𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 [𝐦] | 𝐣𝐣𝐤.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader (she/her)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: stolen moments between spreadsheets, coffee cups, and him.
The office was too quiet for your liking. Rows of cubicles hummed with the soft buzz of fluorescent lights, printers clicking, and the occasional cough from someone buried in spreadsheets. You sat at your desk, staring at the same frozen screen for what felt like the fifth time today.
Great. Day three of your internship and you already looked like you couldn't handle basic technology.
You tapped the keyboard, played with the mouse, even whispered a desperate "come on, please" under your breath. Nothing. The spreadsheet you had spent the last hour building was completely locked, cursor frozen mid-cell.
"Stuck again?" a voice drawled from the desk across the aisle.
You looked up to see Jimin leaning casually against his cubicle wall, one brow arched, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had been friendly since day one, offering you coffee from the break room, giving you quick tips about the office workflow. Too friendly, maybe—he was the kind of person who made everyone feel like they were the center of his attention.
"Unfortunately," you sighed, tapping the lifeless keyboard for emphasis. "I swear I'm cursed."
Jimin chuckled, eyes crinkling. "Don't take it personally. Our systems are ancient. You'll probably have to call Jungkook over."
At that name, you felt your stomach dip. You hadn't spoken to him yet, but you'd seen him—Jeon Jungkook, the IT guy. Sharp features, quiet demeanor, the type of man who carried himself like he didn't need to say much to be heard. People whispered about him in the break room: efficient, reserved, intimidating.
"I don't want to bother him," you muttered.
"Trust me, he lives for this stuff," Jimin said with a grin. "Besides, if you don't, Jin-hyung will tell you to submit a ticket, and those never get answered."
Almost on cue, Seokjin appeared at the end of row, balancing a coffee cup in one hand and a thick folder in the other. "What's this about me?" he asked, pausing dramatically as if the whole office were waiting for his entrance.
"Y/N doesn't want to bother Jungkook," Jimin supplied.
Seokjin snorted, adjusting his tie. "Ah, rookie mistake. If you want your problem solved today, don't file a ticket. Jungkook is faster than whatever excuse Namjoon will come up with when the system crashes again."
From the nearby conference room, Namjoon's muffled voice carried out: "I heard that, hyung." Papers shuffled, followed by a soft thud that sounded suspiciously like something dropping to the floor.
Jimin stifled a laugh, but you only sighed, turning back to your frozen screen. As much as you hated to admit it, they were right—you had no choice.
Your eyes drifted to the far corner of the office, where Jungkook sat. Head bent over a laptop, black hair falling into his eyes, sleeves pushed to his forearms. He didn't look like someone you wanted to interrupt.
Clutching your notepad, you made your way across the room. The closer you got, the heavier your footsteps felt.
He looked up. And just like that, the room seemed louder—the hum of the printer, the ringing of a distant phone, your own pulse in your ears.
Dark eyes flicked to you, steady and unreadable.
"My computer," you started, voice embarrassingly shaky. "It's, uh...frozen. I think. Could you maybe..." You gestured vaguely, heat rising to your cheeks. "...unfreeze it?"
His lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement ghosting across his face. Then he closed his laptop, stood, and without another word, followed you back to your desk.
You stepped aside quickly as he lowered himself into your chair. His presence filled the tiny cubicle—broad shoulders in a plain black button-up, scent of coffee and something faintly clean, like cedarwood.
He didn't ask what happened. Didn't sigh or look annoyed. He simply tapped across your keyboard with confident ease, mouse clicking a few times until the spreadsheet blinked back to life.
"There," he said finally, his voice low and even. "Try not to make it crash again."
It wasn't unkind, but there was a teasing edge buried in the flat delivery that made your stomach flip.
"I didn't do anything. It just froze," you protested quietly.
Jungkook swiveled in the chair, facing you fully. For the first time, he smiled—small, crooked, just enough to reveal the faintest dimple.
"Sure," he said softly, like he didn't believe you at all. Then he stood, brushing past you to head back to his corner.
You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
From across the aisle, Jimin gave you a knowing look, lips quirking. "See? Not so scary, right?"
You shot him a glare, but your ears felt hot. Because the worst part wasn't that you'd embarrassed yourself.
The worst part was that you kind of wanted it to happen again.
The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the break room like a permanent fixture, clinging to the air no matter how many times Hoseok tried to prop the tiny window open. He was perched on the counter now, feet swinging lazily as he stirred sugar into his mug, chatting animatedly with Jimin about last night's soccer game.
You slipped in quietly, reaching for a paper cup, hoping you could sneak in and out without anyone noticing.
"Ah, our newest star!" Hoseok greeted warmly, sliding down from the counter with the kind of energy that felt illegal at this hour. "How's the internship treating you? Still surviving?"
"Barely," you admitted, fumbling with the coffeepot and pouring yourself a sad excuse for caffeine. "My computer hates me."
Jimin's laugh was immediate, soft but sharp. He leaned against the fridge like he was settling in to enjoy a show. "Hates you, or just knows how to get Jungkook to visit your desk?"
You froze mid-pour, nearly spilling coffee over the rim. "That's not—he just—he fixes everyone's stuff, right?"
"Not everyone's," Hoseok chimed in, eyes sparkling. "Trust me. I've been here long enough to notice who he ignores."
Your cheeks warmed instantly. You waved a hand dismissively, trying to brush it off. "I think you're both reading into it."
"Maybe," Jimin said, tilting his head. "But maybe not."
Before you could come up with a retort, the door swung open.
Jungkook stepped inside, earbuds dangling around his neck, hair still damp like he'd showered that morning and rushed straight to work. He moved with a quiet, efficient confidence, heading straight for the cabinet to grab a clean mug.
The air shifted. Not drastically—but enough that you felt it in the way Jimin's smirk sharpened and Hoseok's grin widened.
You wished you could melt into the coffee machine.
Jungkook didn't say anything at first, just reached for the pot. But when his gaze flicked briefly to you—just a split second, quick enough to miss if you weren't already hyperaware of him—you nearly forgot how to breathe.
"Morning," you said, because silence felt unbearable.
He glanced at you again, this time holding your eyes for the briefest beat. "Morning." His voice was low, even, like the word didn't cost him anything—but it left a weight behind anyway.
Jimin, of course, couldn't leave it alone. He leaned toward you, stage-whispering just loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "Careful. That's how it starts. One tech rescue, one morning greeting, next thing you know—"
"Don't you have a report to finish?" Jungkook cut in, not even looking at him.
"Ouch." Jimin chuckled, unbothered. "Possessive much?"
You nearly choked on your coffee. Hoseok bit back a laugh, though the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.
Jungkook didn't raise to the bait. His jaw flexed once, subtle, before he poured his coffee and turned to leave. He didn't look at you again—but the air he left behind felt charged, like static clinging to your skin.
The moment the door swung shut behind him, Hoseok exhaled dramatically. "Well," he said brightly, "someone's got a favorite."
You buried your face in your cup. "Please stop."
Jimin just grinned. "Oh, we're only getting started."
You managed to escape the break room unscathed, but the rest of the morning didn't go any smoother.
Between misfiled documents, Namjoon accidentally spilling half his notes across the floor of the conference room, and Jin loudly complaining about the coffee machine breaking again, the entire floor felt chaotic. You tried to keep your head down, double-checking every task on your list, but concentration was impossible when your brain kept replaying one very specific moment: Jungkook's eyes meeting yours.
By lunch, you'd convinced yourself you were imagining things. He wasn't paying special attention to you. He wasn't annoyed. He wasn't—
You jumped at the sound of your name, nearly spilling the stacks of files you were carrying. When you looked up, Jungkook was standing in front of your desk, hands shoved casually into his pockets.
"Your ticket came through," he said simply.
"IT ticket." His eyes flicked to your monitor, where the screen was stubbornly refusing to connect to the server. "Network error. Again."
"Oh." You bit your lip, flustered. "I didn't...actually submit one."
One corner of his mouth tugged upward, almost like he'd expected that. "I know." He leaned down, sliding smoothly into your chair without asking, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached for the mouse. "Jimin did it for you."
You hovered awkwardly at his side as Jungkook worked, fingers moving with practiced ease across the keyboard. The scent of him was subtle but disarming—coffee and cedarwood, the same as yesterday. You could hear the faint click of his tongue as he concentrated, brows furrowing slightly when the system lagged.
Finally, the screen blinked back to life. He leaned back, satisfied, spinning the chair slightly to face you.
"You should be good now," he said. "But... if it happens again, come straight to me. Don't wait around."
The directness caught you off guard. "O-okay. Thanks."
He stood, brushing past you like before, but this time, you swore his arm lingered against yours half a second longer than necessary.
As he walked away, you forced yourself to sit down, staring at the glowing monitor.
Your pulse was still racing.
That evening, you lingered in the office longer than usual, half hoping Jungkook might pass by again. Most people had left for the day—Yoongi had trudged out an hour ago, muttering something about deadlines; Jin had dramatically declared his freedom and vanished; Hoseok had waved at you on his way out with a wink.
The quiet was nice. Peaceful.
Until you noticed movement in the corner.
Headphones back in, he was seated at his desk, tapping quickly across his laptop. He hadn't noticed you yet. The glow of the screen reflected in his eyes, sharp and focused, and you caught yourself staring longer than you should have.
And then, as if he felt it, he looked up.
For a moment, neither of you moved. His gaze was steady, unreadable—but softer than earlier, like he wasn't hiding as much.
You looked away first, heart pounding, pretending to rearrange the files on your desk.
When you dared glance up again, he was still watching.
The hum of the office printer was constant, like white noise you couldn't escape. You rubbed your temples, willing the machine to spit out the last the expense reports before it jammed for the third time that day.
"Don't glare at it like that," Taehyung's voice drawled behind you. "It can smell fear."
You turned to find him leaning against the cubicle wall, tie loose, hair just messy enough to make him look like he'd stepped out of a glossy magazine spread. A mischievous smile tugged at his mouth as he balanced a stapler on one hand like it was a prop.
"I wasn't glaring," you argued weakly.
"Yes, you were." He pushed off the wall, lowering his voice as if sharing a state secret. "That's why it hates you."
You rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, Yoongi shuffled past, a coffee cup clutched in one hand, a stack of notes in the other.
"She's not the problem," he muttered, half to himself, half to the room. "That printer's been broken since 2019. Management just slaps a new sticker on it every year and pretends it's fine."
Taehyung lit up. "See? It's cursed. You should listen to me."
You bit back a laugh, covering it with a cough. Yoongi glanced at you briefly, one eyebrow lifting. "Good luck surviving around here. Tae's chaos and I'm the only one keeping him from blowing the place up."
"Untrue," Taehyung protested. "Mostly untrue."
Yoongi smirked, already walking away.
"Don't believe him," Taehyug said, turning his attention back to you. "He secretly likes me."
"I'm sure he does," you said diplomatically, pressing the printer button again. To your shock, it actually worked this time, spitting out papers in quick succession.
Taehyung leaned closer, voice lowering. "See? My presence calms technology."
You couldn't help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. His grin widened like he'd won a prize.
But the amusement faltered when you noticed a figure at the far end of the office, dark eyes locked in your direction.
He was leaning back in his chair, headphones hanging loose around his neck, expression unreadable. Not quite glaring, but not neutral either. Just... watching.
Your laughter died in your throat.
Taehyung didn't notice, still smiling as he straightened. "Anyway. Don't let the printer eat you alive. You know where to find me if you need rescuing."
He sauntered off, leaving you with a warm flush on your cheeks and an uncomfortable awareness prickling at the back of your neck.
Because Jungkook was still watching.
By the time the office emptied out, you were dragging. Most of the staff had gone home hours ago—Jin after making a dramatic exit, Hoseok and Jimin with their usual chatter, Namjoon muttering about deadlines. Even Tae had finally disappeared, throwing you a lazy salute on his way out.
At least, it would have been.
"Why were you laughing with him?"
The voice came from behind you, low and sudden enough to make you spin around.
He stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket now that his blazer was gone, hair falling a little over his eyes. The sharpness of his tone didn't match the casual stance.
"What?" you asked, blinking.
"With Taehyung," he clarified. His jaw flexed, subtle but noticeable. "You were laughing."
You stared at him, caught off guard. "Are you seriously keeping track of that?"
Something flickered across his expression—something ungaurded, almost vulnerable—before his gaze dropped. "Forget it," he muttered, moving past you toward the exit.
Impulsively you stepped in his path. "Wait. What's your problem?"
He stopped, looking down at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. The office was too quiet, too empty, every hum of the lights above amplified in the silence between you.
His eyes searched yours, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "Nothing."
It wasn't convincing. Not even close.
But before you could push further, he sidestepped you smoothly, heading for the door.
The sound of it clicking shut echoed in your chest like a missed beat.
You stayed late again that night, trying to focus on your work but finding your mind drifting every few minutes. His voice kept replaying in your head—sharp, almost jealous, but cut short before he gave himself away.
When you finally packed your things and left the building, the cool night air hit your skin like a jolt. You spotted him instantly in the parking lot, leaning against his car, earbuds in.
He looked up the second you stepped outside.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world felt narrowed down to just that space between you—the flickering streetlamp above, the faint buzz of the city in the distance, and his eyes, steady on yours.
You almost said something. Almost asked what he meant. Almost admitted that your pulse had been racing since he first walked into that break room two days ago.
But the words caught in your throat.
Instead, you offered a small nod, clutching your bag tight as you walked past.
"Goodnight," he said softly, just before you reached your car.
It lingered with you all the way home.
The office was already buzzing when you arrived that morning. Jin was standing near the copier, waving a paper fan in front of his face while complaining about the thermostat.
"Too cold, too hot, too stuffy," he declared as you passed by. "This place is like a toxic relationship. And yet, here I stay. Loyal to a fault."
You barely stifled a laugh, juggling your coffee cup and the folder you'd nearly forgotten at home. "Morning, Jin."
"Morning, Y/N," he sighed, like greeting you was yet another burden in his tragic life. "You look tired. Congratulations, you're one of us now."
Before you could respond, Hoseok appeared at your side, cheerful as ever, tugging Jimin along by the sleeve. "Don't listen to him. You look fine. But speaking of being one of us—today, you're coming to lunch."
"Lunch!" Jimin echoed, throwing his hands up like it was an announcement worthy of confetti. "Team bonding. You can't hide behind your desk forever."
You opened your mouth to protest, but Hosoek was already shaking his head. "No excuses. Everyone's going. It's mandatory. Well, not really, but if you say no, Jimin will pout, and none of us deserve to live through that."
"I do not pout," Jimin said indignantly, then immediately pouted when Hoseok laughed.
"I really don't want to intrude—" you started, but voice trailed off as a shadow fell over the group.
He wasn't part of the conversation, not really—just standing nearby, rummaging through a file drawer like he wasn't paying attention. But then he spoke, low and almost offhand.
It wasn't loud, but it was enough. Hoseok's grin widened like a cat who'd just found cream. Jimin's eyes went wide with delight. Jin fanned himself.
"Oh?" Jimin sing-songed. "She should come?"
Jungkook didn't look up, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Otherwise she'll get left out."
"Mmhm," Hoseok hummed knowingly, nudging Jimin. "Protective much?"
Jungkook ignored them, slamming the drawer shut a little too firmly before walking back toward his desk.
You tried not to let your cheeks burn. "Fine," you said quickly, desperate to shut the teasing down. "I'll go."
"Perfect!" Hoseok clapped his hands together. "We'll leave at noon. Don't be late."
The restaurant was loud, crowded, and immediately chaotic.
Yoongi had claimed the far end of the booth, already flipping through the menu with a kind of resigned concentration. Namjoon had knocked over his water within five minute of sitting down. Jin was complaining about the chopsticks. Taehyung was flirting shamelessly with the server, and Hoseok and Jimin were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
You sat wedged between Jin and Jimin, trying not to get swept away in the noise.
"Y/N, you have to try this dish," Jin insisted, pointing at the menu. "It's the only thing that makes this miserable existence worth living."
"Don't listen to him," Yoongi muttered without looking up. "Get whatever you want."
Taehyung leaned across the table, eyes mischievous. "Or you could just order what Jungkook gets. That way you'll match."
Jimin practically choked on his drink. Hoseok pounded his back, both of them grinning like kids at a sleepover.
You glanced instinctively down the table. Jungkook sat at the opposite end, quiet, unreadable. He didn't rise to the bait, didn't even look up from his menu—but the faintest twitch of his jaw gave him away.
You ducked your head quickly, pretending to study the specials.
The teasing didn't stop. Jimin leaned close, whispering in a stage voice loud enough for half of the table to hear. "He always hovers by your desk, you know. Like a watchdog."
"Jimin," you hissed, elbowing him.
"What? It's true." he smirked. "He never hovered by mine."
Your face burned. "That's because your desk is a disaster zone."
The table erupted with laughter, and Jimin pouted again, though this time with good humor. But even through the noise, you felt Jungkook's gaze flicker to you, sharp and brief, before darting away.
Despite the teasing, you found yourself laughing more than you expected. Hoseok took a group selfie, making everyone lean in whether they wanted to or not.
It was chaotic, yes, but warm. Like being swept into the center of a whirlwind and realizing it wasn't so bad after all.
But through it all, Jungkook stayed quiet. He ate, he listened, but he barely spoke. And every time you glanced down the table, you found his eyes somewhere near you—then gone the moment you tried to meet them.
The walk back was calmer. The afternoon sun was warm, and the group stretched across the sidewalk in easy clusters.
You ended up slightly behind everyone else, your steps slowing without realizing it. That's when you noticed Jungkook beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, gaze fixed on the pavement.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the others faded into the background.
"Are you getting used to everyone?" he asked suddenly, not looking at you.
You blinked, surprised. His voice wasn't sharp like before—just steady, softer somehow.
"Yeah," you said honestly. "They're...a lot. But in a good way."
The corners of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile. Almost. "They mean well. Even when they're annoying."
You let out a quiet laugh. "I can tell."
For a few steps, the silence between you wasn't uncomfortable. Just...there.
Then Hoseok called back for you to hurry up, and the moment slipped away.
Back at the office, everyone scattered quickly—Yoongi to his desk, Tae to bother the receptionist, Jin to complain about something else. You sank back into your chair, the warmth of lunch still lingering.
But as you turned on your monitor, movement caught your eye.
Across the room, Jungkook was watching. Not glaring. Not annoyed. Just...watching. His expression unreadable, but softer than you'd ever seen it.
And then, just as quickly, Taehyung leaned over your desk, smirking. "Careful," he said. "You'll get addicted to these lunches."
By the time you looked back up, Jungkook was gone.
The office was almost empty.
You stared at your monitor, eyes heavy, fingers frozen over the keyboard.
You'd stayed late to finish a report. The rest of the office had gone home hours ago.
A shadow fell across your desk.
You jumped, turning to see Jungkook standing in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. His hair had gone a little messy, like he'd run his hand through it one too many times. He looked less like your intimidating coworker and more like someone who should've been home hours ago, but couldn't quite leave.
"I could ask you the same," you said softly.
He didn't answer, just stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. "The server crashed again," he said finally, gesturing toward your screen. "You need help?"
"I...think so," you admitted, dragging your chair back to make room. "I've tried everything."
He moved beside you, sliding into your chair with that effortless confidence that always made your pulse race. His presence filling the small cubicle, quiet and commanding.
"You didn't break anything," he said quietly, fingers flying across the keyboard. "The network's unstable. It's not you."
You swallowed hard, watching him work. His face was close enough that you could see the faint crease of concentration between his brows, the way his lashes caught the glow of the monitor.
"Thanks," you said softly.
His head tilted toward you slightly, eyes flicking in a glance that lasted too long. "Don't mention it."
A quiet pause settled between you. You wanted to ask something, anything, but the words refused to form.
Finally, he broke the tension—not with words, but with movement. His hand brushed against yours as he reached for the mouse, and it lingered a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Your stomach flipped.
"You're...new here," he said, voice low. "But you're...capable. Faster than I expected."
You felt your face heat up. "I...try my best," you murmured, forcing yourself to focus on the screen and not the warmth of his presence inches away.
He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the room like he was making sure you were alone, like he was protecting some fragile line between the office world and the two of you.
"You don't have to stay late for this," you said finally. "I think I can manage, I'd hate to keep bothering you with this."
"You're not a bother," he said, almost abruptly, then quieter: "not to me."
The words hit harder than you expected. Your throat tightened. You looked down at your hands, wishing you could pretend nothing had changed between yesterday and now, between him hovering at the break room and this quiet, steady presence beside you.
Minutes passed, your hands clumsy on the keyboard. Every so often, you felt his gaze flick towards you. Just... watching. Curious. Maybe even drawn in.
Then, in a movement so quiet you barely noticed, his hand rose and brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. The touch was featherlight, gone before you could react.
"Be careful," he said, low enough that it felt secret. "You're making this harder than it has to be."
You swallowed again, heat rising to your ears. "Huh?"
He didn't answer. His gaze flicked down at your hands on the keyboard, then back up, lingering on your eyes for a heartbeat. And just like that, he leaned back, standing again.
"I'll check the server logs," he said finally. "Call me if it happens again."
You nodded, too flustered to speak. By the time you looked up, he was already walking toward the door.
But then he paused. One last glance. A small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, like he wanted to say more but couldn't—or wouldn't.
"Goodnight," he said softly.
Your pulse raced as he disappeared into the quiet office corridor.
You stayed at your desk a little longer, staring at the blank screen but not really seeing it. Every brush of his hand, every glance, every word replayed on a loop in your head, relentless. It was ridiculous—he hadn't even done much. But it didn't feel small. It felt like something shifting, subtle and dangerous.
The office was quiet again, but you weren't. Restlessness thrummed under your skin, keeping you wide awake. You weren't sure what you wanted from him, not exactly—but you knew it was more than this.
And you weren't sure how much longer you could pretend otherwise.
The day began like any other—noise, laughter, and the endless chatter that came with working in an office full of larger-than-life personalities.
You'd started to think you were getting used to the chaos.
"Newbie, you're presenting that spreadsheet update today," Namjoon said casually, like he wasn't dropping a bombshell while balancing a stack of papers dangerously high in his arms.
"What?" you nearly choked on your water. "Me?"
Jungkook, who was leaning against the conference table with his arms crossed, didn't look up. "Who else? You made it."
The quiet confidence in his voice made your cheeks warm. You hated how much weight his approval carried, how it wrapped around you even in the middle of an ordinary Friday morning.
By some miracle, the presentation went smoothly. When it was over, Jin gave you a round of applause, Hoseok flashed you a proud thumbs-up, and Taehyung whispered "iconic" like you'd just won an award.
And Jungkook? He didn't say much, just the slightest curve at the corner of his lips, like he was trying not to show he was impressed. But it was enough to keep you smiling through the rest of the afternoon.
The day dragged longer than it should have, the sky outside darkening faster than anyone in the office expected. By the time you finished sending off the last report, the steady drizzle had grown into a torrential downpour. Sheets of rain hammered against the wide office windows, and the glow of streetlights blurred behind the curtain of water.
Most of the office had already cleared out, the earlier rush to beat the weather leaving the place eerily quiet. You powered down your computer, stretching your stiff shoulders. Jungkook, still at his desk, snapped his laptop shut and stood at the same time.
"You ready?" His voice was casual, but the way his eyes flicked to the storm outside betrayed his unease.
"Yeah." You slide your bag over your shoulder and followed him toward the elevators.
The lobby windows show the truth in full: the rain was relentless, pooling the sidewalks, cars splashing through ankle deep water at every turn. People who had attempted to leave earlier were now huddled under the awning, trapped by the downpour. A weather alert flashed on your phone — Flash Flood Warning: Seek Shelter.
You let out a soft laugh, equal parts nerves and disbelief. "Guess our timing sucks, I hate driving in the rain."
Jungkook glanced at you, then back the storm. "I can drive you," he offered quickly, already reaching for his keys. "But..." His eyes scanned the sheets of water crashing against the pavement. "Honestly? We'd probably just end up sitting in traffic, or worse."
You followed his gaze — the streets looked more like rivers. Even the nearest intersection was half flooded. "So we're stuck?"
"Kind of." A wry smile tugged at his mouth, but he looked almost guilty, like it was his fault you couldn't leave. Then his eyes shifted to the corner of the street. "There's a cafe across the block. We could wait it out there. Warm drinks. Better than standing here."
The thought of running through the storm made you hesitate — but then his hand lifted, palm up, as if inviting you to trust him. "Come on. It's just rain."
Your pulse jumped in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. "Fine. But if I end up soaked, I'm blaming you."
Jungkook's grin flashes, bright despite the storm. "Deal."
He pulled his jacket off and, without asking, draped it over your head before leading the way. The mad dash across the street was chaos — cold rain soaking your legs, thunder cracking above — but he was close, his hand at the small of your back as you sprinted through the flood. By the time you burst into the cafe, both of you were breathless and laughing.
The cafe was nearly empty, most people avoiding travel tonight. Warm light spilled across the wooden tables, soft music humming under the patter of rain on the windows. You both ordered quickly — his usual black coffee, your chai latte — and slid into a booth tucked away in the corner.
For a few minutes, you sat in comfortable silence, thawing out, sipping at steaming mugs while the storm raged outside.
Then Jungkook spoke, voice low. "It's weird."
You glanced up. "What is?"
"This." His fingers drummed once against his cup. "I've worked here for years, but I've never...slowed down like this with someone from the office. Usually it's just work, then home, occasional lunches. No in-between." His gaze held yours a beat too long. "But with you..." He trailed off, searching for the words.
Your stomach tightened. "With me what?"
He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table. "It feels different. Like I don't mind the storm."
The air between you thickened, heavy with the unspoken. His eyes flicked down, just briefly, toward your mouth — and your breath caught.
The cafe felt too quiet, the storm too loud. You realized in that moment how close he was, how easily you could close the gap.
Your heart raced, your body betraying you, leaning just the slightest bit forward. He mirrored you, his hand sliding across the table like he might reach for yours.
Thunder cracked, shaking the glass, and you both startled.
The moment shattering like the lightning outside.
The morning after the storm, the office felt almost normal, except for the faint electric charge in the air that made you aware of everything—especially Jungkook.
He was at his desk, across the room as always, fingers tapping quickly over his keyboard. The hum of computers, the occasional click of a mouse, and the distant chatter of your coworkers filled the office, but your eyes kept drifting to him.
He didn't look at you, not yet. He couldn't. Not after last night, not after the cafe, not after that almost moment that still made your chest ache.
You busied yourself with emails, scrolling through reports, pretending to be completely absorbed. But every now and then, you caught him glancing your way—subtle, almost imperceptible. And every time you felt your pulse jump.
Across the room, Jin was already mid-story with Taehyung, loudly recounting some mishap from the office. Jimin leaned back in his chair, smirking, clearly enjoying the morning chaos. You swore Taehyung's eyes flicked toward you and Jungkook more than once, like he already plotting something.
By lunch, the office had emptied enough that the small interactions became unavoidable. Jimin and Taehyung appeared at your desk first, grinning like they'd discovered a secret.
"So," Jimin began, leaning on the corner of your desk just slightly, "how was your night after the storm?"
Your hand froze over your fork. Jungkook's head lifted slightly across the room, just enough to catch the mention of the storm, but he looked down immediately.
"Uh...quiet," you mumbled, keeping your gaze on your food.
Jimin's grin widened. "Really? Just quiet?" He glanced toward Jungkook, who was now pretending to focus intently on his monitor, but the stiff line of his shoulders betrayed him.
"You two weren't stuck somewhere cozy, were you?" Taehyung teased, nudging your shoulder.
Heat rose to your cheeks. "We... waited out the rain. That's it."
But even as you said it, you knew everyone could tell the truth from the lie. Jungkook, still across the room, was quietly running a hand through his hair, jaw tight.
Lunch ended with the teasing unsaid, but palpable, and soon you were back at your respective desks. The day continued in a haze of reports, papers, and needed troubleshooting.
Every time you needed help with something, you debated whether to call Jungkook. Every time Jungkook walked past your desk, your heart flipped. The mere act of him moving in the same space as you kept the storm alive in your chest.
Around mid-afternoon, he finally crossed the room on some pretense — a ticket from your department that could have waited, but you knew better.
"Let me help you install a few files, so your monitor doesn't crash again." He said quietly, leaning just slightly over your cubicle wall.
"Sure, thanks." you whispered, trying to sound casual.
He downloaded the files quickly. He gave a curt nod and retreated back to his own space across the room. You could feel his gaze lingering for a second before he full returned to IT-mode.
You exhaled, barely realizing you had been holding your breath the entire time.
The rest of the afternoon passed with stolen glances, small pangs of jealousy whenever he talked to someone else, and an ache of almost-touch that no one else could see.
By the time you packed up to leave, your brain had replayed that cafe moment countless times, each iteration more vivid than the last. Jungkook stood up, gathering his laptop and cables, heading toward the exit.
"See you tomorrow," he said casually, voice steady, but you could almost feel the tension vibrating beneath it.
And as the door clicked shut behind him, the office felt impossibly empty, the absence of his presence pressing against you. You stayed at your desk a little longer, staring at the blank screen, replaying every glance, every slight gesture, every unspoken almost.
The storm was gone, but the tension it left behind lingered, and you realized — you weren't ready to let it go.
It was rare, but today the office was empty. A city-wide holiday had given everyone the day off, and the usual hum of computers and chatter was replaced by a quiet stillness that almost felt unnatural.
You had planned a lazy morning — coffee, a walk, maybe a bookstore run — when your phone buzzed with a message from Jimin.
"Hey! Some of us are meeting at the cafe on 5th around 11. Be there of we'll tease you mercilessly."
You rolled your eyes but smiled. It was a casual invite, just a few others from the office. Nothing mandatory.
When you arrived, the cafe was bustling but still cozy. Jimin and Taehyung waved you over immediately. As you approached, your stomach did that familiar flip—and sure enough, Jungkook was already there, tucked into a corner with a laptop open.
He looked up briefly, nodded, and went back to typing. That was...so him.
You grabbed your coffee and slid into the seat across from Jimin and Taehyung, making a show of casually glancing at Jungkook. He caught your eye and then immediately looked away, fingers frozen on the keyboard. Your chest tightened.
"Day off, huh?" Taehyung said, grinning. "Yet here we are, trapped in a cafe with a certain IT guy staring at his laptop like it's work, not fun."
"Staring at his laptop, or staring at Y/N?" Jimin took a nonchalant sip from his mug.
Jungkook's voice cut softly across the table. "I'm not staring."
You blinked. A sudden surge of courage. "Oh, really?"
His eyes flicked up, meeting yours for just a second. The corner of his mouth twitched, and then he looked back at the screen.
That second was enough to make your chest pound. Why can't he just relax? you thought.
The morning passed with light conversation, coffee refills, and playful teasing from Jimin and Taehyung. Jungkook was quieter than everyone else, occasionally offering input on some work-related topic that came up—because, of course, he couldn't fully leave IT behind. But even in his calm, professional way, he kept glancing at you.
And every glance made your stomach twist.
At one point, a sudden laugh from Taehyung about some ridiculous office meme made you spill a little of your coffee. Jungkook's chair scraped back as he leaned over to hand you a napkin. Close. Too close.
You caught the faint scent of him—coffee, cedar wood, something uniquely him—and your heart lurched. He lingered a second longer than necessary, and then, just like that, he pulled back, pretending it was nothing.
You clenched the napkin in your hand, frustrated. Why is he like this? So close, then so distant?
Jimin noticed your tension and smirked. "You okay there? Jungkook looking like he's going to cry over a spilled coffee or... something else?"
You shot him a glare, but even as you tried to focus on your latte, you couldn't stop thinking about Jungkook. The way he hovered just enough to make your pulse spike, then withdrew like it was instinct.
The rest of the day was a dance of subtle interactions—shared laughs, stolen glances, near-brushes of hands, and moments where Jungkook's attention lingered just a little too long to be purely professional.
By the time the cafe started to empty, you realized you were torn: part of you wanted to confront him, demand clarity, and another part of you just wanted to curl up in a corner and pretend nothing had happened.
Jungkook stood, stretching slightly, finally packing up his laptop. "I should probably head out," he said. His eyes met yours for the briefest moment. No words, but it carried the same tension from the storm, amplified by the comfort and closeness of the cafe.
"Yeah," you replied, your voice a little too quiet.
As he walked past, brushing close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him, you thought: I don't know how much longer I can take this hot-and-cold thing...
And that, you realized, was going to be the hardest part of all.
Monday mornings were never your favorite, but this one felt different. It wasn't the endless reports, the ringing phones, or the fact that your inbox was already drowning. No—it was the decision you made the night before, lying awake in bed replaying every hot-and-cold moment with Jungkook.
Every smile, every fleeting touch, every-near-something—always followed by silence. Distance. Retreat.
You were tired of waiting.
So today, you slipped into the office with a new resolve: no lingering glances, no nervous laughter, no subtle invitations for him to come closer. Just work. Just professionalism.
When you walked past Jungkook's desk, he looked up immediately, his usual quiet acknowledgment softening his features. Normally, you'd smile back. This time, you gave a polite nod and kept walking.
You felt his stare linger as you sat down.
By mid-morning, Jimin had stopped by your desk with a coffee, leaning in conspiratorially. "So," he whispered, "our favorite IT guy hasn't said a word today, but he keeps looking over here like he lost something."
"Maybe he did," you said flatly, turning back to your screen.
Jimin blinked, surprised. "Ouch. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed?"
You forced a smile. "No. Just busy."
But busy wasn't the word for it. You could feel Jungkook's presence across the room, like static electricity in the air. Every time you resisted the urge to glance at him, your chest tightened. And every time you didn't laugh at one of Jimin's jokes or wave him over for help, Jungkook seemed to stiffen.
It was working. And it was killing you.
Around lunch, your computer froze. Normally, you'd call Jungkook—he'd appear at your side, sleeves rolled up, leaning too close as he fixed it. But today, you powered it down and restarted it yourself. When the screen blinked back to life, you caught sight of Jungkook watching you, his jaw tight.
The rest of the afternoon dragged, tension thick enough to choke on. At one point, Namjoon passed through the office and muttered under his breath, "You could cut the air with a knife in here."
By the time the clock hit five, you were exhausted—not from the work, but from holding yourself back.
As you packed your bag, Jungkook finally moved. His chair scraped against the floor, and suddenly he was standing near your desk, hovering with that awkward confidence that only he could pull off.
You didn't look up. "Hi."
"You, uh... didn't need me today?" His voice was careful, like he already knew the answer.
You zipped your bag and stood, keeping your expression neutral. "Didn't have to."
For once, he was the one scrambling, his hand tightening on the strap of his backpack. "Right. That's... good."
You nodded once and brushed past him, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a second, you thought he might stop you, say something, anything. But he didn't.
Not until you were halfway to the door did you hear him exhale, soft and frustrated.
And you smiled bitterly to yourself, because for the first time, the silence wasn't yours to carry.
The second day of your silent resolve was harder than the first. You kept your tone professional, your smiles tucked away, your attention focused on anyone but Jungkook.
At first, it felt like a victory. He had been the one to drift in and out, warm one day and icy the next. Now, the tables had turned.
But Jungkook wasn't taking it quietly.
By mid-morning, you could feel the shift in the air. He wasn't just watching anymore; he was restless. Every scrape of his chair, every sigh, every subtle tap of his pen against the desk pulled at your nerves.
When Jimin wandered over to ask about lunch, Jungkook cut in before you could answer. "We should all go together," he said quickly, eyes flicking to you. "Right?"
You hesitated, then shrugged. "Do whatever you want."
Jimin raised his brows, but didn't comment. The group lunch happened, but it was painfully clear—Jungkook barely touched his food, his attention locked on you as you laughed at something Namjoon said instead.
By the time you returned to the office, the tension was unbearable.
Around three, your monitor flickered and went black. You cursed under your breath, reaching to restart it, when Jungkook was suddenly there.
"I'll fix it," he said, already leaning over your desk.
You froze. His presence was overwhelming—close enough that you caught the clean scent of him, close enough that your arm brushed against his. Normally, you'd be flustered. Today, you leaned back, folding your arms.
"I had it under control."
He stilled. Slowly, he turned his head, meeting your eyes. His gaze was sharp, almost wounded. "You're being... different."
Your chest tightened, but you forced your expression flat. "Maybe I'm just busy."
"Busy," he echoed, almost scoffing. "That's what this is?"
You shrugged, refusing to give in.
But Jungkook wasn't retreating this time. His hand gripped the edge of your desk, knuckles white. "You don't even look at me. Did I... do something?"
Your throat went dry. Yes, you wanted to scream. You did a million little things—gave me hope and then took it away. But instead, you said quietly, "Does it matter?"
Something in his expression cracked. For once, the calm, guarded IT guy wasn't in control. His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something raw and desperate.
"It matters to me." His voice was low, rough, like the words had been ripped out of him.
The office noise faded—the clicking keyboards, the phones, the hum of printers—all of it blurred as you stared at him, heart hammering.
For the first time, it wasn't you chasing him. It was him, standing too close, voice trembling with the weight of something he hadn't said yet.
And that—that felt like the real breaking point.
The office was quieter than usual after Jungkook's words. You hadn't answered him—couldn't—not when your heart was pounding so hard it drowned out every thought.
Those four words kept echoing in your head as you sat frozen at your desk, pretending to focus on your screen. Jungkook lingered a moment longer, his hand still gripping the edge of your desk like he was holding himself together. Finally, with a muttered curse, he turned and walked back to his seat.
You let outa shaky breath, unsure if you were relieved or disappointed.
The day dragged. You threw yourself into emails, spreadsheets, anything to avoid looking across the room. But you could feel him—the tension strung between you like a live wire.
By the time the office emptied for the evening, your nerves were frayed. You stayed behind, partly to catch up on work, partly to avoid walking out with him.
But of course, fate had other plans.
When you finally packed your bag and headed for the elevator, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind you.
"Wait," Jungkook's voice called.
You froze, hand hovering over the button. Slowly, you turned.
He was standing there, hair slightly messy, his expression tight. "Can we walk?"
You wanted to say no. You wanted to keep walking. But the look in his eyes—raw, searching—made it impossible.
"About what?" you asked carefully.
"About this," he said, gesturing vaguely between you. "Whatever's happening. Or not happening."
You swallowed hard, keeping your tone cool. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." His voice was firmer now, almost pleading. "You've been shutting me out, and I can't... I can't stand it."
Something inside you snapped. "What do you expect, Jungkook? One minute you're sweet, the next you're cold. I never know where I stand with you. And I'm tired of feeling like an idiot for trying."
Silence stretched between you, heavy and sharp. His jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was fighting himself.
Then, before you could process it, he stepped forward. Just one step, but close enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him.
His eyes dropped to your lips. Your breath caught.
"Do you have any idea," he said softly, "how hard it is to not want more?"
Your pulse stuttered. The world shrank to space between you, the warmth radiating from his body, the faint tremor in his voice.
He leaned closer—too close. Your heart screamed yes, but your mind spun. This was the moment.
And then the elevator dinged.
You bother jerked back as the doors slid open and Namjoon stepped out, holding a stack of files. He blinked, glancing between the two of you, eyebrows raising slightly.
"Uh... am I interrupting something?"
You shook your head quickly, stepping into the elevator without looking back. "No. Not at all."
But as the doors slid shut, you caught the look on his face—frustrated, longing, almost broken.
And you knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
You thought you could outrun the weight in your chest. You left the office quickly that evening, your bag slung over your shoulder, that city air sharp against your cheeks. The elevator almost-kiss, Jungkook's words—Do you have any idea how hard it is to not want more?—they looped endlessly in your head.
You told yourself to let it go. To shove it down and keep walking.
But the sound of footsteps behind you stopped you cold.
"Wait," Jungkook's voice called again, breathless this time,
You froze on the sidewalk. Slowly, you turned, finding him there—no laptop bag, no guarded expression. Just Jungkook, raw and restless, like he'd finally run out of walls to hide behind.
"What do you want, Jungkook?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
He stopped a foot away, chest rising and falling. "l want you to stop looking at me like I'm nothing. Like I don't matter."
Your throat went dry. "You're the one who's been pulling away. Being hot and cold. You can't expect me to keep—"
"I know," he cut in, voice rough. "I know I've been a mess. I didn't want to ruin anything. I didn't want to... cross a line we can't uncross."
The streetlamps buzzed overhead. Cars hummed in the distance. But here, on this stretch of sidewalk, it was just the two of you.
"And now?" you asked, heart pounding.
His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint crease in his brow, the tremor in his hands. "Now I can't stand watching you pull away. I can't stand pretending I don't—" He broke off, exhaling hard. "I like you. Too much. More than I should."
Your breath caught. The words you'd been aching for, the ones you'd convinced yourself you'd never hear, hung between you like sparks.
For a second, you couldn't speak. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that."
Something in him cracked then. The restraint, the guarded distance—all of it fell away. He reached for you, hesitant at first, like he was giving you time to pull back. When you didn't, his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
You didn't. You couldn't.
The kiss was everything and nothing like you'd imagined—soft and desperate all at once, like years of unsaid words and stifled feelings poured into one moment. His lips pressed against yours like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go.
You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, and he responded with a low, shuddering sound that made your knees weak.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.
"This... complicates everything," you whispered.
"Yeah," he admitted, lips curving into the faintest smile. "But I don't care."
And for the first time, neither did you.
The office felt louder today. Or maybe it was just you.
The steady click of keyboards, the rustle of papers, the occasional ring of a phone—none of it was unusual. But everything inside you was different, buzzing with a restless energy you couldn't tamp down.
Because last night, you kissed Jungkook.
It was the kind of kiss that left your lips tingling hours later, the kind you thought about when brushing your teeth this morning, when tying your shoes, when walking through the glass doors of the building like nothing had changed. Except everything had.
You sank into your chair, praying your flushed cheeks weren't obvious.
Across the room, Jungkook looked maddeningly unaffected. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, scrolling through a program on his screen. He hadn't so much as glanced your way. Not once.
Your stomach twisted. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe it was just one of those heat-of-the-moment things. Maybe—
Then he looked up. Straight at you.
Your breath caught. His eyes softened, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but enough to send warmth flooding through you. Just as quickly, he dropped his gaze back to his work.
Your chest ached in relief and longing all at once.
By mid-morning, a yellow sticky note appeared on your desk when you weren't looking.
Printer's acting up again. Don't worry, I'll fix it.
Underneath, the world's worst doodle of a bunny with lopsided ears.
You clamped your hand over your mouth to hide the grin threatening to break loose.
At lunch, Jimin stopped by your cubicle with a bag of chips. "You look different today," he said, squinting at you. "Glowing, almost."
Before you could reply, Jungkook's voice came from across the room. "She's always like that."
The words were casual, tossed out without thought, but your pulse spiked. Jimin arched a brow, then shrugged and wandered off.
Later, as the afternoon lull settled in, you felt a presence at your side. Jungkook leaned casually against your cubicle wall, holding a folder like he had an excuse to be there.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes darting to make sure no one was listening.
Your throat was dry. "Yeah. Just...busy."
He tiled his head, studying you for a moment. Then his lips quirked. "You're a bad liar."
You glared, but the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.
Jungkook chuckled under his breath before pushing away from the wall. "See you after work."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving your heart pounding and your thoughts spiraling.
Because one thing was suddenly very clear: last night hadn't been a mistake.
You sat in your cubicle with a stack of expense reports, pretending you weren't burning holes into his head from across the room.
He tilted his chair just slightly, mouth quirking because he knew you were looking.
"Hey," a low voice broke your focus. Namjoon had appeared at the side of your cubicle, files in hand. "You good on those reports?"
"Mm? Oh—yeah, just finishing them up," you said quickly, shoving the papers together like you hadn't been daydreaming.
Namjoon's sharp eyes flicked toward the IT corner—toward Jungkook—before returning to you. He didn't say anything, but there was the faintest twitch of a smirk, like he'd caught on to something you didn't want him to.
You swallowed. Play it cool. Play it cool.
That evening, long after Namjoon and the others had left, you found yourself at your desk packing up when your phone buzzed. A message from Jungkook.
You slipped your bag over your shoulder and headed down.
He was waiting by his car, leaning against it like something out of a drama. Not cold, not smirking—just Jungkook, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, eyes soft when they met yours.
You blinked. "uh... yeah?"
He didn't take you anywhere fancy. Just a late-night noodle place tucked around the corner of a quiet street, the kind where the broth clung to the air and the only soundtrack was clattering bowls and a TV playing reruns. But when he slid into the booth across from you, tugging his hoodie down and running a hand through his hair, you realized how badly you'd needed this.
Something normal. Something not lit by fluorescent office bulbs.
"I didn't want today to end without seeing you," he admitted, voice quiet under the rattle of the kitchen. "Not just... at your desk. Not with people around."
Your chest tightened. You wanted to say something clever, but all you managed was, "Me too."
He laughed softly, and the sound curled warm in your stomach.
The two of you talked over steaming bowls, conversation flowing easier than you expected—about favorite foods, weekend plans, even a ridiculous story about Tae accidentally crashing the IT server once. Every time he leaned in to say something, you caught the faintest whiff of his cologne, and it made you dizzy.
Halfway through your meal, his knee brushed yours under the table and didn't move.
He didn't say anything, didn't even look at you—just kept eating like it was the most natural thing in the world. But his knee stayed there, steady and warm against your own.
Your appetite suddenly had nothing to do with noodles.
On the drive back to your car, you sat in silence, the city lights painting Jungkook's profile in gold and shadow. He pulled up in front of your car and killed the engine, but didn't move to unlock the doors. Instead, his hand drummed nervously against the steering wheel.
"I know we have to be careful," he said finally, voice low. "At work. Around the others. But outside of that..." he glanced at you, eyes soft. "Can I have this? Just you and me?"
Your throat felt tight. "Yeah," you whispered. "You can."
He exhaled. Then he leaned over, so close you felt his breath against your cheek. For a dizzy moment, you thought he might kiss you again.
But instead, he pressed his forehead to yours, lingering there for a beat that felt like forever.
"Goodnight," he murmured.
And then he pulled back, unlocking the doors before temptation could win.
"What are you doing tomorrow?"
You stared at your phone for a good five minutes before replying.
"Crazy that you're doubting me."
And just like that, your Saturday plans were sealed.
His apartment was exactly what you expected: neat, modern, and deceptively simple. Black leather couch, a giant TV, shelves with rows of video games and manga. But there were softer details too—plants on the windowsill, a polaroid camera on the counter, a blanket folded with care.
You hovered in the doorway, clutching your bag. "So this is where IT magic is born?"
Jungkook grinned as he tugged you inside. "This is where I respawn after saving the company from doom, yeah."
The kitchen smelled like garlic and soy. He'd actually been cooking, sleeves shoved up, hair messy. The sight was unfair—like the universe had decided yes, this man will be good at everything.
"You weren't kidding," you muttered, leaning against the counter.
"I told you," he shot back, tossing vegetables into a pan. "Doubt me again and I'll make you eat instant ramen instead."
He glanced at you then, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fine. Next time, ramen. No vegetables. Just you and me."
Your stomach flipped at the casual "next time," but you said nothing, too busy pretending the sight of him in his kitchen wasn't doing things to your brain.
Dinner was simple, but delicious, and you found yourself more than eating—half because Jungkook kept making ridiculous commentary on his own cooking skills, half because it just felt so easy. No spreadsheets, no cubicle walls, no pretending.
Afterward, he dragged you to the couch, insisting you had to watch the latest episode of a drama he was obsessed with. Somewhere between episode one and two, your legs ended up tucked under you, leaning closer without realizing it.
By episode three, Jungkook shifted—close enough that his thigh was pressed against yours.
"Comfortable?" he asked, like nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Totally," you said, but your pulse was screaming otherwise.
Later, when you reached for the blanket draped on the back of the couch, Jungkook beat you to it. He leaned over, his chest brushing your shoulder as he pulled it down. For a split second, his breath fanned against your ear, and you stilled.
"You cold?" he murmured, voice too close, too low.
You swallowed. "A little."
He draped the blanket over both of you, and suddenly the world was smaller, quieter, warmer.
The show played on, but neither of you were really watching it anymore. You could feel him watching you—subtle glances, the twitch of a smile when you laughed at something dumb. Every brush of his arm against yours was a spark.
When you reached for your drink, he steadied you with a hand on your knee. You froze, but he didn't move it. Instead, his thumb brushed once—just once—over your leg.
Your breath caught. "Jungkook..."
He turned, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that made your stomach flip. "Yeah?"
You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He leaned in before you could think, his hand sliding from your knee up to your waist, pulling you closer beneath the blanket. Suddenly you were half sprawled against him, your cheek brushing his shoulder, the heat of his body searing through your clothes.
"Too close?" he murmured, though his grip said he wasn't planning to move.
"No," you said. "Not too close."
He exhaled, shaky too, and then his hand came up, fingers brushing along your jaw. The touch was tentative at first, but when you didn't flinch, his thumb traced the corner of your mouth. He leaned closer, closer, until his lips ghosted the edge of your jaw, feather-light but enough to make you shiver.
Your heart thudded against your ribs, your body screaming yes.
But he pulled back just before your lips could meet. His breathing was rough, uneven, like it had cost him everything to stop.
"If I kiss you right now, I won't stop."
The words set fire to your skin. You could only nod, gripping the blanket like it might keep you from unraveling.
The next morning should've felt ordinary—emails, coffee, copies—but your body hadn't caught up. Every time you glanced across the office and saw Jungkook at his desk, sleeves rolled, hair falling into his eyes, your mind betrayed you.
Just his hands on your waist. The rasp of his voice when he said, if I kiss you right now, I won't stop.
You gripped your coffee tighter and forced your gaze back to your screen. Professional. Normal. Nothing to see here.
"Rough weekend?" Hoseok's voice chimed.
You jumped, nearly spilling your drink. "Huh?"
He peered around the divider, grin bright. "You look...flushed. Late night?"
You scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, before blurting, "Drama marathon."
"Ahhh," he nodded sagely. "The dangerous kind." He winked and disappeared back into his seat.
Your shoulders sagged in relief—only to tense again when you caught Jungkook watching you, biting his bottom lip as if to hide a smile.
The morning dragged, but lunchtime brought no reprieve. You'd just settled into the break room when Namjoon walked in with his tray, eyes sharp as ever.
"You're quiet today," he remarked, sitting across from you.
"I'm fine," you said quickly, stabbing at your salad.
Namjoon tilted his head, gaze flicking past toward the hallway. "And Jungkook?"
Your fork stilled. "What about him?"
"Nothing," Namjoon said smoothly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he'd seen more than you wanted. "Just asking."
Heat crept up your neck. You kept your eyes down, praying the ground would swallow you.
The rest of the day, you tried avoiding him. Tried not to remember the way his thumb had traced the corner of your mouth. Tried not to notice the way his gaze lingered whenever someone else stopped at your desk.
It worked—until you headed toward the supply closet for more printer paper.
Jungkook's voice was low behind you, too close. You startled, spinning to find him leaning against the doorframe, one hand shoved in his pocket. His eyes swept the empty hall before settling on you.
"You've been avoiding me."
You swallowed hard. "We're at work."
"Yeah. And you're still avoiding me."
Before you could argue, he shut the door. The click of it shutting echoed in the small room. Your pulse thundering.
"I can't stop thinking about it," he cut in, voice rough. "The other night. You. Us. I'm going insane."
Your back hit the shelf as he stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of you. Not touching, but caging you in, his breath warm against your skin.
"You think you're the only one losing their mind?" you whispered.
His jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to your lips. For a long, suspended moment, you swore he'd kiss you right there among the sticky notes and toner cartridges.
But instead, his forehead pressed against your neck, a groan slipping from his throat. His fingers flexed against the shelf like he was holding himself back by force.
"Not here," he muttered, ragged.
Your hands twitched at your sides, aching to pull him closer, but you forced yourself still. "Then don't start," you whispered back, though your voice betrayed the tremor of wanting otherwise.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he pushed back, running a hand through his hair with a curse.
"You're killing me," he said, and then he was gone—out the door before you could breathe again.
You slumped against the shelf, knees weak, heart pounding, the smell of him lingering in the air.
There was no pretending anymore. You were already in too deep.
The office was quiet, swallowed in that in-between hour when most people had already gone home but the lights still hummed overhead. You'd lost track of time, buried in reports, until you noticed just how still everything was.
When you looked up, Jungkook was still there. Across the room, his desk lamp glowed, casting shadows along his jaw as he typed.
He caught your eyes, and he gave you a small smile. "You're still working?"
You shrugged, pretending to be casual. "Deadlines."
He leaned back in his chair, stretching, the faintest groan escaping him. It pulled your gaze to the curve of his neck, the way his shirt stretched across his chest. God, you shouldn't be looking.
But then Jungkook was standing, slow steps carrying him across the office until he was beside your cubicle. He rested one hand on the partition wall, peering down at you.
"You work too hard," he said softly.
Something in his tone—low, warm, almost dangerous—sent a shiver racing through you. "Says the guy who hasn't left either."
A laugh escaped him, quiet and husky. His fingers brushed the edge of your desk, close enough that you swore you could feel the heat radiating from him.
It happened fast after that. The silence. The tension. His hand sliding from the desk to your chair, tugging you closer to him, then to stand.
You were face to face now, so close his breath ghosted your lips.
"Jungkook..." Your voice cracked, unsure if it was warning or plea.
"You drive me insane," he whispered. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn't stop himself.
It was desperate, heated. You gasped against his mouth, fingers clutching his shirt as he pressed you back against the cubicle wall. His tongue brushed yours, pulling a soft whimper from your throat, and he swallowed it like he'd been starving for it.
His hands were everywhere—sliding down your waist, gripping your hips, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel every hard line of him, and it made your head spin.
"God, we shouldn't be—" you whispered, but his lips cut you off, another kiss silencing the protest you didn't really mean.
One of his hands slid lower, fingertips grazing the edge of your thigh through your skirt, making your breath hitch. He groaned at the sound, deep and raw. He hiked up your thigh against his hip, groaning into your mouth when you instinctively pressed closer.
"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, voice ragged. "You're driving me insane."
His hips rolled into yours, the hard press of him making you whimper, heat sparking in your belly. He swallowed the sound greedily, deepening the kiss until you were dizzy.
Your hands roamed on their own—fisting his tie, sliding up his chest, brushing the back of his neck. Every muscle under your touch was taught.
"Jungkook, we can't—" You tried, but your voice broke when his lips left yours only to trail down your jaw, your throat, finding the spot just below your ear that made you shiver.
"We can," he whispered hotly against your skin. His teeth grazed lightly, just enough to make your breath stutter. "We shouldn't. But we can."
Your back arched against him when his hand slipped beneath the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting along your skin. Not quite daring. Not quite innocent. The promise of more.
You stared at him, lips swollen, pulse racing. You didn't trust yourself to speak, so you kissed him again instead—soft, desperate.
It was enough to break him. His grip on your thigh tightened, dragging you closer, his body pinning you. The kiss turned frantic, messy, his restraint slipping with every second.
And just as the line was about to snap.
"We should go," you said, even though neither of you moved.
He nodded, though his eyes screamed in protest.
The taste of him lingered on your tongue.
You didn't sleep much. Not after last night.
Every time you closed your eyes, you felt him again—his mouth on yours, the weight of his hand on your thigh.
And now you were here, back at your desk, trying not to look like someone whose world had tilted overnight.
The sounds of footsteps drew your attention. You glance up—and froze. Jungkook was walking toward you, two paper cups in his hands.
He set one on your desk without a word, his mouth curving into that small, devastating smile that made your stomach flip.
"Morning," he said softly, as if it was a secret just for you.
You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, hiding the stupid grin threatening to take over your face. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." His haze lingered, warm and unguarded in a way you weren't used to. It made your pulse skip.
He didn't move right away, either. Instead, he leaned casually against the edge of your cubicle, sipping his own drink like it was the most natural thing in the world. But his eyes—his eyes kept coming back to you, softening.
When the phone at his desk rang, he finally pushed off the wall with a reluctant sigh. "Guess I should take that." Then, with a flash of his dimple: "Save me a smile for later, yeah?"
Your cheeks heated. "You're ridiculous."
He winked before heading back to his desk.
When you ducked your head to hide a smile, you heard the quiet huff of his laugh across the room.
By lunch, your nerves were frayed in the best possible way. You'd barely opened your container when Jungkook appeared again, leaning a little too casually against the wall.
"Eat with me?" His voice was lower this time, careful, like the question held more weight than it should.
You hesitated, glancing around at the handful of coworkers still at their desks. "Here?
His eyes gleamed. "No. Upstairs. Rooftop's empty this time of day."
The rooftop air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain. You sat side by side on the ledge, lunch forgotten as conversation flowed easier than you expected.
He told you about his first disastrous week in IT—locking himself out of the very own system he was supposed to be fixing—and you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You told him about your strict professor in college, the once who once ripped up your paper in front of the class, and he shook his head, indignant on your behalf.
Somewhere in the middle of it, your knees brushed. Neither of you moved away.
Jungkook turned slightly, watching you.
"You know," he said after a moment, "I thought you hated me when we first met."
You laughed softly. "I didn't hate you. You just... made me nervous."
His brow quirked, intrigued. "Nervous?"
"Yeah." Your voice dropped without meaning to. "You're... a lot."
A slow grin spread across his face, but his eyes softened too. "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged, full of things you weren't saying but both of you felt.
When the wind picked up, you shivered. Jungkook noticed instantly, tugging his blazer off and holding it out.
You hesitated. "You'll be cold."
"Not as cold as you," he replied simply, his eyes steady on yours.
And when you finally slipped it on, the fabric warm from his body, he smiled like he'd just won something.
Jungkook had a look that was undeniably more than curiosity.
The next day, your phone buzzed.
You hadn't really expected to hear from him tonight.
"No. Wanna grab something? Nothing fancy. Just food."
You ended up at the same ramen shop. You stepped inside and the rich scent of broth wrapped around you like a hug.
Jungkook was already there, waving you over with a boyish grin. No tie, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy—off-duty Jungkook was a whole different kind of dangerous.
The food came quickly—two steaming bowls set between you, the broth bubbling hot. You picked up your chopsticks, but Jungkook leaned forward first, grabbing the soy sauce bottle and pouring some into your dish without asking.
"You make faces when it's too plain," he explained with a shrug.
You blinked. "You... noticed that?"
He gave you a look that made your cheeks warm. "I notice a lot."
The words hung there, heavy with meaning. You ducked your head, pretending to focus on your noodles, though your lips curves into an involuntary smile.
Dinner was easy. You talked about nothing and everything—the worst office snacks, his childhood obsession with arcade games, your guilty love for terrible reality TV. He laughed so hard he nearly choked when you admitted crying over a dating show finale.
And somewhere in the middle of it, you realized: you weren't nervous anymore. Not with him.
When the bill came, you reached for your wallet, but Jungkook's hand shot out, covering yours. His touch was warm.
"I've got it," he said firmly.
You tried to protest, but he shook his head, lips quirking.
Outside, the night air was cooler than you expected, a soft breeze carrying the faint buzz of the city. You lingered on the sidewalk, neither of you making the move to leave.
Jungkook shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked at you. Really looked.
"You know," he said slowly, "I wasn't sure you'd say yes."
Your brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't I?"
His smile was a little shy. "Because this doesn't feel... casual."
Your heart stumbled. The honesty in his tone knocked the air from your lungs.
"It doesn't," you admitted softly.
For a moment, you just stood there, the air charged between you. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for yours, but he stopped himself at the last second, shoving it deeper into his pocket.
"Come on," he said finally, his smile returning. "Let me walk you to your car."
It didn't take long for it to become routine.
Not officially, not something either of you ever talked about. But suddenly, Jungkook was there—slipping into your mornings, your evenings, your weekends—in all the little ways that mattered.
Monday: He was waiting outside the coffee shop across from the office, holding two cups. He handed one to you without a word, his grin bright against the gray morning.
"You remembered," you said, blinking down at your usual order.
"Of course I did," he teased. "How else am I supposed to stay your favorite IT guy?"
You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered the whole elevator ride up.
Wednesday: Lunch break. You tried to pull out your phone, but Jungkook was already standing by your cubicle.
"Lets go," he said simply, a spark in his eyes that made your pulse skip.
You ended up at a small bookstore a few blocks away. He wandered the aisles with you, pulling random titles just to make you laugh at his commentary. At one point, he caught you crouched in the romance section, cheeks pink as you tried to shove a book back.
He leaned close, murmuring low in your ear, "Didn't know you were into that kinda story."
You shoved his arm, flustered. "Shut up."
But his smirk lingered, along with the warmth of his breath against your skin.
Friday: You were curled up on your couch when your phone buzzed.
Two minutes later, your phone lit up with his name.
"Hey," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard. Sleepy, unguarded.
You talked for nearly an hour. About nothing—your favorite childhood cartoons, his old pet dog, the stupid little things you never thought you'd share someone at work.
At one point, the line went quiet, and you thought he'd fallen asleep.
But then he said quietly, almost to himself, "I like this. Talking to you."
Your chest squeezed, and you hugged a pillow closer, whispering back, "Me too."
Sunday: He asked if you wanted to "just hang out." He ended up at your house, shoulders brushing as you shared bites from each other's ramen bowls. He had broth on the corner of his lip, and without thinking, you reached to wipe it away with your thumb.
The air stilled. His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable.
He caught your hand, pressed it gently back to your lap, and whisper, "Careful. You're making it hard to behave."
Your heart didn't stop racing for the rest of the night.
By the time the new week began, it was undeniable.
It wasn't just sneaking glances across the office anymore. It wasn't just after-hours kisses and almost.
It was something real. Something growing.
And both of you were past the point of no return.
After a dinner date with Jungkook, the night had ended way too quickly. The way Jungkook leaned in close just to hear you better even when he didn't need to. It was simple, casual, yet so charged.
He pulled up outside your apartment, the street was quiet, washed in the glow of street lamps. Neither of you moved to unbuckle your seatbelts right away.
"Thanks for tonight," you said softly, turning to look at him.
His hand rested on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing. "You don't have to thank me. I... wanted to be here with you."
The words hung in the air.
You could feel the thrum of your pulse as you turned. His eyes flicked to your lips before darting away, as though he'd been caught doing something dangerous.
"Jungkook," you whispered.
His hand came up to your cheek, warm. He leaned across the console, closing the space between you in one decisive motion.
The kiss was instant heat—soft at first, almost hesitant, then deepening when you parted your lips for him. He groaned quietly against your mouth, and the sound went straight through you.
Your fingers curled into the collar of his jacket, tugging him closer even though there wasn't much room to begin with. His other hand slipped to your thigh, firm but not pushing too far, grounding you while still making your stomach flip.
When you finally broke apart, breaths uneven, he rested his forehead against yours.
"God," he murmured, voice low and wrecked. "I want to kiss you everyday."
Your chest swelled, every nerve alive. "Then don't stop."
His lips curved into a smile before he kissed you again—slower this time, lingering, like he had every intention of making good on your words.
Most of the staff had gone home, leaving only a handful of latecomers. You and Jungkook had lingered longer than you intended, both of you buried in minor IT issues and paperwork—but neither of you were in a rush to leave.
He was across the room, focused on his monitor, but you could feel his presence even from a distance. The warmth that lingered from the car kiss the other night made your chest ache in the best way.
"Hey," Namjoon's voice broke through your thoughts, making you jump. He was passing by, smirking as he glanced at the two of you. "Working late with IT again? Sounds... cozy."
Your cheeks heated instantly. You glanced at Jungkook, who gave a brief, casual shrug—like it was nothing. But something in the way he didn't even glance at Namjoon's teasing made your stomach twist.
"You okay?" Jungkook's voice was low when he came up beside you. His hand brushed yours lightly as he slid a file across your desk,
"Yeah," you muttered, trying to shake off the small sting. But the teasing had planted a tiny seed of frustration. He seemed so calm—so in control—while you were still tumbling over the other night.
Jungkook noticed. He always noticed.
Instead of brushing it off, he leaned closer, his shoulder just barely brushing yours. His warm presence pressed against you in the quiet office, grounding you. "You don't have to pretend," he murmured.
Your breath hitched. "Pretend what?"
"That this isn't... us," he said softly, letting his fingers graze yours under the edge of the desk. The contact was subtle.
You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. There was no teasing, no restraint. Only that quiet intensity that always made it impossible to think clearly.
"I don't want to hide," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled, enough to make you melt. "Good," he said. "Because neither do I."
The tension between you shifted in an instant. That tiny sting from Namjoon's joke dissolved, replaced by something heavier, hotter, and much harder to ignore.
For a moment, you simply stayed like that—shoulder to shoulder, fingers brushing, hearts racing—both of you acutely aware of how close you were to crossing a line.
"Let's finish up," he whispered, voice low and husky. "Then... maybe we don't wait until the car this time."
Your stomach flipped. That was a promise—and one you had no intention of questioning.
As the two of you wrapped up the last of the evening's work, you could feel the anticipation building, each glance, each accidental touch, each quiet brush of fingers. Whatever came next, it wouldn't be small.
And you didn't want it to be.
The walk from your car to his apartment felt impossibly short and impossibly long all at once. Your stomach fluttered in a way that made you nervous and excited, and the moment he opened the door, that familiar smile hit you like a spark.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside. The apartment smelled like him—something you could never forget.
You kicked off your shoes, and he closed the door behind you. There was no awkwardness, just the quiet hum of the city outside and the small distance between the two of you. His hand brushed yours as you stepped past him into the living room, and the electricity was immediate.
"Hey," he said, eyes roaming over you slowly. "You're early."
"I just... wanted to see you," you said, trying to sound casual. Your voice betrayed you.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, like he could hear your heart racing. "That's... a good enough reason," he murmured, taking a step closer. His fingers brushed against yours as he reached for a folder on the counter. The touch lingered just long enough to send shivers up your arm.
"Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?" he asked, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Sure," you said, following him to the small kitchen. He poured two mugs, handing one to you."
You carried the mugs to the couch, sitting down carefully—but not enough to avoid brushing thighs. You felt the heat spike instantly. He glanced at you, and that smirk told you he felt it too.
"Careful," he whispered, leaning closer so that your shoulders touched. "You're dangerously close to distracting me."
You laughed, heart hammering. "Distracting... how?"
He tilted his head, just enough that your foreheads nearly touched. "Like this," he murmured, his hands ghosting over yours on the armrest, fingers twining with yours. "Like... wanting to do this forever, but having to wait."
Your breath hitched. Every nerve in your body was alive. He leaned back slightly, just to tease, but his knee stayed pressed against yours, brushing every so often. The tension built with every tiny touch, every lingering gaze.
You leaned in, catching his jaw with your hand, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palm. He mirrored you, tilting his face closer, lips brushing your temple, teasing your ear with a soft whisper: "You have no idea what you do to me."
Your heart raced. You shifted slightly, pressing your thigh just a little closer to his. He responded immediately, the friction making you both tense.
"Do I want to?" You asked.
"Yes," he answered softly, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss. Heat spread through you instantly. His hands roamed over your waist, tracing the curve of your hips, reverent but demanding.
Your hands tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip just enough to make you gasp. Every brush, every touch, every press of his body against yours made your heart pound faster.
You felt his fingers slip beneath your shirt, tracing the line of your spine, worshipping every inch of you. You tugged at his shirt in return, hands roaming over his chest, memorizing the muscle and warmth beneath your fingers.
He shifted closer, hands sliding along your sides, your stomach, over your chest. Every touch was deliberate, reverent, making you arch into him.
He helped you out of your jacket, then your top, each piece discarded slowly, as if savoring it. He placed gentle kisses along your shoulders, your neck, whispering your name with a voice thick with desire. You mirrored him, exploring him reverently, hands gliding over skin, muscle, hair.
You worshipped each other—lips, hands, bodies intertwined, gasping and moaning together, tangled and dripping with need as you feel every inch of him. Every whisper, every bite, every single hold he had on you was full of unrelenting desire.
When the intensity finally ebbed, you both collapsed into each other, panting and trembling. Foreheads pressed together, fingers intertwined, every inch of you still humming with fire. Jungkook brushed your hair back, lips brushing your temple.
"I've wanted this... wanted you... for so long," he murmured, low and raw."
"Me too," you whispered back. "So long."
You lay there together, spent, wrapped in the heat of each other's bodies, knowing this was only the beginning of something far deeper than desire.
Sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, painting Jungkook's apartment in warm gold. You stirred half-buried under his arm, his chest warm beneath your cheek. The night before lingered in your mind like a wild fire—every kiss, every touch, every whispered word of need.
He shifted slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. "Morning," he murmured, voice still husky from sleep and... everything else.
You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Morning," you whispered back, nuzzling closer. Your fingers traced patterns on his arm, memorizing his tattoos.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and full of contentment. "I think you should officially be mine forever," he said, voice gentle but firm. "I don't want to hide this anymore."
Your heart fluttered. "Neither do I," you replied. Tangling your fingers with his.
The two of you lingered in quiet comfort, the kind of silence that didn't need words. Every brush of skin, every squeeze of fingers, every soft kiss felt like confirmation—this was real.
Eventually, he sat up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Coffee?" he asked, playful, though there was still that lingering intimacy in his gaze.
You laughed softly. "Definitely. But you're making it," you teased.
He leaned down, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips before heading to the kitchen in nothing but boxers. You stayed wrapped in the warmth of the bed, watching him, feeling that easy happiness you hadn't realized you'd been craving,
It was simple. It was tender. It was you and him.
Just the two of you, finally together, finally whole.
a/n : whewww! I absolutely loved writing this out! so sorry it's kind of long, but I'm a binge reader myself soooo,, do you guys like this kind of stuff ? I can start breaking things up and post shorter chapters for future work? pls give me some feedback! I'm so new to this stuff and want to make sure it's not boring and dragging to you guys! - Mely <3
