

“To me?” he murmurs. “Always.”

The word settles warmly between you.

Heavy in the quietest way possible.

Jungkook keeps looking at you like he still hasn’t fully processed that you’re really here—that you kissed him back, that you’re sitting beside him on a beach in Jeju after years apart instead of existing only in memories and late-night thoughts.

The waves crash softly nearby while his hand stays secure around your waist, thumb brushing small absentminded circles there.

Then quietly—

“Y/N?”

You blink up at him, still a little breathless.

“Yeah?”

His gaze softens instantly at the sound of your voice.

And for the first time tonight—

Jungkook looks completely vulnerable.

No teasing smile.

No hiding behind jokes.

Just honest.

“I’m never letting you go again.”

Your heart stumbles so hard it almost hurts.

The words come out low and certain, like he already made the decision long before tonight.

Like losing you once was enough.

You stare at him for a second, completely unable to speak.

Because there’s something terrifying about being wanted that deeply by someone you spent years trying to forget.

Jungkook’s expression softens immediately when he notices the look on your face.

“You know,” he murmurs with the faintest smile, forehead brushing lightly against yours again, “you look like you’re about to panic.”

A helpless laugh escapes you softly.

“Maybe I am.”

“That bad?”

“You saying things like that isn’t helping.”

His laugh is quieter now. Warmer.

Then his hand slides a little more securely around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s barely any space left between you at all.

“I mean it though,” he says softly.

The wind blows gently around both of you, carrying the sound of the ocean through the darkness while his eyes stay locked on yours.

“I spent too long pretending I was okay with losing you.”

Your throat tightens.

Jungkook brushes his nose lightly against yours, smile fading into something softer again.

“I don’t wanna do that anymore.”

The honesty in his voice nearly breaks you apart.

So instead of answering—

you lean forward and kiss him again.

And this time Jungkook smiles against your lips immediately, like maybe that response is even better than words.

—

You walked back to the villa slowly, fingers intertwined with Jungkook’s the entire way.

Neither of you let go first.

Jungkook kept glancing sideways at you during the walk back, smiling to himself every few minutes like he still couldn’t believe tonight actually happened. 

“What?” you finally mumble, already embarrassed.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a liar smile.”

He laughs quietly under his breath, squeezing your hand once.

“You kissed me first the second time.”

Your face heats instantly.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m just saying.”

You groan dramatically while Jungkook keeps grinning beside you the entire way back toward the villa.

Most of the lights inside are already off when you finally return.

Quiet now.

Everyone probably asleep after the chaos earlier.

You slip your shoes off near the entrance while Jungkook locks the door behind both of you.

For a second neither of you moves.

Still standing too close. Still holding hands.

You open the door to your bedroom quietly, Jungkook following right behind you.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you suddenly makes the entire room feel smaller.

For one brief second—

neither of you moves.

Jungkook is still close enough that you can feel the heat from him at your back. Your fingers still tangled together loosely between you.

The room is dim except for the faint moonlight spilling through the balcony curtains.

Your eyes flick downward at your intertwined fingers and suddenly you feel shy all over again.

Jungkook notices immediately.

A small grin appears on his face.

“What?” you whisper suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

“That’s the same smile from earlier.”

“Maybe I just like holding your hand.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly fast.

“You’re saying dangerous things tonight.”

“You kissed me like five minutes ago.”

“That’s not the point.”

A soft laugh leaves him.

Then quieter—

“Come here for a second.”

Your breath catches slightly.

“What?”

But Jungkook is already stepping closer.

One hand still holding yours while the other reaches up gently to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is so soft it nearly wrecks you again.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs.

“Jungkook.”

He smiles immediately at the warning in your voice.

Then before you can recover—

he leans down and kisses you again.

Quick this time.

Warm and smiling against your lips like he physically couldn’t help himself.

Your fingers instinctively tighten around his hoodie.

a ridiculously loud snore suddenly cuts through the room.

Both of you freeze instantly.

Silence.

Another snore follows. Even louder this time.

Slowly, you turn toward the bed.

And there—

spread dramatically across your mattress like he pays rent—

is Mingyu.

Dead asleep.

One arm wrapped around your pillow. Blanket tangled around his legs. Snoring loud enough to qualify as a public disturbance.

A beat of silence passes.

Then Jungkook immediately folds over laughing.

“Oh my god,” you whisper in disbelief.

Mingyu lets out another aggressive snore in response.

You stare at your bed, horrified. “Why is he sleeping in here?”

You walk over and lightly shove Mingyu’s shoulder.

“Mingyu.”

Nothing.

Another shove.

“Mingyu, wake up.”

He only groans sleepily before hugging your pillow tighter.

“…five more minutes…”

You sigh dramatically, looking around the room helplessly.

“You can sleep in mine.”

Your breath catches slightly.

“With you?”

Jungkook tries to look casual about it and fails miserably.

“I mean…” he says carefully, glancing toward the unconscious Mingyu sprawled across your mattress, “your bed’s kinda occupied.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Very obviously trying not to smile.

“What if Mingyu wakes up?” you whisper immediately.

Jungkook looks over at Mingyu, who is now starfished across your entire bed.

Another snore rattles through the room.

Then Jungkook looks back at you completely unbothered.

“He’s literally sleeping in your bed right now,” he says softly. “I think we can make excuses.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

You cover your face briefly while Jungkook laughs quietly under his breath.

Then gentler this time—

“If you’re uncomfortable, it’s okay,” he says softly. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You look at him for a second before shaking your head lightly.

“No,” you murmur. “It’s fine.”

The way Jungkook’s expression softens at that almost makes your heart give out entirely.

Not smug. Not teasing.

Just quietly happy.

Behind both of you, Mingyu snores loud enough to sound like background music.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get ready for bed before he starts sleep-talking.”

You end up taking turns showering quietly while the villa stays asleep around you.

By the time you finish and step into Jungkook’s room wearing one of your oversized shirts and pajama shorts, exhaustion finally crashes into you fully.

The room is dimly lit by the small lamp near the bed.

Jungkook looks up from where he’s sitting against the headboard scrolling through his phone briefly—and immediately freezes for half a second when he sees you.

Your stomach flips instantly.

“What?” you mumble self-consciously.

He blinks once before shaking his head quickly, trying to recover.

“Nothing.”

“That was not a nothing face.”

A sleepy grin appears on his lips.

“You’re cute,” he admits quietly.

Your face warms immediately.

“Go to sleep.”

He laughs softly under his breath before setting his phone aside and lifting the blanket slightly for you.

The gesture feels strangely domestic again.

Dangerously domestic.

You climb into bed beside him carefully, trying very hard not to think too much about the fact that you’re sharing a bed with Jungkook after kissing him on a beach an hour ago.

Which is ridiculous, honestly.

Because this should be fine.

You and Jungkook have shared beds before. Countless times.

Sleepovers after movie nights. Falling asleep on couches during trips with friends. Late nights where one of you was too tired to go home.

Back then it never felt like this.

Back then Jungkook was just Jungkook— your best friend stealing blankets and kicking you in his sleep.

But now?

Now you’re painfully aware of everything.

The warmth of him beside you. The way the mattress dips slightly whenever he moves. The memory of his lips against yours still lingering stubbornly in your head.

Your heart refuses to calm down.

Beside you, Jungkook watches your expression for a second before quietly smiling to himself.

Then slowly, he shifts a little closer on the bed until your knees brush lightly beneath the blankets.

“Come here,” he murmurs sleepily.

Before you can overthink it again, he gently pulls you closer against him.

And somehow the second you settle there beside him—

everything feels easier.

The mattress dips slightly when he lays back down beside you.

For a second, both of you stay awkwardly still.

Then Jungkook glances sideways at you.

“…Are we pretending this isn’t weird?”

You laugh quietly into the pillow. “It’s definitely weird.”

“Mhm.”

A small silence passes.

Then—

very gently—

Jungkook reaches over and brushes a strand of hair away from your face again.

His hand lingers for a second longer this time.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod sleepily.

“Just tired.”

“Me too.”

The room grows quiet after that.

Soft.

Warm.

Outside, faint waves crash somewhere far in the distance.

Jungkook shifts a little closer beneath the blankets before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmurs.

Your chest tightens immediately.

“Goodnight,” you whisper back.

Then slowly—

carefully—

his arm slips around your waist from behind as he pulls you gently against him.

You can feel his steady breathing against the back of your neck.

The sleepy weight of him curled around you

And maybe because both of you are completely exhausted— emotionally and physically drained from the concerts, the trip, the late-night conversations, and everything that happened tonight—

neither of you stays awake much longer.

Your fingers curl loosely around his arm resting against your waist.

Jungkook presses one last sleepy kiss against your shoulder.

And somewhere between tangled blankets, quiet breathing, and the warmth of him holding you close—

both of you fall asleep almost instantly.

chapter one << | next chapter

[valetonvi]

an ot7 drawing in the young 2026? yeah haven't expected that from myself either and yet here we are 💜🥹

Happy upcoming comeback ~