Chololate Reignz

You noticed.

And so did Jungkook.

“Do you still have that dog?” you asked, trying to hide the heat rising in your body.

“I do,” Tae said, then added with a small smirk, “But what I want in my apartment tonight… is something else.”

You froze for a second.

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. The wine tasted stronger now, and your skin felt hypersensitive. You swallowed hard and looked away, but Jungkook’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“You’re teasing her, hyung,” he said in that low, velvety voice. “And she loves being teased.”

Your heart was racing. Jungkook’s words were a confession. Or maybe… an invitation.

Taehyung bit his bottom lip, his gaze locked on yours. His eyes darkened. He leaned in — slow, confident, dangerous — in that sexy, sleepy way only he could manage. His legs shifted, knee brushing against yours, and he didn’t move back.

“I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “But… I do want it.”

You inhaled sharply. The air was electric. Jungkook’s lips brushed your ear.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? He always has been. I knew it got to you when he got too close…”

You bit your lip, unsure what to say. And then Jungkook tilted your face toward him gently.

“It’s okay. I like watching.” He smiled — dark and teasing. “But there’s one condition.”

“What?” you whispered, already breathless.

He looked past you, right at Taehyung, and said:

“You kiss him first. Then I’ll kiss him too.”

Your eyes widened. Your body responded before your brain could.

And Taehyung was already reaching for you — fingers slipping behind your neck, eyes locked on yours — and you let yourself go, because there was no way to resist.

The kiss was slow. Deep. His lips were soft but hungry. Taehyung kissed like he had all the time in the world to taste you. His hands slid along your thighs, pulling you gently toward him, and for a moment, you almost forgot Jungkook was still there.

But he was.

And when your kiss with Tae ended, it was Jungkook who cupped Tae’s jaw and leaned in.

You gasped.

And they kissed.

Slow. Passionate. Messy. Jungkook’s fingers tangled in Tae’s hair while Tae’s hand rested on Jungkook’s cheek. Tongues met. Eyes closed. Their mouths moved together like they’d done it before. Like they wanted to do it again.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them turned their gaze to you.

“You ready, baby?” Jungkook whispered, pulling you onto his lap. “Because this… this is just the beginning.”

Taehyung moved closer, fingers already lifting your skirt, eyes locked on your thighs.

Your hands were shaking. Your breathing uneven. And deep down, you knew this night would change everything.

And you wanted it.

You wanted both of them.

The couch was too small for what was about to happen.

Jungkook lifted you into his arms, strong and certain, while Taehyung trailed behind, hands already tugging at the hem of your dress. You felt dizzy — your body electric, mind foggy, but hyper-aware of both of them. Every breath. Every stare.

Jungkook dropped you gently onto Taehyung’s bed — crisp sheets, soft pillows — and you barely had time to adjust before he was crawling over you, eyes dark with hunger.

Taehyung’s voice came low behind him.

— Strip her.

Jungkook obeyed.

He pulled your dress over your head in one fluid motion, tossing it to the side. Then his hands gripped the waistband of your panties, dragging them down slowly, eyes locked on your core. His tongue peeked out against his lip as he inhaled.

— 미쳤다… — he muttered. “Fucking perfect.”

— 벌써 젖었네… — Tae rasped from behind, kneeling on the bed now, fingertips brushing along your thighs. “Already dripping. You’re really our little slut tonight, huh?”

You whimpered.

Slut. You loved it.

Especially in his voice. Especially when Jungkook was spreading your legs wider, licking a slow stripe up your folds.

— Look at you, baby… all wet and open for us — Jungkook whispered, mouth ghosting over your pussy. — You like hearing us talk to you like that? You like being our little thing?

Your voice came out as a moan.

Tae’s hand came down hard on your ass — a loud smack echoing through the room.

— 대답해, 걸레야.

“Answer, fucking slut.”

Your back arched. The pain mixed with the heat made your whole body tremble.

— Yes… yes, I love it — you breathed. — Hit me again.

They didn’t hesitate.

SMACK. Taehyung on one side.

SMACK. Jungkook’s palm right after, sharp and strong.

— Such a good little thing for us… letting us use your body like this — Tae whispered, crawling up until his cock was brushing your lips. — Open that pretty mouth. Show me how filthy you are.

You wrapped your lips around him, moaning as you felt Jungkook’s tongue press deeper inside your cunt, wet and messy and overwhelming.

They moved in sync. One filling your throat, one devouring your pussy. And your body couldn’t keep up.

Jungkook’s fingers slipped in — thick and curling — and he groaned when you clenched.

— So tight… fuck, she’s gonna take us both like this? You think she can, hyung?

Tae let out a dark chuckle, brushing your cheek.

— She will. She’s our little 미친년 now. Just a cock-hungry brat begging for more.

Your eyes rolled back.

You wanted it. Needed it.

When Taehyung pulled out of your mouth, he gave your cheek a soft slap.

— Turn over. Ass up, baby. Time to wreck you properly.

You obeyed, hands clutching the sheets as both of them positioned behind you. Jungkook’s cock slid in first — thick and deep — making you cry out. He stayed still for a second, groaning against your back.

— Fuck, she’s squeezing me so tight…

Then came Taehyung.

One hand spreading your cheeks. The other gripping your hair. And slowly, he pushed in too.

The stretch burned. It was overwhelming.

And you loved it.

Their cocks pressed inside you, tight, filling every inch. Their moans overlapping with your cries. Jungkook kissed your shoulder while Taehyung leaned down to bite your neck, both of them thrusting now, in sync, fucking you harder with every breath.

— You love being full, don’t you, baby? — Jungkook hissed.

— 다 너꺼야. All this cock for you. — Tae growled.

SMACK. Another slap on your ass.

SMACK. And another. Your skin was stinging, your mind spiraling.

They were using you, praising you, ruining you.

— Such a good fucking girl…

— Our filthy angel…

— Pretty whore…

— Tight little heaven…

You were shaking, overstimulated, tears at the corners of your eyes, but your hips kept grinding back for more.

They were everywhere.

Kissing. Spanking. Whispering. Thrusting.

You didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

All you knew was that you were theirs. And they weren’t going to stop until you were screaming their names.

— F-Fuck… I can’t— I’m gonna—

— Go ahead, baby. Come for us — Jungkook rasped into your neck, hips pounding into you like he needed to brand himself into your bones.

— That’s it… cry for it. 미친년, you sound so fucking pretty like this — Taehyung growled in your ear, one hand planted on your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Your brain was gone.

Your body was shaking.

Two cocks stuffing you full, stretching you open, overwhelming every nerve ending until you were gasping, crying out.

Sweat dripped. Skin clashed. The sheets were twisted beneath your knees.

Jungkook was whispering filth in one ear while Taehyung licked at the other.

— Look at you, fucking drooling. You love this, don’t you?

— Our little slut… dripping from both holes. That’s right, take it. Take it all.

You couldn’t think.

You could only feel.

And then it hit — white-hot, violent, earth-shattering.

— I-I’m— oh my god— I’m cumming—!

Your whole body went rigid.

The orgasm tore through you, loud and messy, tears spilling from your eyes as your walls clamped around them both.

— Fuck, she's cumming— she's fucking squeezing me, hyung—! — Jungkook gasped, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

— Don’t stop. Stay inside her, — Taehyung grunted, his voice strained, cock twitching inside you.

You were already collapsing when they came.

Jungkook buried himself deep, moaning your name, his hips jerking against yours as he spilled everything inside.

Taehyung followed with a long, breathless curse in Korean, gripping your hips hard, grinding into you as he released, cock pulsing alongside Jungkook’s inside your overstimulated body.

You were wrecked.

Your body went limp, head buried in the pillow, cum dripping down your thighs.

But you were smiling.

Completely full. Used. Loved.

Jungkook leaned forward first, brushing sweaty hair from your face and kissing your temple.

— You did so fucking good, baby… fuck. You were made for this.

Taehyung pulled out slowly, groaning as he kissed your back.

— Our dirty little angel… so pretty with our cum leaking out of her.

You whimpered softly, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs were trembling, but you still managed to smile.

— I’m… so destroyed.

— And absolutely perfect — Jungkook said, rolling you gently onto your side.

The three of you lay there together, tangled and sticky, breathing hard.

Taehyung snuggled up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

Jungkook kissed your lips softly — again and again — before turning to Taehyung and kissing him, too.

Slow. Gentle. Like it meant something.

— We should do this again — Tae murmured against your shoulder, fingers lazily tracing your skin.

— Not tonight — you laughed sleepily, eyes barely open. — Tonight… I just wanna sleep between you both.

Jungkook chuckled.

— Princess has spoken.

— And we obey — Taehyung whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.

And in the warm, tangled heat of your bodies — sweaty, marked, satisfied — you all drifted off together.

Spent.

Sticky.

Happy.

The sunlight filtered through the ancient oaks and beeches like liquid gold, dappling the carpet of bluebells that stretched endlessly beneath our feet. Richmond Park, just outside London, had been the perfect choice for today’s outing on our honeymoon. A week since we said “I do,” and every single hour still felt like a dream I never wanted to wake from.

My wife walked a few steps ahead of me, the soft yellow summer dress clinging to her body in all the ways that made my blood run hot. The fabric hugged her full breasts, cinched at her waist before flowing over the generous curve of her hips and thick thighs. The tiered ruffles swayed with each step, brushing against her skin. Her long, wavy brown hair cascaded down her back, catching the light. She turned slightly, smiling at me over her shoulder, and my heart slammed against my ribs.

Fuck. I can’t control myself.

I was already painfully hard, the front of my trousers tight as I watched her. She looked like a goddess , my goddess. Every curve, every soft inch of her thick, beautiful body was made to be worshipped. I wanted to drop to my knees right here among the blueballs I was having and bury my face between her thighs until she screamed my name.

“Y/N, baby,” I called softly, catching up to her. My hand slid around her waist, fingers sinking into the plush give of her hip. She leaned into me instantly, her body fitting perfectly against mine.

“Another picture?” she asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I pulled out my phone, but my hands were unsteady. She posed against a tree, one hand on her waist, the other playing with her hair, chest pushed forward just enough that the tie at the front of her dress strained. The neckline dipped low, showing the soft swell of her cleavage. I took several shots, zooming in shamelessly.

“You’re killing me,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” she teased.

“Nothing.” I stepped close, brushing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her temple. My hand stayed on her lower back, thumb stroking the curve there. “You look unreal. Like you were made for me.”

She blushed, biting her lip. That little gesture nearly undid me.

We walked hand in hand for a while longer, stopping to admire the wildflowers and the deer grazing in the distance. But every time her dress shifted or she laughed, the sound low and warm, my mind filled with filthy images her thighs wrapped around my head, her breasts bouncing as I thrust into her, the way her belly would jiggle softly when I gripped her hips.

The heat of the afternoon sun only made it worse. Sweat glistened lightly on her collarbones. I needed her. Now.

“Y/N, baby… should we head back to the hotel?” I asked, voice low and rough as I brushed my fingers along her spine.

She tilted her head, looking up at me with those big, innocent eyes. “Why? So soon? We haven’t even reached the other side of the woods yet.”

“It’s getting hot,” I lied smoothly, pulling her closer so she could feel exactly how hot I was. My erection pressed against her hip. “We can rest, eat something… come back tomorrow when it’s cooler.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Okay. If you say so, husband.”

The word husband on her tongue sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

The cab ride back to our luxury hotel in central London was torture. My hand stayed high on her thigh the entire time, hidden under the hem of her dress, fingers tracing lazy circles on her soft skin. She squeezed her thighs together, but I could see the flush creeping up her neck.

The moment the hotel door clicked shut behind us, I was on her.

I grabbed her waist and pulled her against me, crashing my lips to hers in a hungry kiss. She moaned into my mouth, her hands immediately sliding into my hair, tugging gently the way I loved. I walked her backwards toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, tongues sliding together wet and desperate.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” I growled against her lips. “Walking around looking like that… this dress hugging every fucking curve…”

I lifted her effortlessly into my arms. She gasped, legs wrapping around my waist instinctively.

“Taehyung! I’m heavy , put me down!”

I silenced her with another deep kiss, carrying her straight to the king-sized bed. “You’re perfect. Don’t you dare say that again.” I laid her down gently, then climbed over her, caging her in with my body.

Her eyes were already hazy with need, sparkling under the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring her taste. Then I moved lower kissing her jaw, her neck, the swell of her breasts straining against the yellow fabric.

I slipped her white heels off one by one, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her ankles, calves, and up to her inner thighs. She squirmed, thighs parting for me. I sucked gentle marks into the soft flesh there, close but not quite where she wanted me.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered reverently, pushing the hem of her dress higher. I kissed her soft belly, tongue tracing the curve of it. “My goddess. My wife. Every inch of you…” I dragged my mouth upward, nuzzling between her breasts. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

With trembling fingers, I untied the little bow at the front of her dress. The fabric parted easily. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her full, heavy breasts spilled out, pink nipples already hard. I groaned at the sight.

I worshipped them like they deserved kissing, licking, sucking one nipple into my mouth while my hand kneaded the other. She arched her back, moaning my name, fingers tight in my hair. I switched sides, lavishing the same attention, leaving faint love bites on the undersides of her breasts.

“Taehyung… please…” she whimpered.

I slid lower, hooking my fingers into her panties and pulling them down her thick thighs. Her pussy was glistening, swollen and ready. I spread her legs wider, pressing my mouth to her without warning. She cried out, hips bucking against my face as I licked broad stripes up her folds, sucking her clit between my lips.

I lost myself in her tongue fucking into her tight heat, nose buried against her mound, hands gripping her plush thighs to hold her open. She tasted divine. Sweet, addictive. I hummed against her, the vibrations making her tremble.

“Baby—I’m gonna cum—” she gasped, grinding desperately against my tongue.

“Cum for me, my pretty wife,” I growled, doubling my efforts. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right. Her walls clenched hard around me as she came with a broken moan, thighs shaking around my head. I kept licking her through it, gentler now, until she was panting and oversensitive.

I pulled back, lips shiny with her arousal, and quickly shed my shirt and pants. My cock strained against my boxers, a large wet spot already soaking through from how much I’d leaked for her. She reached for me, rubbing her clit lazily as she watched.

“Put it in, please…” she begged, voice husky.

I leaned down to kiss her pussy one more time, then freed my aching cock. It was thick, flushed dark, veins prominent. I rubbed the head through her slick folds, coating myself in her wetness, teasing her entrance.

Then I pushed in slow, inch by inch.

We both moaned loudly as I bottomed out, buried to the hilt in her tight, velvety heat. She felt like heaven. Like home. Her walls fluttered around me, gripping me perfectly.

I kissed her softly, staying still for a moment to let her adjust. Then I started moving deep, slow thrusts that gradually became more desperate. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the room, wet and filthy. I watched her breasts bounce with every thrust, watched the way her belly and thighs jiggled so beautifully.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I groaned, leaning down to capture her lips again. I loved fucking her in missionary because I could kiss her the whole time. I switched to her favorite side position, spooning behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, hand cupping her breast while the other rubbed tight circles on her clit.

She came again like that, crying out my name, pussy spasming around my cock. The feeling pushed me closer to the edge.

I flipped her onto her back once more, thrusting harder, deeper, feral now. My hips snapped against her ass, balls slapping wetly. I pressed soft pecks to her lips between thrusts, whispering praises.

“You’re mine… my beautiful wife… taking my cock so well… I love you so fucking much…”

Her nails dug into my back. “I love you too—oh god, Taehyung—”

My rhythm faltered. I buried my face in her neck and came hard, long, deep thrusts spilling rope after rope of cum inside her. I kept moving through it, filling her until it leaked out around my cock.

We stayed locked together, breathing heavily, exchanging lazy kisses.

After a while, I pulled out gently and rolled us so she was lying on my chest. My hands stroked her back, her hips, her thighs unable to stop touching her.

“You’re everything to me, Y/N,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My goddess. My wife. I’m going to spend the rest of our lives worshipping you like this.”

She smiled sleepily against my skin, tracing patterns on my chest.

The afternoon sun dipped lower outside our window, but inside, time didn’t matter. We had forever.

They stop at the porch. A woman’s voice—calm, warm—says there’s a ramp and I feel relief like a physical thing sliding across my shoulders. She jokes with Pete about an elevator I wouldn’t have noticed. When she smiles at me, something that’s been hollow and raw eases an inch, like a wound held to the sun.

Inside, my crutches echo on tile. The kitchen smells like cooked things I can’t name and something gentle that might be safety. She presses a hidden panel and a small elevator opens like it has been waiting. I let myself be guided, one careful step at a time, up to the third floor where doors line a quiet hall.

My name on a plaque makes my mouth go dry. A paw print sits under the letters like proof that someone already cared enough to mark me as belonging. The room is bare and clean, the edges soft with possibility. She tells me I can paint, decorate, make it mine. The words are heavier than any blanket I’ve known.

She says Taehyung understands, that he was owned by the same people: the breath catches in my throat, a cold electricity of recognition. I see a ghost of the past there—how small I was, how loud the cages, how the chain cut—but then she points to the connecting door and says knock if I need someone. The idea of a knock feels like a lifeline.

Pete places my duffel on the chest. The meds fuzz the edges of my thinking; a softness tucks into my limbs. I try to form sentences but the syllables fall out like small stones. “Thank you,” comes out quieter than I planned. It is true.

She says she’ll come back in the morning, or eight, or whenever. Pete reminds me he’s around. They leave. The porch light clicks off and the house exhales. I am alone with the hollow of my bones and the steady beat of my heart.

I settle onto the bed. The mattress is firm in the way that feels honest. I ease the crutches against the wall and pull the blanket up. My tail—stiff and foreign from lack of touch—finds its way over my arm, curling in on itself like a reflex. For the first time in a long time, I notice my breathing slow on purpose and not because I had to.

Taehyung’s room is on the other side of the connecting door. I press my palm to the wood, feeling the faint warmth on the other side, imagining footsteps, a presence. I don’t know what the future will be, or how long the nights will tremble, but right now the walls are quiet and my body is allowed to rest.

Sleep comes soft, like someone drawing a curtain. Sound blurs into a comfortable distance; the ache in my leg becomes background static. Images spatter across my mind—faces, a kitchen that smelled like hope, a paw print on a plaque—and then the world closes to the simple, small fact of being here.

I fall asleep thinking, for the first time in a long while, that maybe I can stay.

He leaned back in his chair, the café around you fading into background noise as he processed everything you’d just unloaded on him. Eventually, he let out a low breath and ran a hand through his perfect blonde pompadour.

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he finally said, shaking his head. “You’ve been living in a fucking soap opera.”

You winced, your knuckles turning white around your ceramic mug. “I know how it sounds out loud. Okay? It’s insane.”

​Jimin leaned back, his chair scraping against the tiles. He just stared at you for a long, torturous second.

​“No, it’s beautiful prose, really,” he said, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Not unhinged at all that you’ve been sleeping with your boyfriend’s best friend for a consecutive calendar year. Not unhinged that it continued after the breakup. And certainly not unhinged that you’ve been running a masterclass in espionage just to introduce him to me as your ‘supposed’ boyfriend.”

​He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “But my favorite part? The piece de résistance? You two supposedly despise each other. Correct?”

​“Can you keep your voice down?” you hissed, shooting a panicked glance at the adjacent tables.

​Jimin raised an eyebrow, but the sharp edge of his posture softened slightly as he caught the tremor in your hands, the glassy threat of tears in your eyes. Still, he didn’t let you off the hook. “No. You don’t get to hide behind a low volume. Sit with it. You built this circus, own the monkeys.”

​He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled blonde hair. “Jesus. I need something significantly stronger than espresso for this,” he muttered, glaring at his cup. You could practically hear the gears in his brain grinding as he tried to untangle the web you’d just dumped in his lap.

​When he looked back up, the playfulness was gone, replaced by a sharp, protective look. “And of all the timelines… you choose now to drop this on me?”

​You swallowed hard, bracing yourself. “I wasn’t finished explaining—”

​“You’re pregnant,” Jimin deadpanned, his eyes going wide as saucepans.

​“No! God, no, thank God,” you rushed out, the words tumbling over each other. “I panicked, but my period started. We’re clear.”

​Jimin visibly deflated, slumping back against the leather booth with a massive exhale. “Okay. Okay, crisis averted. You’re bleeding. When was the last time you actually saw Jungkook?”

​The question caught you entirely off guard, flying straight past your internal filter. “Like… a few days ago?”

​Jimin blinked. Then, a slow, insufferable smirk began to crawl across his face as the math clicked in his head. He didn’t even have to say it, the implication that you and Jungkook were intimate anyway hung heavily in the air.

​Before he could open his mouth to terrorize you, you slammed your hand on the table. “Do not. Do not make fun of me. I am fighting for my life here, Jimin. Just let me finish.”

​Jimin raised his hands in a mocking surrender, though the smirk remained firmly in place. “The floor is yours, counselor. Proceed.”

​You took a ragged breath, trying to organize the chaos in your head.

​“It’s not just me playing the villain behind Minho’s back. It’s… it’s a disaster of our own making. I met Jungkook before Minho. There was a spark. A massive one. But I panicked, I didn’t want to give Jungkook that kind of leverage over me, knowing he was the only one who could—”

​​“—The only one who actually knows how to get you off? Got it,” Jimin interrupted smoothly.

​You glared at him with the force of a thousand suns. “If you interrupt me one more time, I’m pouring this macchiato on your lap.”

​“Alright, alright, cupcake. Weapon dropped,” he said, though his eyes were still dancing with amusement.

​“My relationship with Minho was dead on arrival,” you continued, your voice dropping into a quieter, more exhausted register. “It was supposed to be a harmless fling. Two, maybe three months. Somehow it dragged into a year. By month five, we weren’t even kissing anymore. Whatever fire we were trying to kindle was completely out.”

Jimin nodded slowly, his amusement finally fading. “So we’re officially establishing that Minho is a footnote?”

You breathed out, thinking for a second. “I… I don’t really know. No, I don’t like him. I never had feelings for him. He’s just… not the nicest person at times. But... I’m not either, so I can’t be a hypocrite about it.”

You paused, then added quietly, “There was this one time he called me a bitch as a ‘joke’ in front of his friends. Now that I think about it, that’s all there ever was. Minho does things just to impress the people around him. He’s never really been his own person. He doesn’t have a backbone.”

You swallowed, the next part harder to say.

“And now I found out… he got drunk at an afterparty and rambled to a bunch of seniors. Told them I sleep around. Called me a whore.”

Jimin’s entire demeanor shifted. The residual smirk vanished instantly, his features hardening into something icy. “He said what? Are you serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” you said, shaking your head. “Really, Jimin, if I’m being honest… it makes me want to hide for the rest of the semester.”

You let out a bitter scoff. “With the way he said it and how people have been treating me lately, even some of my own sorority sisters, you’d think a sex tape of me banging the entire campus came out.”

Jimin looked genuinely pissed, more angry than you’d felt when you first heard it. You gave a weak shrug. Jimin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Does Jungkook know about this?”

“I’m getting there,” you said. “Lina told me about the rumors—”

​“Don’t like her. Sneaky,” Jimin cut in automatically.

​You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Well, she’s basically my only on-campus friend right now, so I’m grading on a curve.”

​“Your taste in people is atrocious,” he said flatly, but his eyes softened when he saw the strain on your face. “Sorry. Keep going. What did Jungkook do?”

You took a breath.

“I didn’t even have to tell Jungkook. Turns out he already knew about the rumors.” You laughed bitterly. “He knew. I don’t know for how long, but he was suddenly so distant with me. Nothing like how he was when we were together in my penthouse. He cornered me, demanded I decide right then and there what my real intentions with him were… and I got overwhelmed. I told him I needed time to think. That I didn’t know who I could trust anymore, and I walked away.”

​Jimin sat in silence, absorbing the weight of it. The charm, it all melted away, leaving only the fierce, protective friend underneath.

​“Let’s look at the chessboard from his perspective,” Jimin said slowly, picking his words carefully. “You’ve been hooking up in secret for months. You let him into your penthouse, a place you don’t let anyone into. You’re comfortable enough to be deeply intimate with him, but the exact second he asks you to put a name on it? To claim him? You pull the emergency brake and demand space.”

​He shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him.

​“If I’m him? I feel like a well kept secret. I feel used. Like I’m a great dopamine hit when you’re lonely, but the moment things get heavy, you shut the door in my face.”

​You kept your eyes glued to the table, unable to look at him.

​“But here’s the part that worries me,” Jimin continued, his voice dropping an octave. “Jungkook isn’t a victim here either. If he’s capable of turning that ice cold, that fast, after everything you’ve shared? That’s a massive red flag. Minho was a generic, predictable asshole. But a guy who can switch from burning hot to absolute zero just to punish you? That kind of whiplash will destroy you.”

​He reached across the small table, his fingers gently but firmly wrapping around yours, forcing you to stop tracing the rim of your cup.

“You deserve better than being someone’s emotional convenience. Whether that’s Minho spreading rumors… or Jungkook making you question everything every time he pulls away.”

You felt your throat tighten. Jimin’s eyes were steady on yours.

​“So let’s strip away the noise. Do you actually want something real with him? Or are you just terrified of being alone in the wreckage?”

​You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hand back to wipe your cheek. “I don’t think he was trying to punish me. He was just… raw. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have cornered me. He would have just walked away entirely, right?”

Jimin tilted his head, considering.

“That’s another possibility, yeah. He was probably confused. You’re not letting him in as much as he thought you were.” He paused, then gave you a pointed look. “You’re deviating, by the way.”

You only looked at him. Jimin didn’t let up, his stare pinning you to the back of your chair. “You haven’t answered my question. Do you actually want something real with Jungkook?”

The double glass doors of the pavilion clicked shut behind you, cutting off the low hum of the café and the suffocating weight of Jimin’s stare. You hadn’t given him a straight answer. Honestly, you didn’t have one to give.

​The café was nestled on the ground floor, a soaring glass complex that housed corporate offices, and luxury residential penthouses on the upper tiers. It was a playground for the city’s elite, which meant it was entirely too familiar.

​The problem with a place like this was that you couldn’t move five feet without running into the ghosts of your dad’s reputation. The lifestyle editors, the venture capitalists flowing through the lobby, they all knew your face. More importantly, they knew your father’s name, and they certainly knew your mother’s legacy.

​Desperate to escape before someone recognized you and dragged you into a suffocatingly polite conversation...How is your father? Give him our best, darling, we must do dinner soon...you pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders and hurried toward the revolving doors, eyes glued to the polished marble floor. You were practically sprinting through the crowd, an invisible clock ticking in your head.

​You were so focused on escaping that you didn’t see the shadow crossing your path until it was too late.

​Your shoulder collided heavily with someone else’s, the impact jarring enough to make you stumble backward, your purse slipping down your arm.

​“Watch where you’re—” the voice started, sharp and irritated, before cutting off instantly.

​You steadied yourself, looking up with an apology already on your tongue, only for the words to freeze in your throat. Of all the people in this city, of all the buildings, and of all the catastrophic timing.

...Ira?

She was holding a baby carrier in one hand and a diaper bag in the other, looking equally surprised.

“Well, shit,” she said, breaking into a grin. “Fate’s got jokes today.”

You let out a tired, breathless laugh. “Apparently. What are you doing here?”

​“Babysitting gig for some stinking rich couple on the thirtieth floor. They’re out for the night and apparently couldn’t be bothered to deal with their own kid.” She rolled her eyes, shifting the heavy plastic baby carrier to her other hand. “You?”

​“Long story,” you said, glancing back toward the café doors as if Jimin might materialize to finish his interrogation. “Mind if I tag along? I could seriously use the distraction.”

​Ira’s grin widened, a spark of genuine relief in her eyes. “Please. I was already dreading pulling a twelve hour shift in a ghost town alone.”

​The apartment upstairs was exactly what you expected, upper tier and all. Inside the entryway, Ira set the carrier down carefully on a marble bench. The little girl strapped inside, maybe eight months old, blinked up at you with big, glassy, curious eyes.

​Ira unbuckled the straps and scooped the kid up, then turned to you with a mischievous glint. “Here. Hold her for a second.”

​Before you could protest, you found your arms full of baby. You held her awkwardly, your elbows stiff as you tried to find the balance between crushing her and dropping her. The infant immediately grabbed a fistful of your sweater, her tiny knuckles burying into the fabric.

​Ira watched you, leaning against the kitchen island with a smirk. “Still hate babies?”

​The question instantly dragged you back to the leather chairs of the tattoo salon, the suffocating weight of the pregnancy scare and the ridiculous conversation that had somehow ended with the two of you bonding over a shared counter.

​“Not at all,” you muttered, adjusting your grip so the kid’s head didn’t flop. “Just… highly unpracticed.”

​“It’s weird, right? We keep bonding over the topic of infants for some reason,” Ira noted, tossing the diaper bag onto a nearby chair.

​“Maybe it’s fate,” she suggested dryly, grinning.

​“God, I hope not.”

​At the sound of your voice, the baby in your arms widened her eyes. You looked down, and she let out an exasperated, high pitched little sound, the kind of breathless giggle babies make when they haven’t figured out how to express excitement yet.

“So… what brings you here?” Ira asked, setting the baby carrier down and fixing one of its crooked legs.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you said, bouncing the baby gently.

Ira snickered. “Told ya. Babysitting gig.”

You looked between her and the baby. “I didn’t peg you as the private-nanny-to-the-upper-one-percent sort.” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s because I’m not.” She crossed one leg over the other. “The thing is, I’ve been looking after aida since she was practically born. At this point, I’m more involved in raising her than her actual parents. They’re rich as hell, sure, and they pay my tuition without blinking, but… it’s still fucking sad.”

You glanced down at baby aida in your arms, watching her tiny fingers clutch at your shirt, her thumb tucked into her mouth.

“You know… I was a baby exactly like that once,” you said quietly.

Ira raised an eyebrow. “No shit? Your parents pulled the same stunt?”

“Yeah,” you replied, voice softer.

Ira waited for a second, her expression open, expecting the rest of the story. But you kept your lips pressed together, offering nothing else. You weren’t ready to unpack the baggage of your parents. Not now, and honestly, maybe not ever.

To her credit, Ira didn’t push. She didn’t make the silence awkward or clinical. Instead, she just reached over and gently slid her hands under aida’s arms, lifting the baby out of your stiff lap.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ira said, sincere but light. “But you turned out fine though.”

She lifted the baby up, blowing a loud raspberry into her little stomach. little aida squealed with delight, tiny legs kicking happily.

“So we still have hope for this little one, don’t we?” Ira laughed.

You couldn’t help but smile. When you scrunched your nose playfully at baby aida, she let out another high pitched squeal, reaching for your face. You cooed back at her softly, the sound surprising even you.

For a few minutes, the noise in your head completely stopped. In it’s place remained the rhythmic babbling of an eight month old.

​Then you remembered the time. You glanced at your phone, clearing your throat. “I should probably get going in a few—”

​“But you just walked in,” Ira cut in, her head tilting as she lowered Aida back onto her lap.

​The playful warmth in her expression shifted, replaced by a sudden, razor sharp curiosity.

​“And boy,” Ira smirked, her eyes locking onto yours with absolute relish, “do I have a mountain of questions for you.”

​You stiffened, your posture going rigid against the couch.

​Ira’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the way you’ve instantly frozen up. She leaned forward, lowering her voice just enough to make it lethal.

​“So… how’s Jungkook?”

You rolled your eyes, your mood souring instantly at the mention of him. “How would I know?” you muttered, looking away.

Ira watched you carefully, her teasing expression softening just a little. “Ah. So trouble in paradise?”

“There was never a paradise,” you let out a dry, tired laugh. “Just… really good sex and a whole lot of confusion after.”

Ira grinned, unable to stop herself.

“Well, at least the sex was good,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “If you’re gonna get emotionally wrecked by a guy, you might as well get some mind blowing orgasms out of it, right? Silver linings.”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands, but a reluctant laugh slipped out anyway. “Ira.”

“What? I’m just saying. If Jungkook’s the one ruining your peace, at least he’s doing it with good dick. That’s more than most people get.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, cheeks burning. “For one, in order to be emotionally wrecked, I’d have to actually care,” you shot back, struggling to sound casual. “Which I don’t. So no, my peace isn’t ruined.”

Ira gave you a long, unimpressed look. “Right,” she said flatly.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you giving me that look?”

“How long are you going to keep lying to yourself, Y/n?”

You looked around the opulent living room in exaggerated shock, throwing your hands up as if searching the crown molding for the sheer audacity she had just dropped so casually into the conversation.

“We’re all girls here anyway,” Ira added, glancing down at baby aida. “Right, Aida?”

The little girl let out a happy gurgle, completely oblivious.

Ira turned back to you, shaking her head. “You know you can be honest with me.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. She was right. Ira had been nothing but transparent and straightforward with you from the very beginning. Easily the most honest person you’d met in a long time. She didn’t deserve your constant walls and half-truths. So you decided, for once, to be honest.

“I’m not used to this,” you admitted quietly. “I don’t really have proper girl… friends.”

Ira looked at you, a flicker of surprise crossing her face, but she didn’t dote on it. She simply nodded, like she understood more than you’d said.

“If this makes you feel any better,” she said, pinching baby aida’s tiny nose, “I don’t really have any girl friends either.”

Your eyes widened, nearly popping out of your skull. “No way.”

Ira looked up at your exaggerated expression and burst into giggles. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said quickly, still staring at her in disbelief. “Just… you’re easily the coolest person I’ve ever met. So yeah, that’s a little hard to believe.”

Ira’s ears visibly flushed pink. She looked genuinely shocked, almost shy for a second. “You think I’m cool?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “And you’re funny. You’re so entirely yourself... everything I wish I could be.”

Ira blinked, clearly caught off guard. “There’s no way because…” She paused, then laughed lightly. “I think you’re the coolest person ever.”

You let out a surprised huff. “You don’t think I’m a spoiled brat? Because trust me, that’s usually the first impression.”

Ira laughed again, warmer this time. “And you’re funny. It’s so exhausting being friends with guys who have the worst sense of humor. Meeting you felt like a breath of actual fresh air.”

She hesitated, then added more shyly, “And mostly, I’m shocked because… you’re beautiful. Like, really beautiful. You’re the president of your sorority, which I think is really cool, and I’ve always loved those designer heels you wear, the louboutins with those red bottoms? They’re epic.”

You stared at her in shock, watching the blush deepen across her ears. Ira, with her razor sharp smoky eyeliner, effortlessly shaggy hair, and edgy tattoos thought you were beautiful Ira? The polished, heel wearing sorority president who felt like her opposite in every way.

“Wow. I don’t know what to say…” you murmured, smiling as you stared at the floor, warmth blooming in your chest.

Baby aida whined softly from her playpen, her big eyes darting between the two of you like she could sense the shift in the air.

“And also,” Ira added, a little more carefully, “you’ve got someone like Jungkook wrapped around your finger, so…”

“Someone like Jungkook?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Suddenly, an odd sadness washed over Ira’s face, something fleeting and heavy you couldn’t quite unpack. She sighed, rolling her eyes as if a thought she wasn’t comfortable with had flashed through her mind.

“Yeah, you know… Jungkook is… Jungkook.” She paused, then added softly, “He’s complicated. Impossible to read.” Ira let out a soft laugh. “He’s hard to explain. Kind of like the sunset, I guess. Some days you barely notice it, and other days you look up and wonder how something could make the whole sky look different. The funny thing is, it was always there. You just weren’t paying attention.”

She almost said something more. Her lips parted like the words were right there, but she stopped herself immediately, clearing her throat.

You didn’t miss it. You’d never described Jungkook that way. To you, he had always been sharp edges and frustration, fire and ice. But the way Ira said it, it almost sounded like she was in love with him. Or had been.

You didn’t push. You didn’t want to make her feel stupid for nearly opening up.

“You know,” you said gently, “I’ve never thought someone like Jungkook could be described in that way.”

Ira laughed, a little too quickly, clearly embarrassed. “Really?”

You nodded, giving her a small, understanding smile. You weren’t going to deviate from the topic or make her feel exposed. You could tell she was already regretting how much had slipped out.

Ira shook her head, changing the subject with forced lightness. “I just don’t get it, you know? What’s keeping you from going after your heart?”

Yeah, I don’t understand either, you almost said out loud. Instead, you pivot the topic entirely, not wanting to make her more uncomfortable.

​“You said you liked my heels,” you said, a playful spark returning to your voice. “I have way better ones in my closet.”

Ira’s eyes lit up instantly. “Oh, is it like a walk-in closet? Like in those barbie movies?”

You giggled, the sheer contrast of it warming your heart. The fact that someone as effortlessly cool, tattooed, and alternative as Ira got genuinely excited over Barbie movies was the best thing you’d heard all week.

“It comes close, yeah,” you said, wiggling your brows. “Do you want a pair?”

Ira looked genuinely flattered, almost shy again. “That’s too nice. I couldn’t possibly take one of your signature pairs…”

“No, you absolutely could,” you insisted. “I have a pair of black ones too, if you’d like those better.”

Ira’s eyes sparkled. You chuckled, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to pull her into a hug. You didn’t. you just wiggled your legs instead, smiling.

“You should come over to my penthouse one day and we can raid my closet properly.”

Ira looked at you like you’d just offered her the moon. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Baby aida squealed suddenly, wiggling her tiny hands and legs with pure delight as though you’d just played the world’s greatest game of peekaboo, even though you hadn’t. The sight made you smile, wide and genuine, and Ira’s grin mirrored yours.

“Awww, little aida,” you cooed softly.

“Of course we’ll take you with us,” Ira added playfully, watching baby aida reach for your finger.

You scooted closer on the couch, gently holding her tiny hand. The little girl’s face lit up even more, completely happy now that your full attention was on her.

When Ira eventually walked you to the door later with baby aida nestled asleep against her shoulder, she paused in the doorway with a soft smile.

“Maybe it truly is fate, you know,” she said warmly. “The fact that the topic of babies brought us closer in the first place. We should just steal aida and raise her together.”

You laughed, pulling your phone out of your bag as you stepped into the hallway. “Maybe we should.”

“Anyway, I have to go,” you added right after, glancing at the time. “I’ve got quite a long night ahead. Sorority formal, last minute rehearsals… all of that.”

Ira nodded, shifting the sleeping baby gently. “Text me if you need anything. And good luck!”

You gave her one last smile before heading toward the elevator, the warmth of the evening lingering as the door clicked shut behind you.

“You’re in an unusually good mood today.”

Lina peered at you suspiciously over the top of her phone as you enthusiastically rearranged the night’s schedule for the first time, instead of your usual routine of swearing under your breath and drowning in an endless sea of paperwork.

“That’s a very diplomatic way of calling me insufferable, Lina.” You didn’t bother looking up, crossing another item off your checklist.

“And you’re awfully distracted today, by the way.” you added, finally glancing at her over the rim of your glasses.

There was still time. Roughly four hours until the formal officially began. The two of you were dressed in sweats, tucked away in the banquet hall while everyone else trickled in and out. Tables were being aligned for what felt like the hundredth time and volunteers hurried around with flower arrangements and boxes of decorations.

“I’m not distracted,” Lina defended. “I’m just texting Minho.”

“So you are distracted,” you noted again, though you visibly faltered at the mention of his name. The memory of what he’d said about you still stung like an open wound.

You’d rather not think about Minho, or the things he’d said.

“Minho and the rest of them are threatening to show up early,” Lina sighed. “Apparently they’re bored and want to come ’help.’”

“Help?” You snorted. “That’s a generous interpretation.”

“They’re mostly planning on distracting us.”

“Us?” You looked at her pointedly. “Do you mean yourself? Because I happen to be doing exactly what my position requires.”

“She’s right.”

You turned to find your professor walking in, straightening the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“Y/n is quite the most dependable student I’ve had in years,” he said. “Takes her responsibilities seriously, holds herself to impossible standards and somehow still manages to make everyone else around her work harder.”

He smiled; an actual smile. Something he rarely ever did. It caught you off guard. Your professor had always insisted on being hard on you. You’d spent the better part of the semester convinced he enjoyed making your life difficult, forever challenging your work and refusing to hand out perfect scores no matter how passionately you argued your case.

Looking back, maybe he’d seen something you hadn’t; your relentless need to be perfect. And maybe he’d been trying to teach you that excellence and perfection weren’t the same thing.

Somewhere along the way, it had worked. At least a little.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n,” he said simply. “Very.”

Heat crept up your neck.

“Everything looks great for tonight, ladies.” He surveyed the hall with an approving nod. “I’ll have to step out for a bit. My mother’s due for her monthly check-up, but I’ll be back once the formal’s in full swing.”

The moment he disappeared, Lina looked at you. “Teacher’s favourite.”

“I prefer dedicated over favourite.”

“You would.”

A couple hours later, after the worst of the setup had been finished and you’d both finally stolen a break, you leaned back in your chair with a sigh.

“So,” you asked, wiping a stray smudge of glitter from your palm. “have you decided what you’re wearing tonight?”

“Yeah. Purple.” Lina tucked her phone away. “You?”

You nodded toward the garment bag hanging neatly from a nearby rack. Lina walked over, unzipping it just enough to inspect the dress inside. “It’s pretty,” she admitted.

Then she tilted her head. “I was just expecting something... shorter.”

You frowned. “Shorter?”

“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “You usually go for dresses that are a little more...” She gestured vaguely. “Attention grabbing.”

You stared at her. “I don’t know if I’d call them that.”

“Really?” Lina laughed, like the answer was obvious. “I mean, you kind of have a reputation for making an entrance.”

“...A reputation?”

“Not in a bad way,” she rushed to clarify. “You just like being looked at. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You looked back at the dress hanging in front of you.

Had you?

“Honestly, I thought you’d wear something that showed more leg.” Lina tilted her head. “Though I guess the neckline balances it out.”

You let out a small laugh that sounded strange even to your own ears. You weren’t entirely sure what she meant by that. Or maybe, with the rumors of the past few weeks burning a hole through your reputation, you knew exactly what she meant, and you wished to God you didn’t.

“I just didn’t picture you in something this... classy.”

You blinked. “Classy?”

Lina looked up from the dress. “Yeah.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lina frowned, genuinely confused by the question, seemingly oblivious to the knot she’d just tied in your stomach.

She sighed, crossing her arms. “You know what I mean.”

“No, Lina. I don’t.”

Her phone buzzed loudly, breaking the silence. Lina glanced down at the screen and groaned.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

“Minho.”

Your stomach twisted. “What did he do now?”

“Him and the boys are here.”

You frowned. “Already?”

“They said they were coming early.” Lina grabbed her phone and stuffed it into her pocket. “Apparently they’re outside and, quote, ’conducting an inspection of the venue.”

She started walking backwards toward the entrance. “If I don’t go get them, they’ll probably start touching things they absolutely should not be touching.”

“You mean exactly the things we spent all day setting up?”

“Precisely.” Lina pointed a finger at you. “And don’t disappear. I want to see you in that dress later.”

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

With that, she spun on her heel and hurried out of the hall, her voice already carrying down the corridor. “Minho! I swear to God, if you’ve touched anything—”

The doors swung shut behind her. The sudden quiet settled over the space like a blanket. You looked down at the garment bag hanging on the rack, fingers tracing the zipper.

You’d bought the dress because you’d seen it, loved it, and thought nothing more of it. Yet somehow, a few careless words had you looking at it differently.

I just didn’t picture you in something this... classy.

You frowned.

Was that truly how people saw you? someone who dressed for spectacle, for the simplest satisfaction of being watched? With a quiet sigh, you slipped the garment bag from it’s hanger and headed for the small changing room. There were still hours before the formal began, and far too much left to do to dwell on a passing comment.

You’d just stepped into the emerald dress, the cool silk settling against your skin, when you heard movement outside the door of soft footsteps, the faint rustle of someone shifting things around in the main area.

“Lina? Is that you?” you called out. “Are you back already?”

No answer.

You hesitated, then cracked the door open just a little, holding the dress to your chest since the zipper was undone down your back.

It wasn’t Lina.

Jungkook stood right outside, frozen mid step as he caught sight of you through the gap. His eyes darkened instantly as they landed on your bare shoulders and the half zipped dress. For a split second, something sharp flashed across his face, like he’d just imagined the worst.

He pushed the door open fully without a word, stepping inside.

You startled, pressing the dress tighter to your chest.

“Jungkook— what are you—”

He didn’t answer. His gaze swept the small changing room quickly, almost like he was checking for someone else. When he found it empty, the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, but the cold edge in his eyes remained.

“Came to get the professor’s phone,” he said flatly, holding it up like proof. “He left it behind.”

You nodded, suddenly hyper aware of how exposed you felt, hair messy from the long day. You hadn’t spoken to him since that tense moment in the storage room. You hadn’t known what to say then, and you still didn’t.

Finally, you swallowed and turned slightly, showing him your back. “Can you… help me with the zipper?”

Jungkook hesitated for a few seconds. Then he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of him behind you. His fingers brushed your skin as he took the zipper, pulling it up clinically. The touch was light, nothing like the way he’d touched you before.

When he finished, he didn’t step back right away. You turned to face Jungkook, heart pounding. and god, you missed him. Jungkook was still in his practice gear, mesh shorts and a sweat drenched jersey, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He hadn’t even changed into his suit yet. Looking at him, a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over you. You felt entirely exposed standing there in your formal gown, looking like you’d spent hours trying too hard while he just existed.

“Jungkook…” you started, “I...”

He cut you off with a look. Not angry yet cold. He’d already decided how this conversation was going to go.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “I get it.”

you blinked, hurt flashing across your face. The coldness in his delivery made everything worse.

“So that’s it?” you asked, voice cracking. “You’re just done? After everything?”

Jungkook looked at you with an unreadable, guarded expression that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous. In your head, Ira’s words from earlier echoed mockingly, how she compared him to the sunset. You almost laughed bitterly.

Have we met the same man?

“I don’t want to fight with you,” you admitted quietly, your hands aching to curl into the front of his jersey, to hold onto something solid before he slipped away from you again. “I just…” The confession felt strangely fragile between the two of you, enough to make your voice catch. “I missed you.”

Jungkook regarded you for a long moment. His expression barely shifted, but you knew him well enough to notice the smallest changes; the flicker in his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to loosen for the briefest second. You almost saw something there, something that appeared dangerously close to relief. Then the wall slammed back down.

“Okay.”

You stared at him, the single word knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s all I’ve got for you.”

He slid the phone into his pocket and turned toward the door, his shoulders rigid, as though every step away from you had to be chosen.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. You couldn’t bear to watch him leave again. Not like this. Not without a fight, or the ghost of his touch lingering against your skin. Nothing. He was leaving you with nothing at all.

Just a distance he’d wrapped around himself so completely, you weren’t sure where it ended and he began.

It was remarkably easy for someone like Jungkook to blend into a crowd. Or so he has convinced himself over the course of his college years. Quiet by nature, content to linger at the edge of conversations and contribute only when prompted. Never the one steering the ship. Most people assume he has little to say while others mistake his silence for indifference.

Neither assumption particularly bothers him. That does not, however, mean he goes unnoticed in the way he believes he does.

It’s an unfortunate trait to possess on a night like this.

The annual formal had always struck him as an odd sort of performance. People squeezed into tailored suits, gathered in little circles, drank terrible beer smuggled in beneath blazers, and reminisced over events that had happened mere months ago as though they belonged to another lifetime.

Jungkook has never cared much for being at the centre of any of it. Minho, on the other hand, thrives there.

“It’s actually insane when you think about it,” Jonah says, taking a swig from the beer he’d somehow managed to sneak inside before quickly tucking the bottle away as a professor passes by. “We’ve all managed to get into relationships and out of them in the span of a year.”

A few of the boys laugh. “You forgot one person.”

Jungkook barely registers the elbow digging into his shoulder until Mark grins at him.

“I genuinely don’t know how you do it, kook-ah.”

Jungkook offered a small shrug, eyes drifting across the hall instead of answering. He wasn’t interested in the center of conversation.

Mark shakes his head before turning to Minho. “Was he always like this?”

“Always. Guy came out of the womb acting too good for everybody.” Minho laughs.

“But…” He continued, leaning back in his chair. “I swear there was one girl.”

Mark snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah. What was her name?”

“The one with the insane eye makeup, and the crazy hair.”

“Ah.” Minho grins. “Ira.”

Jungkook stills. He’s never liked the way Minho speaks about people. There’s always a note of ridicule tucked beneath his words, as though every person is a joke waiting to be told. Ira is no exception.

It has always irritated Jungkook. Though, if he’s being honest with himself, Minho could’ve spoken kindly and he still would’ve found a reason to dislike him.

Some people simply get under your skin. Jungkook thinks he’s spent the last four years discovering just how deeply Minho can burrow beneath his.

“I think he’s still hung up on her, yeah.” Minho finishes with a laugh while Mark reaches over, giving Jungkook’s shoulder a firm pat. “It’s about time you got a girl.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer as his attention drifts elsewhere, gaze moving from face to face lazily from across the hall.

It’s an absent sort of thing at first, something to occupy himself while the conversation carries on without him. He takes in the clusters of students scattered across the hall, the volunteers weaving through the crowd with urgency.

He’d been here for hours now, long enough to change into a suit, exchange the obligatory greetings, endure conversations with the handful of people he could tolerate, and watch the formal slowly come to life around him.

Still, something feels missing.

His gaze circles the room again. He knows what he’s looking for, and he wishes he didn’t.

You had asked for time. He’d given it to you. There had been no argument, no attempt to change your mind. If distance was what you wanted, then distance was what you would have.

He doesn’t mind.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

He doesn’t mind the quiet that’s settled into his days, or the way his evenings seem to stretch longer. He doesn’t mind the habit he’s picked up of glancing over his shoulder whenever he hears a familiar cadence of footsteps, only to be met with disappointment. He doesn’t mind that his hands still remember the shape of yours, or that some nights he catches himself reaching for his phone before sense gets the better of him.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care that he’s spent the better part of the evening searching every corner of the hall for a glimpse of you.

He doesn’t care that you’ve managed to avoid him. Or perhaps that’s unfair; you’ve been busy.

You’ve spent weeks putting this entire event together. Of course you’d be occupied, you’d have a dozen places to be and a hundred things demanding your attention. Non of which seem to concern him, obviously.

Then he saw you.

From the corner of his eye, half hidden behind one of the tall floral arrangements near the side tables, you were scribbling something on a notepad, twirling a pen between your fingers like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Your hair was tied up neatly and out of the way. The style you only did when you were overwhelmed, when your mind was racing too fast and you needed to feel in control.

He remembered that detail clearly. You hated having your hair up most of the time.

You’d complain about it feeling too tight, too restrictive. But during those heated, frantic nights with him, when you were falling apart under his hands and mouth, you’d try to tie it up anyway, desperate for some semblance of composure.

He’d always stopped you, tugging the tie free with a smirk, loving the way you’d whine and push at his hands while your hair spilled down your back. He loved the mess. Loved the way it gave him access to the soft skin of your neck, the slope of your shoulders, the faint flush that would creep across your chest when you were close.

But this was different. You were stressed, and in a way that made you pull yourself together so tightly you looked like you might snap.

His chest ached with a familiar, unwelcome pull.

He wanted to walk over there. Wanted to tug the tie free like he always did, watch your hair tumble down, and pull you somewhere quiet where he could press his mouth to that exact spot on your neck until you stopped thinking about schedules and rumors and everything else.

Instead, he stayed where he was, fingers tightening around his glass until it hurt.

You hadn’t looked at him once tonight. Not really. And he told himself that was fine. That he didn’t care. But his eyes kept finding you anyway.

Unbeknownst to you, you were far too occupied to notice. The evening had somehow slipped out of your hands and into complete pandemonium. One person needed help finding their table assignment, another insisted the music was too loud, someone from catering wanted to know where to set up the desserts, and a professor had stopped you midway through the hall to ask where the guest book had disappeared to.

You answered each question as quickly as it came, pen scratching across the notepad clutched to your chest as you ticked off tasks that had been completed hours ago. It was a nervous habit more than anything else, a need to reassure yourself that every last detail was exactly where it ought to be.

Lina lingered at your side through most of it, occasionally shoving her half finished glass of wine into your hand whenever she caught you standing still for longer than a few seconds. “Drink,” she'd order, only for you to begrudgingly take a sip before another volunteer called your name from across the room.

The formal was running smoothly, almost suspiciously so, a fact that only seemed to agitate you further as the centrepieces looked uneven, the lighting too dim. Someone had moved a chair out of place.

Lina had spent the better part of an hour reminding you that none of those things were actual problems and that the entire evening was functioning solely because of you. You weren’t entirely convinced.

You hadn’t seen Jungkook all night.

A part of you wondered if he’d decided not to come at all. Another wondered if he had and simply hadn’t wanted to find you. You were still upset with him, still nursing the hurt of your last conversation, but there was something equally unsettling about not knowing where you stood with him. The distance you’d asked for had seemed so straightforward at the time. Now, with the hall filling and the evening unfolding exactly as planned, it felt strangely impossible to navigate.

“Y/n.”

You looked up.

“We need Mark,” Lina said. “The microphones need to be checked before the speeches.”

You scanned the room until you spotted the familiar group gathered near the refreshments table. “He’s over there,” you nodded. “Can you get him?”

Lina made her way across the hall, calling out Mark’s name over the music. The conversation amongst the boys halted almost immediately, and you caught more than one sideways glance directed towards Minho before Mark sighed dramatically and excused himself from the group.

Your eyes followed the movement, and then you saw him.

Jungkook stood a little apart from the others, hands tucked neatly into his pockets, dark suit fitting him far too well for your own peace of mind. Your gaze caught on him for a fleeting second before you looked away just as quickly, fixing your attention back onto the checklist in your hands. It would make the evening easier that way.

You didn’t notice the line you’d already crossed off three times.

“Dude,” Jonah lets out a low whistle, “she’s so fucking hot.”

Jungkook doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

“Seriously,” Dae laughs, following Jonah’s line of sight. “Minho, how the hell did you let that slip away?”

“I broke up with her,” Minho reminds them, a little too quickly. “In case you idiots forgot.”

There’s an odd sharpness to his voice that catches Jungkook’s attention. Minho watches you from across the hall, fingers tapping idly against the neck of his beer bottle. Jungkook catches something sour there, something bordering on resentment.

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s still out of your league though,” Jonah says with a grin. A chorus of laughter follows.

“Oh, come on,” someone scoffs. “She’s got half the department wrapped around her finger.”

“And she knows it,” another chimes in. “Acts like she owns the place.”

“She practically does, y’know. Money and all.” Minho mutters.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens.

Across the hall, you’re balancing three conversations at once, notepad tucked against your chest as someone stops you to ask another question. You answer with a kind smile before pointing them in the right direction, only for someone else to catch your attention a second later.

“She’s so fucking bossy.”

“I’d say high maintenance.”

“I’d say a nightmare.”

“Nah,” Jonah grins. “Depends what you’re asking for.”

The group erupts into another round of laughter.

Jungkook says nothing. He’s heard people talk about you before; usually the same handful of observations. Too loud, too opinionated, too intimidating, too pretty for your own good.

None of it sounds remotely like the girl he knows.

The girl who agonises over seating arrangements because she wants everyone to enjoy themselves. The girl who he’s seen apologizing to inanimate objects after accidentally bumping into them.

“She’s got every guy in this place chasing after her anyway,” Dae says. “I doubt she cares.”

“Nah,” Minho replies, taking another sip of his drink. “She just likes the attention.”

Jungkook’s fingers tighten around his own drink as his gaze drifts back to you.

You’re frowning at the checklist in your hands, lips moving silently as you count through something, completely oblivious to the conversation unfolding a few metres away. Lina nudges a glass of wine into your hand. You roll your eyes but take a sip anyway.

He should say something. He should tell them they’re wrong. Tell them that you work harder than anyone in this room, that the formal they’re enjoying exists because you spent weeks making sure every last detail fell into place.

Instead, he stays quiet. Because speaking up would mean knowing too much.

It would mean noticing the little things no one else does. The way you chew on the end of your pen when you’re stressed, the way your smile changes depending on who you’re talking to, the way you always pretend you’re fine long before you actually are.

It would mean admitting that he’s been paying attention. And Jungkook has spent the better part of the evening pretending he hasn’t.

“…Still would, though,” Jonah says.

“What?”

“Date her.”

A few of the boys snicker. Minho scoffs. “Trust me. You wouldn’t want the headache.”

“I just don’t get it, though,” Dae admitted, leaning against the stool with his arms folded across his chest. “Why’d you break up with her in the first place?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hell, did you cheat on her?”

A laugh escaped Minho. “No.”

“Then what happened?” Dae questioned further. Minho shrugged, as though the answer were obvious. “I just saw the writing on the wall.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I knew she’d eventually break up with me.” Minho takes another sip of his drink. “Figured I’d beat her to it.”

A chorus of disbelief met the statement. “No chance.”

“I’m serious,” Minho insisted. “You know what she’s like. It was only a matter of time.”

Jungkook remained silent, though his attention had long since drifted from the conversation itself. Across the hall, you were moving between tables with a clipboard tucked beneath your arm. the entire evening seemed to orbit around you.

“It got exhausting,” Minho continued. “Dating her, I mean. She was never really there. Physically, sure, but her mind was always somewhere else. Half the time, I’d be talking to her, and she wouldn’t even hear what I’d said.”

Jungkook frowned, knowing that wasn’t true.

If anything, you listened too much. He’d watched you sit through conversations you had no interest in simply because someone else wanted to be heard. He’d watched you let people interrupt you, take more from you than they ever thought to give back.

“She constantly needed reassurance,” Minho said with a shrug. “Needed attention. Needed me. It got to a point where I realised I was carrying the whole relationship.”

The statement was so absurd that Jungkook almost turns to look at him. Almost.

A few of the boys nodded sympathetically.

Jungkook remembered the late night phone calls you’d taken because Minho was having a bad day. The excuses you’d made for him, the patience you’d shown him, the endless benefit of the doubt you’d afforded someone who’d done very little to earn it.

“She sounds like a lot of work,” Jonah laughed.

“She was,” Minho replied easily. “I’m telling you, I got out at the right time. She likes attention too much anyway. She’d have found someone else eventually.”

“Dude.”

Dae’s laughter cut across the conversation.

“Didn’t you call her a whore?”

Minho looked at him, amusement flickering across his face. “What?”

“You heard me.” Dae pointed at him. “I asked you about her once because I thought she was cute, remember? You were drunk out of your mind, and you told me not to bother because she was a whore.”

Jungkook felt something inside him go still.

Rumours that had spread through campus faster than anyone could trace them back to their source. He remembered hearing them for the first time, the way people seemed to have decided who you were without ever bothering to know you.

He had never known where it had started.

Minho laughed. “I might’ve.”

The others laughed with him. And suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Jungkook set his drink down before he realised he was holding it.

“…Kook?”

He didn’t answer.

The music had become too loud, the laughter around him scraping against something raw, and he found that he could no longer stand the sound of it.

Without a word, he turned and walked away.

The boys watched him disappear into the crowd.

“What’s gotten into him?” Jonah asked.

Minho frowned after him before shrugging. “Not a fucking clue.”

By the time the formal began winding down, you felt as though you’d been on your feet for an entire lifetime.

The speeches had gone off without incident, dinner had been served, and the dance floor had finally filled with enough people that you could stop worrying whether anyone was enjoying themselves. Your checklist had long since become irrelevant, every task crossed off and revisited at least twice over, though you still found yourself glancing down at it every so often out of habit.

A half empty glass of wine rested comfortably in your hand.

Somewhere between the stress of organising the event and the relief of seeing it succeed, you’d lost count of how many glasses Lina had passed your way. You weren’t drunk, not really. The room wasn’t spinning, and your thoughts remained pleasantly coherent, but there was a warmth settling beneath your skin that softened the sharp edges of the evening.

You found yourself looking towards the spot where you’d seen Jungkook earlier.

It was empty.

The boys were still gathered together, though a few had drifted off to the dance floor or the refreshments table. Mark was there. Jonah, too.

Jungkook wasn’t.

“Y/n?”

You looked over to find Lina slipping her phone back into her purse.

“Can you help me clear table six?” you asked.

“Mhm. In a second.” Lina’s attention wandered elsewhere. You followed her gaze only to find it landing on the familiar group of boys across the hall yet again, laughter carrying easily over the music as one of them waved her over.

“…Lina.”

“What?”

“Can you not?”

She blinked at you. “Can I not what?”

“Keep disappearing.”

A small laugh escaped her. “Y/n, I’m literally standing right here.”

“You know what I mean.” You adjusted the stack of place cards in your arms, trying to ignore the warmth the wine had settled into your cheeks. “Every five minutes, you wander off to talk to them, and then I’m left running around trying to sort everything out by myself.”

Lina’s expression shifted, amusement giving way to irritation. “I have been helping.”

You looked at her. “…Have you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She cocks a brow at you, clearly not taking any of this seriously.

“It means I’ve spent the entire evening putting out fires while you’ve been socialising.”

“Oh, give me a break.”

“No, seriously. I ask you to do one thing, and somehow you always end up over there.” You point an accusatory finger toward the group of guys.

Lina folded her arms across her chest. “You act like I’m not allowed to talk to my friends.”

“I act like we’re supposed to be doing this together.”

“We are.”

“Lina.”

“You know what your problem is?” Lina cut in.

You frowned. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You can’t stand it when things aren’t done your way.”

A short, humourless laugh escaped you. “That’s rich.”

“No, it’s true. You take over everything, and then you get upset when nobody helps you.”

“Maybe because nobody does.”

A few nearby students glanced in your direction before quickly pretending they hadn’t heard a thing.

Lina noticed them too. “You know what?” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not doing this with you tonight.”

“Lina...”

“No.” She picked up her clutch from the table beside her. “You clearly don’t need my help anyway.”

You opened your mouth to argue, though you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.

Lina didn’t wait to hear it. She turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with your clipboard tucked against your chest and a dull ache settling somewhere beneath your ribs.

Maybe the wine had gotten to you. And maybe you owed her an apology.

The thought lingered for all of three seconds before someone passed by with a tray of drinks. You plucked another glass from it with a muttered thank you and took a generous sip, letting out a slow breath as the warmth spread through you.

The formal was almost over, everything had gone according to plan. Yet you couldn’t understand why it felt like such a disaster.

Perhaps it was the argument with Lina. Perhaps it was the wine settling warmly in your stomach, blurring the edges of what had already been a long evening. Or perhaps it was the fact that somewhere between checking seating arrangements and making sure the microphones worked, Jungkook had disappeared.

His friends were still gathered together, though their numbers had dwindled as the night wore on. Mark was there. Minho too. A few unfamiliar faces lingered nearby.

You were still upset with Jungkook. Still hurt. The last thing you ought to be doing was wondering where he’d gone or whether he’d left entirely.

You took another sip of wine.

“Tough night?”

The voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to find someone standing beside you, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his slacks, a polite smile settled across his face.

“A little,” you admitted with a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been carrying this event on your shoulders for the last few hours. I think you’ve earned the right to look exhausted.”

An awkward smile tugged at your lips. “I’m trying very hard not to take that as an insult.”

“I meant it as a compliment.” The man said, taking a casual step closer as though the conversation had already granted him that privilege.

You searched his face, trying to place him, but came up empty. He wasn’t someone you recognised from campus. Tall and broad shouldered, with a freshly buzzed haircut, there was something disarmingly familiar about him despite the fact that you’d never met.

“You’re Hyun’s daughter, aren’t you?” His expression brightened.

The question caught you off guard. “…Yeah.”

“I thought so.” He nodded to himself. “I knew I recognised you.”

You frowned. “Have we met before?”

“Not officially.” He extended a hand. “My father works with yours.”

Recognition flickered across your face. “…Oh.”

A smile spread across his own, as though he’d been waiting for the moment. “Our families have crossed paths a few times. Mostly business dinners, charity galas, that sort of thing.” He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “My father always insisted on dragging me along.”

A genuine laugh escaped you. “That makes two of us.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

There was something surprisingly easy about talking to him. The conversation slipped comfortably from one topic to the next, talking about his father’s company and the endless networking dinners that seemed to consume the lives of people your parents’ age.

“Your dad’s overseas at the moment, right?” he asked.

You nodded. “Work.”

“He always seems to be travelling.”

You smiled. “He likes to pretend he doesn’t.”

Dae laughed. “That explains the work ethic.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the hall around you. “I’ve spent the entire evening watching you run around this place.”

“Oh, don’t remind me.” You glanced around the hall. Volunteers had started collecting empty glasses from abandoned tables, decorations were being adjusted for the inevitable clean up.

“No, really. I’m impressed. Most people would’ve thrown in the towel halfway through the night.”

“Well,” you sighed, “someone had to make sure this didn’t completely fall apart.”

“I suppose.” His gaze lingered on you for a second before he smiled. “Though I think you’re allowed to relax now.”

For the first time all evening, you considered the possibility. Your checklist had disappeared somewhere hours ago, and the world hadn’t ended because of it. The thought was oddly comforting. “…I guess I am.”

“There she is.”

You frowned. “Who?”

“The person who’s actually enjoying herself.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“I don’t think so.” The confidence in his answer caught you off guard. “You’ve spent the entire evening taking care of everyone else,” he continued, leaning casually against the table beside you. “I’m just saying it’s nice to see someone making sure you get to enjoy a little of it too.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your wine glass. The compliment felt awkward, somewhere between sincerity and teasing, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with it. You looked down at your drink instead, watching the light catch against the dark red liquid.

“…You know,” you admitted after a moment, “I don’t think we’ve actually introduced ourselves.”

The guy laughed. “I was wondering how long it’d take.” He held out a hand. “I’m Dae.”

You accepted it. “Y/n.”

“I know.”

The answer was so matter-of-fact that it made you laugh. “I suppose everyone does tonight.”

“I’d say you’ve made quite the impression.”

“Oh, please.” You groaned, tipping your head back dramatically. “I’m going to spend the next week lying awake thinking about all the things I should’ve done differently.”

Dae only smiled. “I doubt that.”

“And how would you know?”

“Call it a good judge of character.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling back.

It was nice. Strangely nice. And yet, somewhere at the back of your mind, a small, persistent thought continued to tug at your attention.

You still hadn’t seen Jungkook. You told yourself not to think about it.

After a few minutes, he gestured down the quieter end of the corridor.

“There’s a small lounge just around the corner. Much calmer. You look like you could use a real break, y’know. I’ll walk with you.”

You didn’t think much of the offer. If anything, the idea of escaping the noise for a few minutes sounded appealing. Dae had been pleasant company so far, easy to talk, and demanded very little from you. A short walk seemed harmless enough.

“There’s still a few things I need to check though.” you said at last.

“Just for a minute,” he coaxed, voice dropping. “No one will miss you for five minutes. Promise.”

You glanced back towards the hall. For the first time all evening, nobody seemed to need anything from you. “...I suppose that’s true.”

“Come on, then.”

You fell into step beside him.

The corridor was noticeably quieter than the ballroom, the noise of the formal fading with every step. You hadn’t realised quite how much wine you’d had until you were away from the lights and the music. A dull ache had settled behind your eyes, and the neat hairdo you’d insisted on wearing all evening suddenly felt far too tight, pulling at your scalp in an unpleasant way.

You reached up absently, rubbing at your temple.

“Let me guess,” Dae said. “One too many victory glasses of wine?”

A soft laugh escaped you. “No. Not really.”

The hallway narrowed as you walked. A small lounge sat at the end, its lights still on, the door left slightly ajar.

Dae gestured towards it. “There.”

You slowed. “It’s empty?”

“Should be.”

Something in your chest gave a small, uncertain tug. You couldn’t quite place why. Perhaps it was the silence after spending hours surrounded by people, or it was the wine making you overthink things.

You lingered where you stood. Dae noticed almost immediately.

“Hey.”

You looked up to find him a little closer than before, concern settling easily across his features. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” A small, embarrassed laugh escaped you as you reached up to rub at your temple. “I think I’m more tired than I realised.”

“I can tell,” Dae said with an amused smile. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Your brows knitted together in mock offence. “I am not.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?” There was a teasing note to his voice now, light enough to coax another laugh from you. “Because I’m fairly certain I’ve watched you stumble at least twice since we left the hall.”

“That was the floor’s fault,” you argued.

Dae laughed, shaking his head. “I think the wine might disagree.”

Heat crept into your cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or the lingering warmth of the wine, you couldn’t quite tell. “I’m fine,” you insisted.

His smile softened. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just think you’ve spent the entire evening taking care of everyone else. You’re allowed to lean on someone for five minutes.” Dae suggested, nodding towards the lounge. “Get away from the noise.”

Your eyes followed the direction of his hand, settling on the half open door. And then you paused.

The invitation had sounded harmless enough when he’d first mentioned it, but standing here now, with the night finally settling around you, you realised walking into an empty lounge alone with a man you’d only met twenty minutes ago wasn’t exactly your brightest idea.

Dae had been nothing but kind, his family knew yours, and he’d spent the better part of the conversation making you laugh, but there was a small part of you that decided it would be wiser to call it a night.

“Actually…” You smiled apologetically, taking a small step backwards. “I think I should head back.”

Sometime during the conversation, Dae had moved closer without you noticing. Close enough that the step you’d meant to take backwards ended almost immediately, your shoulders brushing against the wall behind you.

His hand came up, resting against the wall just above your head. A low chuckle escaped him. “You’re leaving already?”

You looked up at him, your smile faltering ever so slightly. “I should probably get back,” you repeated. “People might be looking for me.”

His gaze stayed on you for a second before drifting lower, and something about the look made your stomach twist.

“They can wait a minute,” he said easily.

You glanced past his shoulder towards the ballroom. It wasn’t far. You could be back amongst the crowd in less than a minute.

“I really should go,” you insisted, a little more firmly this time.

Dae only smiled. “Come on,” he murmured. “I thought we were getting along.”

Your stomach dropped when you felt his hand settle on your waist. The touch was too heavy for someone you barely knew. You pushed his hand away immediately.

“No. I need to go back.”

You pressed against his chest, trying to create space, but he leaned in closer, his breath brushing the exposed skin of your neck. The hallway felt narrower, the lights dimmer.

“Come on, Y/n,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “You’ve been running around all night looking like that. Don’t tell me you don’t want a little attention.”

Your breath faltered. You didn’t. You hadn’t been asking for attention at any part of the night, and you certainly weren’t asking for it from him. But the frozen look on your face must have seemed like hesitation to Dae, because his hand inched lower, sliding down the slit of your dress, fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

“Get your hands off me, please. Dae.”

You tried not to sound rude. You didn’t want to make a scene.

Dae sighed, disappointed, like you were the one being difficult. He knew if he pushed any further you might scream or cause a problem he didn’t want to deal with. So instead, he tucked his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

You didn’t notice him tilting the screen, angling it right under the slit of your gown, until the sharp, quiet click of the camera shutter echoed in the narrow corridor.

You froze completely, the realization slamming into you a second too late. Your body went rigid, breath caught in your throat as the weight of what he’d just done settled over you.

Before you could react, a calm, low voice sliced through the corridor.

“Dae.”

Jungkook leaned against the wall a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression deceptively casual. But his eyes were locked on Dae with a sharpness that made the air feel colder.

Dae straightened instantly, slipping the phone back into his pocket with a nervous laugh. “Kook, hey. Just… catching up with Y/n. You know how it is.”

Earlier that evening, Jungkook had left before he said something he’d regret. That, at least, was what he’d told himself as the doors of the venue swung shut behind him. The cool air had done little to settle the irritation simmering beneath his skin, and somewhere along the way, he’d accepted a cigarette from someone he barely knew.

He wasn’t much of a smoker. Not anymore.

Tonight, however, he found himself standing outside with one balanced loosely between his fingers, watching the smoke disappear into the night sky.

His mind refused to let the conversation go.

“Didn’t you call her a whore?”

Then Minho had laughed.

Jungkook frowned, bringing the cigarette to his lips before thinking better of it.

It all made sense now. The rumours. The way you’d looked at him that evening, anger and disappointment tangled together as you accused him of being no different from Minho.

At the time, he’d thought the accusation unfair. Now he wasn’t entirely sure.

Minho, his supposed best friend. The title almost made him scoff.

People assumed they were close because they’d known each other for years, because Minho was loud enough to fill any silence Jungkook left behind. The truth was far less interesting. Jungkook tolerated him. Barely.

Now, he found he disliked him even more.

He thought about your relationship; not the version Minho had painted for everyone else.

The real one.

You’d never demanded constant attention. If anything, you’d even laughed off comments that should’ve upset you and swallowed frustrations that would’ve sent anyone else walking away.

Minho had called you exhausting. Jungkook knew that wasn’t true.

The cigarette had burned almost to the filter. He dropped it onto the pavement, crushing it beneath his shoe.

His thoughts drifted unwillingly to the last conversation the two of you had shared.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

He remembered the way your voice had caught.

“I just… I missed you.”

He’d answered with a single word. Okay.

Jungkook scrubbed a hand over his face. Maybe he’d been too harsh. Maybe he’d hidden behind silence for so long that he’d mistaken it for honesty.

You’d asked him to kiss you that night, he remembered it with agonizing clarity.

Even then, fueled by rage and bruised pride, the request had hit him like a spark to dry tinder. Every time he looked at you now, the memory resurfaced unbidden: the way your lips had parted slightly, soft and inviting, your breath warm against his skin as you whispered the words. He could still taste the ghost of that almost-kiss.

You’d asked for time. He’d responded by putting an entire ocean between the two of you.

A humourless laugh escaped him. He didn’t care: that was what he’d spent weeks telling himself.

He didn’t care that he’d looked for you the moment he walked into the formal. Didn’t care that he’d noticed every time you laughed.

Didn’t care that he’d spent the better part of the evening wondering whether you’d look his way.

His hand slipped into his pocket as his thoughts wandered once again.

Dae, the senior, the one who’d asked about you. The one Minho had lied to. Jungkook frowned. He hadn’t seen him for a while. Neither had he seen you.

He pushed himself away from the wall. Maybe he’d apologise. Maybe he’d finally hear what you had to say. Maybe he’d just make sure you were alright before the night ended. He wasn’t entirely sure.

He made his way back inside. The music grew quieter as he wandered further from the ballroom. Then he turned the corner.

And saw you.

“Kook, hey. Just… catching up with Y/n. You know how it is.”

Jungkook stepped forward, a charming smile spread across his face.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, his voice entirely pleasant. “I know how it is.” He let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes remained completely dead as he looked at Dae’s pocket.

“Give me the phone.”

Dae laughed again, trying to play it off. “What? It’s nothing, man. Just a quick picture. She looks good tonight, you know?”

Jungkook’s hand shot out, faster than you could track. He ripped the phone from Dae’s grip, deleted the photo with a few taps, then casually tossed the phone over his shoulder. It struck the concrete wall with a loud, violent crack, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of dead pixels.

Dae’s face twisted with anger. “What the fuck, man? That’s my phone—”

Jungkook grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, hard enough that the impact echoed. His voice dropped to a deadly calm.

“You think you can put your hands on her? Take pictures of her like she’s something you can own?” His grip tightened, knuckles white. “You think because Minho called her a whore, that makes her fair game?”

Dae tried to shove him off, face red. “Oh, come on, Kook,” his voice dropped into a sleazy murmur. “Don’t be like that. We’re on the same team, right? I’m just trying to get a look at the goods.”

Dae took Jungkook’s fueled silence as a sign to continue. “Tell you what, keep your mouth shut about the picture, and we can share her—”

​His words weren’t even fully out of his mouth before the air completely left the corridor.

​Whatever calculated restraint Jungkook had been holding onto snapped in a microsecond.

​He lunged, his hand wrapping around Dae’s throat like a vice, hauling his entire body weight up and slamming him into the concrete wall with a force that echoed like a gunshot down the hallway. The back of Dae’s head cracked against the stone, the sleazy grin instantly jarring loose from his face.

​“Say another word,” Jungkook breathed, his voice dropping into a terrifying, guttural register. His knuckles were pure white against Dae’s throat, his chest heaving as a raw rage took over his features. “Say one more fucking word about her.”

Jungkook’s fist connected with Dae’s face. The punch was brutal. With white knuckled force, Dae’s head snapped back. Another hit followed, harder. Then another. Jungkook didn’t stop. Each strike vicious, fueled by something deeper than just this moment.

You slid down the wall, knees giving out, curling into yourself on the floor, head tucked down. The sounds, the dull thuds, Dae’s choked groans, blurred together. You felt numb. Disconnected, like your body had shut down to protect you from processing what was happening.

Jungkook finally stepped back, breathing hard, knuckles split and bloody. Dae slumped against the wall, face bruised and bleeding.

Jungkook turned to you. His expression softened the moment his eyes landed on your curled up form.

“Y/n…” His voice was rough, gentler now. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer. Your mind was blank, eyes distant.

​“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he looked back at you, his eyes reflecting a raw, desperate vulnerability. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.

He crouched down slowly, careful not to touch you without permission. “Do you want me to carry you out of here?”

You stayed silent for a long second. Then, with trembling legs, you pushed yourself up on your own. You didn’t look at him. You just started walking down the corridor, arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding your pieces together.

Jungkook followed a few paces behind, silent and watchful, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like smoke.

The cool night air hit the moment the heavy glass doors swung shut. Behind you, the venue’s lights burned too bright, and the laughter spilling into the street felt grotesquely loud, completely detached from the quiet violence of the hallway you had just left.

You kept walking until the sheer exhaustion of the movement caught up to you. You stopped. A few paces behind, Jungkook stopped too. He had been a silent, watchful shadow the entire time, keeping a careful, agonizing distance.

Turning around, the first thing that caught your eye wasn’t the tension in his jaw, but his hand. The knuckles were split wide open, fresh blood drying in dark, angry streaks across his pale skin. You stared at it, the sight anchoring you to the reality of what had just happened.

He noticed your gaze, instinctively shifting his weight. “…It’s nothing,”

That single word snapped something coiled tight inside you. “Nothing?”

Jungkook’s brows knitted together, a defensive line forming on his forehead. “You punched him,” you said, your voice tight.

“He touched you.”

“I know what he did!” The words tore from your throat loud, echoing in the empty street. You stood there, letting the anger wash over you because it was so much easier than the alternatives. It was easier than thinking about Dae’s hands, easier than remembering how suffocatingly close he’d been, and infinitely easier than admitting, even to yourself, how utterly terrified you had been.

“I know,” you repeated, softer this time, but the edge remained. Jungkook remained silent, his eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t get to do that.” You sniffled.

“What?”

“You don’t get to shut me out,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to control it. “You don’t get to look me in the eye, tell me you’ve got nothing left for me, and then suddenly show up out of nowhere to decide what happens to me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” You cut him off, clinging to the fury. It was a shield against the memory of Dae standing over you. “I could’ve handled it myself.”

Jungkook looked away first, his chest rising with a slow breath before he let out a quiet, defeated, “…Okay.”

“Oh, don’t,” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “Don’t do that. That stupid, one-word-answer thing!” Before the thought could fully form, your hand flew down to your foot. You yanked the first heel off and threw it in his general direction.

Jungkook didn’t even flinch; he just blinked as the shoe bounced harmlessly against the pavement near his boots.

Neither of you moved. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, already aggressively tearing the second heel off. “I hate you.” The second shoe landed with a dull thud right beside the first.

Jungkook looked down at the pair of discarded shoes, then slowly raised his eyes back to yours. “…You done?”

A sudden, sharp laugh escaped you, but halfway through, the sound cracked, betraying the raw emotion underneath. “I don’t know,” you admitted.

When the silence settled over you again, the anger had burned itself out, leaving only a profound, mutual weariness. Jungkook cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “Do you have a ride home?”

The practical question caught you entirely off guard. “My driver…” You trailed off, pulling out your phone with clumsy, trembling fingers.

The lock screen was cluttered with notifications, but one text message stood out. It was a long, frantic apology from your usual driver; his wife had gone into labor unexpectedly. Another driver had been arranged in his stead, followed by a stark phone number to call when you were ready.

You stared at the unfamiliar digits. Another driver. Another stranger. Your stomach turned at the thought of getting into an enclosed space with a man you didn’t know.

Jungkook waited, watching the play of emotions across your face. “If you don’t…” he began, cutting himself off before the offer sounded too forward. “I can take you home.”

Looking up, you saw him standing exactly where he had been, respecting the boundary, offering no pressure. Your gaze drifted back to the dark screen of your phone. You knew you should call the agency, but the thought felt physically impossible. Your fingers curled around the device until your own knuckles turned white.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

Jungkook nodded once, offering no smugness. He simply turned toward the parking lot, leaving enough space for you to turn back if you changed your mind. You didn’t. You followed him into the dark.

The interior of his car was a sanctuary of quiet. He unlocked the passenger side first, waiting for you to get in before walking around to the driver’s seat. By the time the engine purred to life, you realized you were still clutching your phone like a lifeline, your hand aching from the grip.

Neither of you reached for the radio. Outside the tinted windows, the city blurred past, indifferent to the chaos of your night. Inside, it was just a space where neither of you had to pretend anymore.

You were the one to break the silence. “So.”

Jungkook’s eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, his profile cut sharp against the passing streetlights. “So?”

A humorless laugh escaped your throat. “What changed your mind?”

His brow furrowed slightly, the muscles in his jaw shifting. “About what?”

“You know.” You leaned back, letting your head rest against the cold glass of the window, watching the neon signs smear across the dark pane. “Coming back.”

Jungkook remained quiet, the hum of the engine filling the void.

“I mean,” you continued, your voice dripping with an exaggerated, cutting thoughtfulness, “last I checked, you told me you had nothing left for me. So I was just wondering, did you magically find something else to give?”

“…Y/n.”

“No, seriously.” The wine was talking now, making your tone slip with a reckless ease that sobriety would have choked back. “What did you think was going to happen? What was the master plan?”

Jungkook glanced over briefly, his dark eyes catching the ambient light of the dashboard. “What?”

“Why did you do that?” your voice came out small, a jagged whisper that cracked on the last word. When he didn’t answer, the panic in your chest flared into a defensive, ugly anger. “Jungkook! Why did you do that? What was the plan there? To make it worse? To give everyone on campus something else to talk about?”

​Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. “He touched you, Y/n. He had his fucking phone under your—”

​“I know what he did!” you snapped, a hot, humiliating tear finally spilling over your lashes. You wiped it away furiously with the back of your hand. “I know. But you throwing punches doesn’t fix it. It just makes it real. It makes us real.”

​You let out a short, hysterical breath, staring wildly at the dashboard because looking at his bloodied hands was making your head spin.

​“What did you think was going to happen? That you’d play the hero, and we’d just magically morph into some normal, functional couple? Go on dates, hold hands in daylight? meet each other’s parents?”

A short, bitter laugh cut through the air. “Well, not your parents. You barely let me meet your friends.”

“And then what? we’d get married, buy a house with a stupid white fence, and have children we’d inevitably mess up because that’s apparently how these things work.” You let out, masking a deeper, older ache. “My parents did a brilliant job proving that one.”

Slowly, Jungkook turned his head. He just looked exhausted, his dark eyes taking in your trembling frame, your smudged makeup, the way you were practically trying to disappear into the car door.

​“You’re doing it again,” he said, his voice dropping into a quiet register that cut right through your panic.

​You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white against your dress. “Doing what?”

​“Hiding behind a worst case scenario because you’re terrified.” He didn’t reach for you, he knew better than to touch you right now.

​He took a sharp, frustrated breath, his eyes burning into yours. ​“You’re shaking because for the first time, someone is furious on your behalf, and you don’t know what the fuck to do with that.”

​He let out a tired, breathless sigh, his fingers tightening around the gear shift.

​“But fine,” he murmured, shifting the car into drive. “Keep running. Let me know when you’re tired of living in the dark.”

You stared at him, waiting for a proper argument. A sharp retort of any sort.

It never came.

Turning back toward the window, you let the silence settle between the two of you, interrupted only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional wash of headlights against the windshield. Ira’s voice found you in the quiet, echoing in your mind, “Jungkook reminds me of sunsets, I guess.”

You almost smiled at the thought. Sunsets.

Trust Ira to come up with something so gentle.

The comparison hadn’t made much sense to you because Jungkook wasn’t gentle. He was the sharp retort before you’d even finished your sentence, bickering over things neither of you actually cared about. He was stubborn enough to stand his ground even when he knew he was wrong, and somehow equally stubborn when he knew he was right. He wasn’t something that sat quietly at the edge of the day, waiting to be admired.

Jungkook wasn’t a sunset. If anything, he was thunderstorms.

He was sudden and restless, harbouring the infuriating habit of getting underneath your skin like he’d built a home there. The sort of thunderstorm that rolled in and changed the entire atmosphere before you’d realized what was happening. He was the sort that made you slam windows shut, only to find yourself standing by them a few minutes later, watching anyway.

You frowned, staring out at the dark road. Ira had been wrong.

Glancing over at him, you watched as his attention stayed fixed on the road. He looked exactly the same as he always did, and yet, something had shifted. You thought of the hallway earlier, of him trailing a few steps behind you because he’d known you wouldn’t want him close. You thought of him asking if you had a ride instead of deciding for you, saying almost nothing at all.

Your gaze drifted to your lap. Ira had definitely been wrong. You were almost certain of it. Jungkook wasn’t a sunset. But every now and then, remembering what she said, you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d simply caught him at a different hour of the day.

You weren’t ready to finish the thought yet.

“...Jungkook?” You eventually spoke.

“Yeah?”

You looked down at your lap, tracing the seam of your dress just to have something to do with your hands. “I wouldn’t have gone in there,” you said. “With Dae.”

Your voice was almost swallowed by the hum of the car. Jungkook’s grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles going white for a split second at the mention of Dae, before he loosened them.

“I wasn’t going to.” you added, firmly, because the silence felt too loud.

The admission settled quietly between the two of you, hanging in the dim space of the car like dust motes in a shaft of light. The road stretched out ahead of you, entirely empty at this early hour.

“I know,” he said eventually, his voice quiet.

You turned your head to look at him, but his eyes never left the asphalt ahead. There wasn’t much else to say after that.

Letting out a soft breath, you leaned your head against the cool glass of the window. The entire evening, all the lights, the suffocating tension, already felt strangely distant, as if it had happened to somebody else entirely.

The car began to slow, the momentum shifting gently as Jungkook pulled up to the curb. You glanced up, expecting the familiar wave of relief that usually came with reaching home. Instead, the moment your eyes hit the building, your stomach dropped.

“…Wait,” you breathed, your posture instantly stiffening.

Jungkook looked over briefly, noticing the sudden shift in your energy. Up on the top floor, the penthouse lights were blazing. It wasn’t just a single lamp left on for security; every single window was illuminated. The kitchen, the sitting room, the study, the entire place was glowing against the dark night sky.

You sat up straighter, a cold knot forming in your chest. “…No.”

“What?” Jungkook asked, his brow furrowing as he followed your gaze.

“My dad,” you said, the words rushing out of you in a panicked breath. “He wasn’t supposed to be home tonight.”

“You said he was overseas,” Jungkook countered, his voice calm.

“He was.” With trembling fingers, you grabbed your phone from your bag. The screen lit up to reveal three missed calls and a string of messages you had completely missed. The first text made your heart sink instantly: Flight got moved. Home early. See you tonight.

“Oh, God,” you whispered, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead. You had completely forgotten. Your brain had simply run out of room. “Oh, my God. He’s actually home.”

You looked at Jungkook, but this wasn’t the panic of a teenager terrified of getting caught with a boy. It was the sheer, suffocating dread of a mind pushed past it’s absolute limit. Your father could have been the kindest, most understanding man alive, and it wouldn’t have mattered. You were entirely empty. You were exhausted, your head was splitting from the fading alcohol, and you simply did not possess the emotional currency required to engage in a single conversation.

You didn’t want to answer questions about how your night was, and more than anything, you didn’t want anyone looking at you closely enough to see the cracks.

Jungkook, interestingly enough, was the sole exception. He was the only person you didn’t mind sitting beside in total silence, because he didn’t demand anything from you.

“He’s going to ask questions,” you muttered, looking desperately from the brightly lit penthouse to the windshield, as if a solution might materialize on the glass.

“So answer them,” Jungkook said softly.

You turned to stare at him, your chest tight. “I can’t.”

“Y/n...”

“I can’t,” you repeated, rubbing at your temple, trying to soothe the dull throb there. “I don’t … I don’t know what I’d even say to him. Nothing happened.”

Your fingers tightened around your phone until your knuckles turned white, stomach twisting at the thought of unpacking and having to face the post mortem of the night.

“I just don’t want to talk about tonight,” you finished, your voice dropping to a weary whisper. “I can’t handle it.”

“What if you just… drove away?” you suggested quietly, looking out the window.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, “And then what? You’d still have to go inside eventually. And your dad definitely has security cameras out here.”

You shut your eyes, letting out a defeated groan. “He definitely has cameras. He’s already seen the car.”

“He’s already seen the car,” Jungkook echoed quietly. He paused, watching the way your shoulders sagged. “…Y/n, I can leave if that’s what you want. I can drop you at the lobby and pull away.”

You looked back at him. He was leaving the decision entirely up to you.

Turning your gaze back toward the penthouse, you saw a shadow move across one of the high windows. The finality of it settled heavily in your chest.

“…Too late,” you muttered.

Jungkook followed your gaze up to the glass. “…He’s seen us?”

“He’s absolutely seen us.” Neither of you moved for a long moment, the quiet sanctuary of the car cabin holding you both captive for just a few seconds longer. Finally, you reached for the door handle, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

“Well,” you muttered, your voice flat with exhaustion. “This is going to be a mess.”

You stepped out of the car before you could change your mind, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with a definitive thud. You muttered a quiet thanks over your shoulder, not entirely sure if Jungkook heard it through the glass, and forced your feet to move toward the grand entrance of the building.

Every step felt like pulling your feet through wet cement. The elevator ride upstairs seemed to last a small eternity, leaving you trapped with your own reflection in the mirrored walls. You looked exactly how you felt: tired. Strands of hair were escaping the neat style you had thrown up, your mascara was faintly smudged beneath your lower lashes, and a prominent crease had formed in the silk of your dress.

When the elevator finally chimed, you stepped out to find the penthouse door already unlocked.

“…Dad?” you called out tentatively.

The lights inside were warm, the only sound of the quiet hum of the refrigerator, but then a voice carried easily from the sitting room.

“In here.”

You found him exactly where you had expected to. His suit jacket was discarded carelessly over the arm of the sofa, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his reading glasses were perched low on his nose as he thumbed through a stack of legal papers.

He glanced up as you entered, setting the papers down. “There you are.”

Seeing him, looking completely normal and unbothered, caused something tight in your chest to loosen just a fraction. “You’re home early,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

“My meeting finished ahead of schedule,” he explained, standing up and crossing the room toward you. “I called.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t answer.” He stopped a few feet away, his analytical eyes sweeping over you before softening almost immediately. “You look absolutely exhausted.”

A breathless, tired sigh escaped you. His gaze lingered on you for another second before drifting past your shoulder, toward the windows that overlooked the street below. “…Who drove you home?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course, the security feed by the gate.

You followed his gaze, looking down into the dark courtyard. Sure enough, Jungkook’s car was still parked at the curb, its headlights cutting twin beams into the darkness.

“He’s…” You swallowed hard, trying to find a neutral tone. “A friend.”

“A very patient friend,” your dad countered softly.

You blinked, turning back to him. “…What?”

“He’s still waiting to make sure you’ve safely made it upstairs.” Your father smiled faintly, a look of quiet approval crossing his features. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to invite the poor boy inside?”

Your head snapped toward him, your exhaustion momentarily replaced by sheer panic. “What?”

“He brought my daughter home safely late at night,” Hyun said, folding his arms over his chest. “The least I can do is thank him properly. It would be impolite not to.”

“Dad, no. He’s probably planning to leave.” you diverged immediately.

“Has he said that?”

“…No.”

“Then we shouldn’t make assumptions,” he said reasonably.

You stared at him, desperately wishing he would read the silent, pleading signals you were trying to send. He just stared back, entirely immune to them. “…Dad.”

“Yes?”

“What if he doesn’t want to come inside?”

“Then he will politely decline,” your dad replied. There was absolutely no arguing with that logic.

Hyun reached over, picking up his discarded suit jacket from the arm of the sofa and shaking it out. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite your friend in?”

You closed your eyes for a brief, agonizing moment, the throbbing behind your temples flaring up. You knew there was no escaping this. Your dad was stubborn, Jungkook was still waiting downstairs, and you were caught entirely in the middle.

Opening your eyes, you let out a defeated breath. “…His name is Jungkook.”

Hyun reached for his jacket, already making his way towards the foyer as though the matter had been settled long before either of you had spoken. “Then aren’t you going to invite Jungkook in?”

note: hello my loves <3 you might be able to tell why this chapter took me a little longer to write. for me, every part of this story has its own essence, and i really struggled to find that with this one, even though i tried my best to work through it. i know it isn’t perfect, and we had to get through some pretty uncomfortable scenes along the way, poor y/n :(

i can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter though because so much was revealed. and how are we feeling about finally getting jungkook’s pov for the very first time?!! <3

ps, im so so very sleepy. looks like im gonna have to re edit a few things and tag a lot of you guys properly in the morning :s