m

The transition from the cool, open deck to the climate-controlled silence of your suite felt like moving underwater. The air here was scented with Eunwoo’s expensive, woody cologne, a smell you had lived with for three years, yet tonight, it felt haunting.

You moved through the motions like a ghost. You were there, standing in front of the vanity, but your mind was still lingering on the pool deck. You could still see the way Jungkook’s jaw had tightened, the way his eyes had looked at you before he turned away. You felt a hollow, aching pressure in your chest, a numbness that had begun to consume you the moment you stepped off the deck.

What has your life become?

You reached for your necklace, your fingers trembling slightly. Before you could fumble with the clasp, you felt the sudden, warm presence of Eunwoo behind you.

He didn’t say a word, his movements practiced and smooth as he took over the task. His fingers, cool against your skin, worked the clasp of the diamond pendant. As the metal fell away, his hands didn't drop to his sides. Instead, he slid them over your shoulders, his thumbs tracing the line of your collarbone before his lips pressed into the sensitive skin of your neck.

It was meant to be intimate, but to you, it felt wrong. You felt yourself stiffen, a physical recoil that you had to forcefully suppress. Your own reflection stared back at you, eyes wide, expression vacant, a woman wearing a mask that was becoming harder and harder to hold in place.

You let out a brittle, airy laugh, stepping away toward the closet. "You’re eager tonight," you said, your voice sounding thin, like it was coming from a different room. You busied yourself with your clothes, your hands shaking as you reached for your robe. "Give me a minute? I just... the dinner was a lot. I need to change."

Eunwoo watched you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held that proprietary shimmer. "Of course," he said, his tone smooth, though a flicker of impatience danced across his features.

When you finally emerged and climbed into the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight. He didn't waste time. He moved to pull you toward him, his touch heavy and demanding. For a heartbeat, you closed your eyes and allowed it, forcing your muscles to go slack, trying to inhabit the role of his wife. You let him kiss you, you let him trace the curve of your waist, but inside, you were miles away. 

The reality of this life was daunting. The bed, the scent of him, the weight of him, clashed with the phantom sensation of the moonlight on the deck.

"I can't," you breathed, the words barely audible as you shifted away, pulling the duvet up to your chin. "I'm sorry, Eunwoo. I'm just... I'm exhausted today. My head is pounding."

The silence that followed was thick and immediate. You felt his body freeze. When you finally dared to look, you saw the distinct lines of disappointment etched into his face. He didn't yell; he didn't demand. He simply pulled back, his posture stiffening, the mask of the "loving husband" slipping just enough to reveal the man underneath who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

"Right," he said, his voice flat. The distance between you in the bed suddenly feeling like an ocean. "You should take a rest." He smiled, not a real smile you could tell, and turned his back at you.

“Goodnight,” he murmured while switching off the lamp beside him.

You stared at the ceiling, the darkness of the room pressing in on you. You were safe, you were tucked away, you were in the "right" place, and yet, you had never felt more like you were fading away entirely.

The morning air in Istanbul was thick with the scent of roasted chestnuts and salt, a stark, vibrant contrast to the stagnant atmosphere of your cruise suite. As you stepped onto the gangway, the bustling noise of the city felt like a breath of fresh air, though your heart remained heavy.

You walked alongside Taehyung, his presence the only thing keeping your anxiety at bay. He was dressed in a casual linen shirt, looking effortlessly cool like he would always call his style, though his eyes were sharp as he scanned the crowd.

"You're scanning the dock," Taehyung murmured, bumping his shoulder against yours. "He's not here, by the way. He had an emergency meeting with his team—something about a deadline for the new album. He will probably join us later."

You felt a sharp pang of disappointment, though you quickly forced your features into a mask of indifference. "I wasn't looking for anyone, Tae."

"Sure," he chuckled, his voice laced with a knowing dryness. "Keep telling yourself that."

Before you could retort, a hand slid firmly onto your waist, guiding you away from your brother. Eunwoo had appeared from the cluster of business associates, his smile as polished as a mirror.

"There you are, darling," Eunwoo said, his voice smooth enough to be patronizing. He steered you toward the waiting car, his grip unyielding. "Your mother and the others are already heading toward the Grand Bazaar. We have a busy schedule."

As the group moved toward the vehicles, Eunwoo leaned down, his voice dropping to that confidential, chilling tone he reserved for his "domestic" lectures.

"I was talking to Auntie Jen earlier," he began, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "You know her daughter, right? The one who struggled for years to conceive? They finally found a specialist in the city, a miracle worker, according to her. He sorted out their issues in just a few sessions." He glanced at you, his smile eager. "I’ve already made a few inquiries. Perhaps we should look into it ourselves. No sense in waiting around if there’s a solution readily available."

The weight of his words hit you like a physical blow. He was talking about your body, about your future. A future you dreaded to walk into. "Oh," you managed, the word feeling like ash in your mouth. You forced a shallow, reluctant nod. "I see."

"Good," he said, his hand tightening on your waist. "I’m glad we’re on the same page."

By the afternoon, the heat had driven the party to a historical hammam. The transition from the chaotic streets of Istanbul to the hushed, marble-tiled sanctuary of the bathhouse was jarring. Steam curled in thick, heavy ribbons toward the vaulted ceiling, and the air smelled of eucalyptus and soap.

Your mother was already lounging on the warm marble, her skin glowing. The other women were scattered nearby, their voices echoing in the grand, domed room. You stripped down to your wrap, feeling exposed and profoundly weary.

You sat near your mother, the heat of the stone seeping into your bones.

"You're tense," your mother noted, not looking at you. "You've been fidgety all day. What’s going on ___?"

"I don't want to be in this marriage, Mom," you whispered, the words spilling out before you could check them. The steam muffled your voice, but the intensity of it drew her attention.

She turned her head slowly. Her eyes were sharp, devoid of the soft, maternal warmth you had once craved as a child. "We are in public. Do not start this."

"It’s not just an outburst," you said, your voice gaining strength despite the tremor in your hands. "I can’t do it. I’m not happy."

"Every marriage has its frictions," she replied, her tone dismissive, as if she were talking about a stain on a rug. "You are simply too sensitive. Eunwoo is a good man. He provides, he handles your family’s image, and he gives you a life others would kill for."

"He provides? I have a career, Mom. I have my own life," you snapped. "I don't need any man to provide for me, and I certainly don't need a husband to do that.”

Your mother sat up, her movements fluid and lethal. The disdain in her gaze was a tangible weight. "You are just like him," she hissed, referring to your father. "Reckless. Ungrateful. You think your little career makes you independent? Without this family, without the name, you are nothing” She stood, towering over you in the steam. "Fix your face. We are meeting everyone for lunch. You are Mrs. Eunwoo, and you will behave as such. If you want a divorce, do it on your own time, but not while we are under my roof."

The silence that followed her mother’s departure was thick, punctuated only by the rhythmic, taunting drip-drip-drip of condensation hitting the marble floor.

You sat there, paralyzed, the heat of the stone pressing against your skin until it felt less like a spa treatment and more like a fever. This place, a sanctuary built for centuries to wash away the sins and stresses of the world, felt ironically suffocating. You looked around at the intricate mosaic tiles, the opulent dome, the sheer, historical beauty of the space, and felt a wave of nausea. You were sitting in a temple of luxury, yet you had never felt more impoverished. Everything you owned, every inch of your status, was wrapped in the gilded cage your family had built for you.

You were a prisoner in a palace, and the steam was closing in, a heavy, wet shroud that made every breath feel like labor.

A sharp burst of laughter erupted from the other side of the room. Your aunt and a few cousins were splashing water, their voices bright and carefree, completely oblivious to the fact that their daughter had just been told she was "nothing" without a surname.

Fix your face.

The command echoed in your brain like a gunshot. Your survival instinct, honed by decades of these social theaters, kicked in with frightening efficiency. You didn't cry. You didn't dare. Not right now. Instead, you scrambled up from the warm marble, your movements jerky and uncoordinated.

You hurried toward the cold-water basin near the entrance, your hands trembling so anxiously that you nearly knocked over a ceramic bowl. You plunged your face into the frigid water, gasping as the shock hit your skin. You did it once, twice, three times, scrubbing away the phantom heat of your mother’s words.

When you pulled back, your face was flushed, but your expression was neutral, a blank, icy slate. You reached for a towel, blotting your skin until it was dry and tight, then stood before the small, polished metal mirror on the wall.

You stared at the woman reflected back at you. Her eyes were dull, her posture too perfect, her lips set in the practiced, pleasant line of a woman who had no complaints. You touched your cheek, surprised to find it felt cold, dead to the touch.

Sometimes you didn’t recognise yourself

You took a final, steadying breath, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and stepped out into the hallway to meet them. You adjusted your wrap, smoothed your hair, and forced the corners of your mouth upward.

The courtyard was suffocatingly bright, the Turkish sun turning the white villa walls into a glare that hurt your eyes. Around the long table, the chatter of your family and their business associates felt like white noise, buzzing and aggressive.

You were barely present. Every time you heard the clink of silverware, you felt a jolt of anxiety, the lingering echo of your mother’s voice in the hammam, the weight of the "miracle doctor" conversation with Eunwoo and the ‘divorce’ sword hanging above your head. Your hand, hidden under the white tablecloth, was rhythmically picking at the skin around your thumb, a silent, frantic habit you couldn't suppress.

Eunwoo was busy explaining the details of a new venture to your father, his attention entirely on the men at the head of the table. He didn't notice you. He didn't have to; in his mind, you were simply there, a decorative, reliable fixture. He had no idea what had happened in that bathhouse, and even if he did, he’d likely just see it as you being "difficult." 

Jungkook sat diagonally across from you, his presence steady and grounded. He didn’t make a scene. He didn't look at you with longing that would draw attention. He simply noticed the subtle tremor in your shoulder and the way you hadn't taken a single bite of your food.

He waited for a lull in the conversation, then leaned forward, his voice cutting through the noise with an effortless, casual warmth.

"I found a bookstore this morning near the bazaar on my way to the lunch," Jungkook said, addressing the table, though his eyes drifted to yours. "It’s an old place, tucked away from the main streets. They have a collection of classic poetry, the kind with those worn, leather-bound spines. I remembered you always had a soft spot for that kind of an environment,”

Your breath hitched. He wasn't just talking about a bookstore; he was talking about the life you had shared, the quiet afternoons spent reading on the floor in his apartment. He was offering you a memory of the woman you used to be.

"I've been looking for such a place for ages," you murmured, your voice finally loosening its tightness. "I didn't think they existed anymore."

"They do," Jungkook replied, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "It’s a bit of a maze to find, but it’s quiet. If you’re tired of the crowds, it’s the only place worth going today."

"Maybe ___ should go," Taehyung chimed in, his eyes darting between you and Jungkook, his expression unreadable. "She’s been complaining about the noise all morning. A little bookstore escape sounds exactly like her."

"I think I might," you said, feeling the frantic energy in your chest begin to dissipate, replaced by a strange, focused calm.

"Good," Eunwoo said, barely glancing away from your father. "Go if you want. It’s better than sitting here and looking pale." He waved a dismissive hand at you, completely missing the significance of the exchange. 

Jihoon, sitting next to Mingyu, leaned over with a teasing grin. "Books? Seriously? We’re in Istanbul! We should be drinking, not reading!"

"Let her be, Jihoon," Mingyu laughed, nudging her. "She’s always been the literary one. While we’re out getting heatstroke, she’ll be living her best aesthetic life."

Gyuri laughed, picking up her wine glass. "Just don't get lost, ___! The city is a labyrinth."

The conversation pivoted back to architecture and investments, and you felt the weight on your chest lift just enough to breathe. Jungkook had handed you a lifeline, a reason to walk away from the table, away from the expectations, and into a space that belonged to you.

You looked at Jungkook. He didn't do any signals, he just took a sip of his water, his expression perfectly composed. But in that brief, silent acknowledgement, he had reminded you of who you were.

Your suite was washed in the low, golden glow of the bedside lamps, a quiet sanctuary away from the noise of the ship. You were propped up against the pillows, the worn leather of the poetry book resting in your lap. The smell of old paper was intoxicating, a sharp contrast to the sterile, expensive scent of the suite.

A rhythmic scratching at the door was followed by Taehyung’s familiar, muffled voice. "Room service!"

You smiled as he slipped inside, clutching two crystal bowls of chocolate mousse. He looked remarkably relaxed, his linen shirt untucked, a stark contrast to the stuffy formality of the lunch earlier. He climbed onto the edge of the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight, and handed you your bowl with a wink.

"So," he started, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial hum, "that bookstore visit. Tell me everything. Did the mysterious Mr. Jeon guide you to the right store, or was it a wild goose chase?"

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. "It was exactly what I needed, Tae. Quiet. No business talk, no noise, no… Eunwoo."

Taehyung sighed, stretching his legs out. "Dad and Eunwoo are still at the bar. Apparently, they’ve decided that the best way to handle 'mergers' is by drowning them in single-malt scotch. They’ll be out for hours."

Without warning, he leaned over and shoved his spoon into your bowl, scooping up a generous portion of mousse before you could even protest.

"Tae! You are literally holding your own bowl," you hissed, swatting at his hand.

He didn't even look guilty. He just shoved the spoonful into his mouth, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I know. But yours always tastes better. It’s like the scarcity principle. It’s science, sister."

You rolled your eyes, but the annoyance didn't have any teeth. It felt good to just be a sibling for a moment, not a wife or a socialite. You watched him chew, his expression blissful, and your smile slowly faded into something more solemn.

"Tae," you whispered, glancing toward the bathroom door to make sure the water was still running. "I need to tell you something. And you can't—I mean it, you can't tell anyone. Not Mom, not Dad, not a soul."

Taehyung sensed the shift in the air instantly. He set his bowl down on the nightstand, his playful demeanor sharpening into focus. "What’s wrong? You’re scaring me."

You took a breath, your fingers tightening around the edge of the book. "Remember how Eunwoo was going on and on about that specialist today? About why I’m not... you know, conceiving?"

Taehyung nodded, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, he’s obsessed."

"It’s not 'not having luck', Tae," you said, your voice barely a thread. "I’m on the pill. I have been since the wedding. Eunwoo has absolutely no idea."

Taehyung’s jaw literally dropped. He stared at you, his eyes wide, a slow, bewildered grin spreading across his face. "You… you’re actually doing it? You’re playing the long game."

"I can't bring a child into this, Tae. Not with him. It’s the only thing I have control over."

Before he could respond, the suite door handle rattled.

You and Taehyung scrambled. You shoved the book under your pillow, and he frantically grabbed his bowl, looking like a deer in the headlights. The door swung open, and Eunwoo stepped out, his shirt 's top button was unbuttoned, his tie discarded. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze landing on the bed.

Bam, who had been dozing near your feet, had finally made himself comfortable on the duvet, sprawled out like he owned the entire suite.

Eunwoo’s face twisted. "Are you kidding me?" He walked over, pointing an accusatory finger at the Doberman. "Seriously? That animal is shedding everywhere. It’s a health hazard, for god's sake."

He started flapping his hands at Bam, looking hilariously out of his depth, like a man trying to battle a hurricane with a napkin. "Go on! Shoo! Get off!"

Bam just blinked, unbothered, letting out a heavy, dramatic sigh and resting his chin firmly on your leg.

You and Taehyung watched, biting your lips to keep from laughing as Eunwoo continued to 'shoo' the dog, his composure cracking into genuine, petty annoyance.

"Oh, for heaven’s sake," you laughed, finally breaking. "Bam, off."

Bam immediately hopped down, tail wagging, trotting over to nuzzle Taehyung’s hand.

Eunwoo huffed, straightening his sleeves, clearly feeling ridiculous but trying to regain his dignity. "Ridiculous," he muttered, heading for the mini-fridge.

Taehyung stood up, his face still flushed from suppressed laughter. "Right. Well. That was a show. I’m going to take this beast for a final walk. You two... have a good night."

He shot you one final, significant look, a silent promise that this conversation was far from over, and took Bam out of the room, leaving the door to click shut behind them.

You woke up from your afternoon nap with a series of tings coming from your phone. 

It was the day. JK’s official farewell party but only with the ‘survivors’ gang. Sometimes you wondered who even came up with that group name.

Oh wait.

It was you. Definitely you.

At one point it was only you, Yuna, Mingyu, Iseul, Yoongi and Taehyung. You had made the group after a very exhausting day and were done with the whole bullshit of this company and almost at the verge of quitting the job. And at one point you did.

Exactly a month later, Jungkook was hired. At first you found him a little annoying (still do), since he was always loud, joking around and not taking things seriously.

It was a notion and you knew you were judgemental of him and boy did he prove you wrong. You remember it was a Tuesday afternoon in June, three weeks into his tenure. The office was in full-blown panic mode because a high-profile client had just pulled out of a campaign launch for Burberry, leaving a gaping hole in the production schedule. Everyone was frantic. You were buried under spreadsheets, your hands shaking from the sheer volume of work, while Natasha was hovering—literally pacing behind your chair like a predatory bird.

Jungkook, who you’d pegged as the "office clown" who would flake at the first sign of real pressure, had walked in with a stack of files and a calm that was frankly annoying.

He hadn't joked once. He hadn't asked for a coffee break. He had simply looked at your monitor, assessed the disaster, and started delegating with a quiet authority that made even someone like Natasha stop pacing. He’d spent the next six hours working beside you, sharing his snacks with you, handling the client's angry calls, and effectively saving the project from imploding.

That was the moment. The realization that he wasn't just "there." He was a pillar.

You shook the memory away, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you got ready for The Den. You were wearing something simple—a black dress that you knew you could move in, something that didn't feel like a costume.

Your phone chimed again and it was the groupchat.

shane (work): The Den is crowded. I’ve secured the corner booth. Don't be late!

You grabbed your bag and headed out. The walk to the bar felt longer than usual, the cool evening air doing little to settle the nervous fluttering in your chest.

When you pushed through the doors of The Den, the music hit you, a low, rhythmic bass that seemed to vibrate in your bones. It didn't take long to spot them. The "Survivors" were already in full swing, a loud, chaotic circle of laughter and clinking glasses. And there, right in the middle, sat Jungkook.

He looked different out of his office clothes. He was wearing a brown leather jacket, his hair slightly messy, and he was laughing at something Taehyung had said.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, he turned.

His eyes locked onto yours, and the noise of the bar seemed to instantly drop away. His smile shifted, losing that performative, "farewell party" edge and becoming something softer, something that made your breath hitch. He patted the empty space on the bench beside him, a silent invitation that felt far more significant than it had any right to be.

The two of you didn’t know but both Yuna and Namjoon had seen this little interaction.

You walked over, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and sat down.

"You made it," he said, his voice just audible over the music. He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne; something crisp and familiar washing over you.

"Wouldn't miss the chance to see you get roasted," you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but your voice betrayed you, sounding breathless even to your own ears.

Jungkook didn't pull back. He just watched you, his gaze roaming over your face as if he were memorizing it. "I'm glad," he whispered. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

“Now why would you feel that?” You asked a little confused, raising your eyebrows.

For a second there you saw him falter. It was very rare when Jungkook didn’t have an answer ready.

“Only because you are...” he stopped. Why is he not saying the whole thing? You looked at him expecting him to complete that sentence.

Before he could, Shane came and sat next to you and said, “Girl why are you wearing black? This is a farewell and not a funeral,” and immediately the whole table let out a loud laugh. Shane’s joke about the funeral was loud, drawing a chorus of snickers from the group. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders dropping.

"Very funny, Shane," you muttered, though a laugh bubbled up despite yourself. You took a seat, and for a moment, the bar felt like the only world that existed. Jungkook was right there, his shoulder brushing yours, the low hum of conversation swirling around you like a cocoon.

He turned to you, his expression shifting from amusement back to that intense focus. "You look nice," he said, his voice dropping below the roar of the loud pop music playing. It wasn't the teasing tone he usually adopted, it was just... observation. Your heart did that treacherous flip again. You opened your mouth to give him a sarcastic comeback about his leather jacket, when Mingyu spoke up.

"Alright," Mingyu announced, standing up on the bench and raising his glass, his eyes bright with drink and affection. "We are not letting this man leave without a trip down memory lane. Best Jungkook moment—go!"

You watched as the group leaned in, a collective buzz of energy taking over.

"Oh, it has to be the time he tried to fix the printer," Iseul started, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "He literally disassembled the entire thing in the accounts room because he thought he heard a 'weird noise,' and then had to call maintenance because he couldn't put the rollers back."

"Hey!" Jungkook defended, laughing into his drink. "I was trying to be efficient!"

"Efficient? You paralyzed our whole department for two hours!" Hoseok countered, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his face. "But, honestly? My favorite was the 'Emergency Coffee Run' during that blizzard. Everyone else had left, and you came back with a tray of lattes balanced on a cardboard box like it was a holy offering."

"I was just looking out for the team," Jungkook said, his voice dropping an octave, a soft look crossing his face.

Taehyung chimed in, "What about the time you convinced Natasha that you were fluent in French just to get out of a meeting, and then she actually put you on a call with a French client?"

That immediately made you laugh.

"The silence on that call was the loudest thing I've ever heard," Jin wheezed, clutching his stomach. "Jungkook just kept saying 'Oui, oui' until the client hung up in confusion."

The group erupted. Even Yoongi, usually the most stoic of the bunch, was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. You watched Jungkook through the haze of the bar, his head thrown back in genuine, uninhibited joy. This wasn't the office Jungkook who was constantly checking his watch; this was the guy who had been your partner, your sounding board, and your sanity-saver for the last two years.

"Your turn, ___," Mingyu said, nudging you with his elbow. The table went quiet, waiting.

You cleared your throat, feeling all eyes on you—especially Jungkook’s. You looked at him, really looked at him, and realized you didn't want to pick a funny story.

"The Burberry launch," you said, your voice steady. "When the client pulled out and we were staring at an empty schedule. I thought I was going to lose my mind. And you just... walked in. You didn't panic. You just started working." You looked down at your hands, then back up at him. "You made me feel like we weren't just a failing project. You made me feel like we were a team."

The air in the booth shifted. The laughter died down, replaced by a soft, warm silence. Jungkook’s expression softened, his thumb brushing against the rim of his glass.

“See,” Shane whispered, nudging you with his elbow, his voice just loud enough for the table to hear. “I told you it was a love story.”

You felt the blood drain from your face, followed immediately by a sharp prickle of heat. You whipped your head around, eyes wide, and shot Shane a look.

“Excuse me?” you hissed, your voice tight.

The table didn't erupt; they just chuckled. Jimin rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his drink. “Oh, relax. He’s just being dramatic.”

Jungkook was sitting perfectly still. He didn't laugh, and he didn't join in the teasing. He simply watched you, his glass frozen halfway to his lips, his expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, the air in the booth felt heavy, like it was pulling the oxygen out of the room. He didn’t deny it, but he didn't confirm it either; he just held your gaze with an intensity that made you feel like you were standing in a spotlight.

Finally, Shane cleared his throat, sensing the air had gone a bit thin and your expression. If looks could kill, Shane knew it was this one.

“No, no, wait, I mean, the love story between Jungkook and the client,” Shane backtracked, though his grin was still mischievous. “Because we all know that event was saved because Jungkook was the only one who could handle a client like Jihoon. Not even our CEO Kim Song, who is in fact her friend and the reason we even got this project, could handle her.”

A ripple of laughter went through the table, light, casual, and oh so oblivious.

You let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. This was getting awkward.

“Seriously,” Jin muttered, sliding a microphone toward the center of the table. “And honestly? I think we’ve had enough ‘sentimental’ talk for one night. Who’s ready to kill my ears with some bad singing?”

The mood snapped back to the usual party chaos and you were thankful. As the group began to filter out of the booth toward the karaoke stage, you stayed back for a second to grab your bag.

“You looked really panicked there, ___,” a low voice said.

You jumped slightly, turning to find Namjoon standing by the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful as he watched the rest of the group already starting to belt out a song. He wasn't teasing, he was just observing, that calm, steady gaze of his making you feel like he could see through every one of your defenses.

“I just don’t like being the butt of the joke, Joon,” you said, forcing a casual shrug as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

Namjoon hummed, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. He didn’t push, didn't pry; he just nodded, his eyes shifting toward the stage where Jungkook was already grabbing a mic. “Fair enough. Come on, let’s go join the chaos.”

You followed him to the front, taking a seat at a different table to watch the performance. As the karaoke started, you watched Jungkook. He was loud, he was dancing badly, and he was acting like the life of the party—but you couldn't shake the memory of how still he had been in the booth. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, focusing intently on the lyrics, desperately trying to convince yourself that the rapid thumping in your chest was just the bass of the music.

It’s nothing, you reminded yourself. It’s just a farewell for a friend. Nothing more. The mood was still heavy with that "almost" moment when suddenly, the air in the bar shifted. The opening notes of "Wiggle" by Jason Derulo blasted through the speakers.

Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung froze immediately and next to you Iseul bursted laughing. "Wiggle! Wiggle! Wiggle!" Dae and Iseul chanted in unison.

"Get up there, you three!" Jin shrieked, physically shoving Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung toward the small stage.

Jungkook looked like a deer in headlights, laughing and protesting, "Guys, no! This place isn't ready for that kind of iconicity! We are absolutely not doing the choreography!"

"Do it or the office finds out about the Vegas off-site photos!" Yoongi threatened, brandishing his phone. Yoongi was so drunk.

The three of them looked offended and it was a funny sight.

The boys shuffled onto the stage, gave it a half-hearted, awkward attempt at the choreography by mostly just swaying and shoulder-shrugging. As the beat dropped, the three of them—who were, mind you, supposed to be respectable professionals—immediately fell into a routine that was simultaneously offensive to the art of dance and a masterpiece of comedic timing. They weren't just singing; they were committing. The "wiggle" moves were exaggerated, borderline violent, and perfectly synchronized, a testament to the absolute chaos of that Vegas trip. The bar was roaring, but your table was the loudest. Iseul was filming with her phone, gasping for air, while Hoseok and Dae were mimicking the moves in their seats, nearly knocking over their drinks.

You watched Jungkook,the same guy who had looked at you with such intensity a moment ago,now gyrating aggressively while Jimin and Taehyung tried to out-do him in ridiculousness. It was stupid. It was childish. It was the absolute highlight of your year.

"Look at them!" Namjoon shouted over the music, wiping genuine tears from his eyes. "Those are the brightest minds in our company, ladies and gentlemen!"

By the time the song ended, the three of them were panting, red-faced, and laughing harder than anyone else. Jungkook stumbled off the stage, his hair a total wreck, looking back at the group with a grin that could light up the entire block.

But before he could catch his breath, two girls from a nearby table slid into the vacated spots right beside him. They were loud and not-so-subtly flirting, their hands lingering on his arm maybe talking about what just happened on the floor.

You felt a sharp, icy prick of annoyance. You took a long, steady sip of your drink, trying to look bored. You were in fact nonchalant as the kids say.

Across the table, Yoona caught your eye, her mouth curling into a knowing smirk and mouthed ‘subtle’ and you rolled your eyes at her.

"Alright, break it up, ladies," Mingyu said, his voice firm as he stood up. "The guest of honor needs to focus on his cake."

Jungkook looked relieved. He scrambled out of the booth, his eyes immediately seeking yours. He collapsed into the seat right next to you, leaving no space between you.

"Thank god," he exhaled. "I thought I was going to be trapped there for the rest of the night."

"You could have just said you were boring," you teased.

He turned to face you, ignoring the room entirely. "I'm not boring. I was just waiting for the right person to join in."

Before you could respond to whatever the hell that was, Dae cleared his throat and wheeled over the cake box. As Jungkook opened it, his face lit up at the Ferrari F1 car, boxing gloves, and music notes.

"You did this?" Jungkook asked, looking at you rather than the cake.

"I did with everyone’s help," you said, smiling. You remembered the planning and asking for ideas and how in a family sort of way everyone came together. The rest of the group was busy cheering, their voices fading into a dull roar. Jungkook smiled at you. A genuine smile.

“Okay, okay, now cut your cake,” You smiled and told him. Mingyu lit up the candle and for a moment it all froze.

You saw him, smiling, and while the rest of the gang looked back at him smiling. It was the perfect moment. A happy moment. The melancholy didn't even matter right now, at this moment.

The cake was a resounding success. After the frenzy of the F1 car design and the "Survivors" devouring every last crumb, the energy in the booth began to settle. The group drifted into smaller clusters, laughing and finishing their drinks.

It was the kind of night that felt like a quiet ending to an era. You sat back, feeling a strange, hollow sense of peace, watching Jungkook across the table. He was leaning back, talking to Yoongi and Yoona, his expression relaxed, looking every bit like the guy you’d worked alongside for two years.

Eventually, the group started to disperse. Jimin and Taehyung were the first to stand, followed by Iseul and Hoseok. One by one, the "Survivors" offered their goodbyes, and dreading Monday. Finally, it was just you, Jungkook, and a few lingering stragglers near the exit.

You stood up, smoothing down your black dress. "Well," you said, your voice soft. "That’s that. Farewell party, officially done and dusted."

Jungkook stood up with you. He looked at you, his eyes lingering on your face as if he were trying to memorize your expression in the dim bar lighting. "Yeah," he said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made your pulse jump. The air between you felt thick, charged with all the things you hadn't said. He reached out, his thumb picking out a small lash on that was on your cheek you held your breath, and he softly said “Make a wish”. You took a deep breath.

You wish you knew what this was.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

The vibration of your phone shattered the moment. You scrambled to grab it, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Dia (Calling)...

You sighed, your shoulders slumping with immediate, weary frustration. You looked at Jungkook, who still had his hand hovering near your face, looking slightly dazed by the interruption.

"It's Dia," you breathed, shaking your head. "She’s probably out somewhere and can't find her way home. Give me a second."

You swiped, pressing the phone to your ear, ready to deliver a lecture. "Dia? What is it? I told you, I was out."

"I… I think I drank way too much," your sister’s voice came through, thick, slurred, and laughably uncoordinated. "And I don't know where I am. Everything is spinning."

The frustration vanished, replaced by that familiar, protective concern. You frowned, glancing at Jungkook. He had stopped, his expression shifting from that vulnerable, soft gaze to one of immediate, focused alertness.

"Dia, stay right there. Send me your location now," you commanded, your voice sharpening.

You hung up, and before you could explain, Jungkook was already grabbing his jacket. He didn't wait for you to ask. He signaled to Namjoon and Mingyu—who were the last two still lingering—with a quick nod that said emergency.

"I'm driving," he said, moving toward the door, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back to guide you through the crowd. "Where is she?"

"She’s at that lounge, The Velvet," you said, your voice tight. "It’s about fifteen minutes away." The biting chill was doing nothing to calm your nerves. You were already fumbling with your phone, your thumb trembling as you pulled up the map Dia had just texted.

Jungkook was already walking toward his car, his stride long and purposeful. He didn't ask how you were feeling, or if you were okay; he just unlocked the passenger door and gestured for you to get in. As soon as you were buckled, the engine roared to life. He didn't hesitate, pulling into the flow of traffic with a smooth, controlled intensity that felt completely different from the chaotic, joking guy you’d seen on the karaoke stage just an hour ago.

The silence in the car wasn't empty; it was heavy with the echo of this whole night. You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur, your mind racing between your sister's slurred voice and the lingering sensation of his thumb against your jaw.

"She'll be fine," Jungkook said, his eyes fixed on the road, though he reached over and briefly brushed his hand against yours. It was a grounding gesture, steady and warm. 

"She knows better," you muttered, leaning your head back against the seat. "She’s going to get an earful the second I see her."

"Maybe," he agreed, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips. "But I have a feeling you're going to be more relieved than angry once we see her."

The drive seemed to pass in a blur of dimmed streetlights and minimal conversation. When he finally pulled up to the curb in front of The Velvet, you saw her. Dia was sitting on the low stone wall outside the entrance, head in her hands, looking absolutely gone.

You were out of the car before he had even put it in park.

"Dia!" you called out, hurrying over.

She looked up, squinting through the neon light, her hair a disheveled mess. When she saw you, a goofy, lopsided smile broke across her face. Then, her eyes drifted to the person walking up behind you.

Jungkook had stepped out of the car, his leather jacket draped over his shoulders, looking effortlessly sharp even after the night’s antics. He stopped a few feet back, giving you space, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

Diya’s eyes widened, her drunken daze momentarily replaced by a look of profound, chaotic recognition. She stood up, swaying slightly, and pointed a wobbly finger at him.

"Oh my god," she slurred, her voice loud enough to turn heads. "It's the... the office husband!"

You felt your face go searingly hot. "Dia, shut up! You are drunk."

"I am not!" she protested, trying to look offended but failing spectacularly. She stumbled toward you, grabbing your arm for balance, but her eyes stayed locked on Jungkook. "You!" she shouted at him, giggling. "You’re the one who calls her every time the printer breaks, right? I know all about you!"

Jungkook let out a low, amused laugh, his shoulders shaking. He walked forward, stepping into the light, and offered Dia his arm to help her steady herself.

"Nice to finally meet you, Dia," he said, his voice smooth, completely unfazed by her outburst. He looked at you, his eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and affection. "I think your sister is right. We should probably get you home before you start spilling any more company secrets."

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You looked at Jungkook, terrified of his reaction, but he just shook his head, his gaze meeting yours with a soft, steady warmth.

"Let's get her in the car," he said, ignoring her comment entirely, though you didn't miss the way his hand lingered on the small of your back.

He’s playing it cool, you thought, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. He’s playing it so, so cool.

The drive to your apartment was far more subdued than the chaos at the bar. Dia had slumped into the backseat, her earlier sharp-tongued observations replaced by a drowsy, quiet contentment.

When he pulled up to your building, he came around to help you usher Dia inside. The lobby was empty and quiet. It was a strange, intimate scene—the three of you in the small, mirrored elevator, Jungkook supporting most of Dia’s weight while you fumbled with your keys.

Inside your apartment, it took only a few minutes to get Dia settled onto the couch. She was mostly out, her breathing even. You stepped back out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you, the silence of the corridor feeling heavy.

You looked up at Jungkook, the apology bubbling up in your throat.

"I am so sorry," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "For the interruption, for dragging you out here, and for whatever nonsense she was saying in the car. That dumbass...gets weird when she's had too much."

Jungkook was leaning against the wall, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made the hallway feel like it was closing in. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable and calm, his usual playful mask firmly in place.

"She wouldn't be the first person to say things like that," he said, his voice dropping into that low, even tone that gave nothing away. He didn't confirm or deny a single thing; he just shrugged it off as if it were just more drunken rambling he'd heard a thousand times before. "Don't worry about it."

He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you. The air shifted, becoming electric. He looked at you, not with a confession, but with a gaze that felt heavy and intentional. It was happening a lot tonight.

He hugged you. 

What were you expecting?

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and daring, but his expression remained cool and unshaken.

"Goodnight, you are tired," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your ear. "Text me if you need anything."

He turned on his heel and walked toward the elevator, leaving you standing there in the silence of the hallway while your heart was hammering against your ribs. 

You were so fucked and nothing had even happened.

© foreignjaykay

Your father, Kim Wooshik, raised a glass of Moët & Chandon, his smile polished and practiced. Beside him stood your mother, Kim Sana, elegant as ever, lifting her own glass to the room full of family, friends, handpicked business associates, and people who only knew the version of them that existed in magazines and gala photographs.

A chorus of cheers followed. To everyone else, they were the perfect couple.

Only a handful of people at this table knew how fractured the marriage really was. Thirty years of appearances had taught your parents how to survive anything—from public scandals to private betrayals—as long as the image remained intact.

“Before we sit down, I'd like to say something,” your father's voice carried easily across the room. “Sana, my beautiful wife, thank you for standing by my side through the good times and the bad.”

A collective chorus of awws echoed around the table.

You caught Taehyung dramatically wiping away an imaginary tear. Despite yourself, a real laugh escaped your lips.

Across the room, Jungkook noticed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he lowered his gaze back to his champagne glass.

“Thirty years together isn't easy,” your father continued, reaching for your mother's hand. “But family is what makes every sacrifice worthwhile.”

You almost rolled your eyes.

“I'm also proud of my children.” His gaze shifted between you and Taehyung. “All I've ever wanted is happiness and success for both of you.”

For a brief moment, the statement sounded almost sincere. Then, of course, he had to ruin it.

“And hopefully, in the near future, __ and Eunwoo will make us grandparents.”

Laughter erupted around the table. Your smile froze instantly. Beside you, Eunwoo chuckled politely and slipped an arm around your waist. The champagne suddenly tasted bitter.

Across the table, right on cue, Taehyung visibly winced. Your parents had an incredible talent for turning every family gathering into a discussion about marriage, babies, and expectations. And judging by the look on Taehyung's face, he was already preparing for whatever disaster they would orchestrate next.

You didn’t dare to look at Jungkook.

A while later, after dinner, the guests scattered around the bar, sitting in small groups and catching up. Eunwoo was across the room with a cluster of business associates, and your mother-in-law was deep in conversation with some of your relatives. Judging by the expressions on their faces, the topic had inevitably drifted toward health issues, investments, and other things that made you want to escape immediately.

Your eyes involuntarily searched the crowd for him.

“Looking for me?”

A voice murmured right behind you, startling you. You jumped slightly, pressing a hand to your chest before realizing it was just your brother. “God, Taehyung, you scared me,” you muttered, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Violence. Nice.” He rubbed his arm dramatically.

You rolled your eyes.

“All of us are heading up to the deck. Are you coming?” Taehyung asked. With the look on his face, you knew there was mischief brewing.

“When you say ‘all’," you countered suspiciously, "who exactly is all, Taehyung?”

The grin on his face widened. “Oh, so now you're interested.”

“Kim Taehyung.”

“Fine, fine.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Me, Mingyu, Jihoon, Gyuri, a few cousins...”

“And?”

“And Jungkook.”

You immediately looked away, focusing entirely on your drink.

“Thought so,” Taehyung said easily, catching your reaction.

“Thought what?”

“That was the name you were waiting for.”

“Very funny. I wasn't waiting for anything,” you said, staring at the bar decor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world to avoid this very awkward conversation.

“Sure.”

You shot him a glare. “Don't start.”

“I haven't even started yet,” he teased, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He was clearly up to no good.

Before you could threaten him further, Taehyung hooked an arm around your shoulder and steered you toward the exit.

The night air was much cooler out on the deck. A small group had already gathered near the railing. Mingyu was animatedly telling some ridiculous story, while Jihoon looked seconds away from pushing him overboard. For the first time that evening, you laughed fully.

Then, your eyes found him.

Jungkook was standing a little apart from the rest of the group, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, listening more than talking. Bam sat obediently at his feet. As if sensing your presence, the Doberman's ears suddenly perked up.

Oh no.

Bam stood up, and within seconds, he trotted across the deck with his tail wagging, heading straight toward you and Taehyung. A chorus of laughter erupted from the group.

“Of course, ignore me the second she walks in,” Jungkook called out softly after him, a dry, fond chuckle in his voice.

Bam reached you and immediately pressed his heavy head against your hip, whining happily. Your heart melted right then and there, because some things, apparently, never changed.

“He’s going to ruin your dress with his paws,” Jungkook’s voice was soft, breaking through the low hum of the ocean wind as he stepped closer to retrieve the leash. He didn't look directly at your eyes, focusing instead on Bam’s ecstatic tail.

“I don’t mind,” you whispered, your fingers burying into Bam’s thick fur one last time before you forced yourself to straighten up.

“Alright, let’s sit down before the wind freezes us,” Taehyung intervened smoothly, always the shield, steering the group toward a cluster of luxury lounge chairs surrounding the ship’s secondary pool.

As the rest of the cousins and friends settled in, the loud, overlapping chatter of Mingyu and Jihoon faded into background noise. You sat on the edge of a lounger, pulling your wrap tighter around your shoulders.

The ship’s lights had been dimmed for the night, leaving the deck illuminated primarily by the glowing, turquoise water of the pool. It rippled gently with the movement of the ship. You looked up, past the towering smoke stacks, and saw it—a brilliant, silver full moon, cutting through the darkness of the open sea and casting a shimmering path across the water.

Involuntarily, your gaze drifted across the pool.

Jungkook was already looking at you.

The rest of the world dissolved. The laughter of your family, the sound of the wind—it all vanished under the sudden, suffocating weight of a shared secret. You could tell by the slight shift in his posture, the way his doe eyes darkened under the moonlight, that he was thinking about it too.

The full moon. The glowing water.

The mind is a cruel thing; it doesn’t ask for permission before it drags you backward.

Suddenly, the ocean breeze turned into the humid air of a late-July midnight ten years ago. You were nineteen, suffocated by your family’s expectations even then, and you had snuck into the elite country club past hours for a late-night swim to just… breathe.

The club pool had been entirely empty, a pristine sheet of turquoise under a massive, glowing full moon. You had just stepped out onto the tiled deck when you realized you weren’t alone.

A guy was cutting through the water, his strokes silent and powerful. When he broke the surface, shaking the water from his dark hair, the moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the broad expanse of his shoulders. Jungkook.

He had frozen when he noticed you standing there. You had frozen, too.

Neither of you said a word. The silence of the country club was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of water from his skin onto the concrete. But the air between you had instantly turned electric. It was an undeniable, terrifying magnet—an instant attraction so potent it made your lungs ache.

You had stood on opposite sides of the water, a rich girl running away from her life and a boy who belonged to a completely different world, just staring. You hadn’t exchanged names that night. You hadn't needed to. Something shifted in the universe, and you both knew it.

A sharp, warm pressure clapped down on your shoulder, shattering the memory like glass.

“There you are, honey. I’ve been looking all over the ship for you.”

Eunwoo’s smooth, proprietary voice filled your ears. He stepped into the light of the deck, looking pristine in his tailored suit, his eyes scanning the group with a practiced, polite friendliness.

Across the pool, you saw Jungkook’s gaze instantly drop to the deck floor, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

“Eunwoo,” you managed, your voice sounding incredibly distant to your own ears as you forced your mask back on. “We were just getting some fresh air.”

“Well, your mother is looking for us,” Eunwoo said, his hand sliding down your arm to clasp your wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. He looked across the water, his eyes landing on Jungkook for the first time. “Oh, hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Eunwoo, ___’s husband.”

The silence that followed Eunwoo’s introduction was heavy, suffocating, and far too long.

Jungkook slowly rose from his seat, his movements deliberate. For a fraction of a second, his eyes flicked to yours, a silent, questioning glance, before he turned his full attention to your husband. The guarded, polite blankness you’d seen in the lobby was back, locking away the boy you used to know behind a wall of pure composure.

“Jungkook,” he said simply, stepping forward to extend his hand. His voice was level, completely devoid of the warmth he had used with Bam just moments ago. “Jeon Jungkook.”

Eunwoo took his hand, his grip lingering just a second too long in that way businessmen do when they are sizing each other up. “Jeon? Wait, the Jungkook? All the ladies inside were just talking about your album at dinner. Impressive streak you're having.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook replied smoothly, offering a polite nod that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh my god, wait,” Gyuri chimed in from the lounge chairs, her eyes widening. “You're that Jungkook? I literally have your album on repeat right now! Jihoon, I told you he looked familiar!”

“I knew it!” Jihoon laughed, leaning forward. “My playlist is basically entirely your music at this point. It's an honor, seriously.”

Eunwoo’s practiced smile widened, his hand subtly tightening on your wrist, drawing you closer to his side as if aligning himself with the celebrity in the room.

“Well, look at that. A genuine star in our midst. We must get going, though. My mother-in-law is quite particular about her schedule, and we wouldn't want to keep her waiting.”

Your throat felt incredibly tight. But as the cousins gushed over him, you looked at Jungkook. For the first time all evening, the forced, plastic expression faded from your face. A small, real smile touched your lips—a quiet, deeply proud look meant just for him.

You remembered when he was just writing melodies on a broken keyboard in his apartment. He had actually made it.

Jungkook’s eyes shifted to you, catching the sudden softness in your face. His breath hitched slightly, his guarded mask cracking for a split second as he recognized the genuine pride in your eyes.

“Anyway, bye, everyone. See you all tomorrow,” you managed, your voice sounding incredibly distant to your own ears as you forced your mask back on.

“Goodnight,” Taehyung called out, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

As Eunwoo steered you toward the deck doors, his hand a heavy, possessive weight on the small of your back, you couldn’t resist the terrifying urge to look over your shoulder one last time.

Jungkook wasn't looking at you anymore. He was already clipping the leash back onto Bam’s collar, though his movements felt a little more hurried now.

“Actually, guys, I think I’m going to call it a night, too,” Jungkook said to the group, his voice cutting through the cool night air. He offered a faint, apologetic smile to everyone. “Jet lag is finally catching up to me. See you guys around?”

“Man, already?” Mingyu groaned, but nodded. “Alright, bro. Get some rest. Don't let the fame tire you out.”

Jungkook gave Taehyung a brief, knowing look before turning on his heel, his long strides carrying him and Bam toward the opposite exit of the deck. Within seconds, his silhouette vanished into the shadows of the ship.

The deck fell into a brief, reflective silence, broken only by the sound of the ocean waves.

Jihoon leaned back in her lounge chair, her sharp eyes scanning the empty spaces where you, Eunwoo, and Jungkook had just been standing. A slow, mischievous grin spread across her lips.

“Okay, hold on,” Jihoon said, breaking the silence as she looked around the circle. “Am I blind, or did we all just notice a massive vibe right there?”

"Her brother is right here, hello?" Taehyung raised his eyebrows and waved his hands.

Mingyu snorted, throwing his arm over the back of her chair. “A vibe? With who? Eunwoo? Yeah, the vibe of a guy who treats his wife like a luxury car showroom.”

“No, stupid, not Eunwoo,” Jihoon rolled her eyes, nudging Mingyu’s ribs. “Between Jungkook and ___. When everyone was talking about his music, did you see the way she smiled at him? And the way he looked right back at her? The air went completely dead. It was like watching a movie.”

A few of the cousins laughed, waving her off.

“You’re imagining things, Jihoon. She was probably just starstruck like the rest of us,” Gyuri chimed in, taking a sip of her drink. “Besides, she’s married to Eunwoo. Don't start writing a drama in your head.”

“Exactly” Taehyung said.

As the group dissolved into lighthearted teasing, laughing the comment away, Taehyung remained completely still. He forced a dry, awkward chuckle to blend in with the rest of them, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

He looked down at the glowing turquoise water of the pool, his stomach tying itself into a hard, anxious knot.

Jihoon wasn't imagining things. And as Taehyung thought about the look in Jungkook's eyes, the proud smile you couldn't hide, and the sudden mention of the divorce earlier that evening, a cold sense of dread settled deep in his chest.

Things are about to get very, very real, he thought to himself. And this ship isn't big enough for the storm that's coming.

fated!oc:

everyday/at work

on vacation

her hair (then vs now) - ref. part two

then:

now:

fated!jungkook:

everyday/at work

on vacation

Today was a lot for both of you.

Taehyung sighed, the sound escaping him in a cloud of vapor. “It’s exactly what you thought. Jihoon. They want to set up an 'engagement' during the trip. They think her dad will invest in the company if they can lock it in. It’s the usual transaction, isn't it?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the dark, restless ocean.

Was this fate for both of you?

You couldn’t let him go through the same thing you did.

“No,” you whispered, grabbing his arm. “Tae, you can’t. You absolutely cannot let them do this to you. They are selfish,”

Taehyung turned to you, his face etched with fatigue. “Look, I know. But what choice do I have? Jihoon isn’t interested in me. They only think we’re together because she likes Mingyu. And since their families are rivals, she lied to her mom—said she’d been visiting me at night.”

Oh good lord.

You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temple, massaging small circles like you were trying to knead the headache out of existence. “Taehyung, are you stupid?”

“No, I’m loyal,” he countered, though his tone lacked conviction. “I told her I’d cover for her. It keeps the peace. It’s what we do, right? Play the game until we can figure out an exit strategy.” He looked at you then, a sad, knowing glint in his eyes. “Besides, you bought yourself some chaos today. How’s Eunwoo handling the ‘I want a divorce’ news you dropped on them?”

The sudden shift back to your own disaster was a harsh jolt. You took a shaky breath. “He doesn’t know. Not yet. Mom and Dad wouldn’t tell him tonight. Image, remember? But they’ll use it as leverage against us both.”

You leaned in close, the wind pulling at your hair. This was the opening. You had to tell him everything now, before the ship felt even smaller.

“Do you really want this divorce ___?” Taehyung asked sincerely.

You nodded meekly, letting the statement stand on its own for a heavy moment. 

You knew you did. This was the best way to go ahead for both of  you. It was a loveless marriage. How long can one pretend to sustain that?

Taehyung watched you, his expression softening. He knew you. He knew his elder sister never made rash decisions. If you were saying this now, after three years of silence, it meant you had reached your breaking point. He hated that it had come to this—hated how your parents treated your lives like business deals rather than normal human experiences.

“Okay,” Taehyung said finally. He squeezed your shoulder, a solid weight of support. 

Just then a text notification sound came in from Taehyung’s phone, distracting him.

“It’s Mingyu and Jihoon. Something urgent apparently,” He raised his brows in confusion.

“Go,” you said, managing a weak smile. “I’ll stay here for a bit.”

“We will figure it out. I promise and don't stay out too long okay,” You nodded and smiled at him. 

You watched him walk away, disappearing into the shadows of the upper deck stairs. You sat there for a few more minutes, listening to the waves crashing against the hull, letting the salt spray sting your eyes, before finally deciding to face the music.

An hour later, you were fresh out of your room, dressed for the welcome dinner. You had spent too long in the shower, trying to scrub away the anxiety, but it still clung to you like a second skin.

The corridor leading to the main restaurant was lined with warm lights and soft chatter. You were adjusting your clutch, head down, when you turned the corner and saw two figures standing by the entrance.

You stopped short, your breath hitching.

It was him. And his father.

Jungkook was dressed in smart casual attire now, no longer the figure in the hoodie you had glimpsed earlier. He looked handsome, but also tired. He was saying something to his father, Mr. Jeon, a man who had always treated you with kindness back then when he noticed you.

The minute Mr. Jeon saw you, he smiled warmly. “Look, ___, the melodrama worked, didn't it?”

You smiled awkwardly, walking toward them. “Yes.”

Silence stretched between the three of you for a heartbeat.

“The two of you catch up,” Mr. Jeon said, glancing between you and Jungkook with a gentle expression. “Jungkook, I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

Jungkook nodded, and you watched his father drift away into the crowd, giving you privacy you weren't sure you could handle.

“Oh,” the word slipped out before you could stop it. “You came. I didn’t think you would.”

Jungkook looked at you, his hands in his pockets, a faint, dry amusement in his eyes. He chuckled, a low sound that vibrated in the air between you. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

The tension broke, just a fraction, and you both let out a small, awkward laugh. It was strange—how easy it was to fall back into banter, even when everything else was broken.

“It’s good you did,” you said softly. “Uncle Jeon was missing you a lot.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened at the mention of his dad. He nodded, acknowledging the truth of it. “I know. I’ve been… busy.”

“I can see that.”

He took a step closer, his gaze drifting from your eyes down to your hair. It used to be long, down to your waist, the way he loved to braid it. Now, it was cut sharp and chic, resting just above your shoulders.

“You look good,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the new cut. His voice was sincere, lacking the bitterness you expected.

“Thanks,” you managed, tucking a strand behind your ear, suddenly self-conscious.

“How has…” He paused, searching for the right words, his dark eyes scanning your face as if looking for cracks in the porcelain. “How has everything been?”

It was a loaded question. It was the question.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You thought of the arguments, the loneliness, the divorce papers you wanted to file, the suffocating weight of Eunwoo’s ring on your finger.

“Perfect,” you lied. The word tasted like ash. “Everything is perfect.”

Jungkook didn’t blink. He knew you. He knew your tells—the way you held your breath, the way your eyes shifted just slightly to the left. He knew it was a lie.

But he didn’t call you out. He just offered a small, sad smile that hurt more than an accusation.

“And your, um... husband... uh...” He trailed off, the word awkward in his mouth.

“Eunwoo,”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. How is he?”

You knew Jungkook didn’t forget the name intentionally. He probably didn't want to say it because it was awkward.

“Ah, he is amazing.” You touched your temple nervously. “Uh, I have been very lucky.”

You could feel the melancholy rising in the atmosphere, thick and choking. Jungkook just nodded, accepting the lie because it was easier than the truth.

“Well look who it is!”

A loud voice boomed from the deck promenade, interrupting the fragile moment. You were almost glad it did.

You both turned to see Taehyung striding toward you, grinning wide. And he wasn’t alone. Trotting beside him on a leash, looking majestic and excited, was a Doberman.

Bam.

“Worldwide superstar Mr. Jungkook!” Taehyung announced, opening his arms.

“Tae,” Jungkook’s face instantly brightened, the guarded mask dissolving into a genuine bunny smile as he bro-hugged your brother.

But Bam didn’t care about handshakes. The dog froze for a split second, ears perking up, sniffing the air. Then, with a happy whine, he lunged forward.

“Bam! Hey, buddy!” Jungkook crouched down immediately, ignoring his pristine clothes, letting the dog tackle him with wet kisses and excited paws.

“He remembers you,” Taehyung laughed, patting Bam’s side. “Of course he does.”

You stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. Bam was a gift from Jungkook years ago. He was supposed to be your dog—both of yours. He was your baby. You had raised him together in that small apartment before everything fell apart. When he left, you took Bam, but you knew a part him had always been waiting for this moment.

Jungkook was laughing, scratching Bam behind the ears exactly the way the dog liked, cooing at him in that soft voice he only used for things he loved.

The tone that was once only reserved for you.

“You’ve gotten big, huh? Have you been a good boy?” Jungkook murmured, looking up at Bam with pure adoration.

For a second, the three of them—Taehyung, Jungkook, and Bam looked like a family. They looked like your family. The life you were supposed to have. The past you had killed to save everyone’s reputation.

The image burned into your mind, a perfect snapshot of a life that no longer belonged to you. You felt the crack in your composure, the threatening sting of tears behind your eyes.

You had to leave. Now. Before the mask slipped.

While they were distracted, laughing as Bam licked Jungkook's face, you took a step back.

“I’ll see you guys inside,” you murmured quickly, forcing a casual tone that didn't waver.

You didn't wait for them to look up or acknowledge you. You turned on your heel and walked away fast, putting as much distance as possible between you and the warmth of that reunion. It wasn't until you turned the corner, safely out of sight, that you allowed your vision to blur, leaving behind the boy, your brother, and your pet who were once your entire world.

Days passed to weeks and finally today was Jungkook’s farewell party. Official one today and the unofficial one - just with the survivors - this weekend. It was Friday today. 

You honestly didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t that deep – you remember telling Yuna when you all had started planning Jungkook’s farewell.

“__ did you order the cake for tomorrow?” Jin’s question brought you out of your daze. Seeing you a little startled and coming back in the moment, he chuckled a bit. 

You smiled politely and nodded your head. You had indeed ordered the cake. His favourite - chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. Thank god you didn’t order too many desserts - he has this questionable habit of mixing every dessert. You gagged at that one memory. 

Everyone trusted Jungkook when it came to food but yeah not desserts. 

You had in fact ordered the cake which you think he would really like.

Natasha had just entered the office and automatically the air in the office had changed. Wow, you were feeling really dramatic today!

She swept past your desk, a faint scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her. Without breaking her stride, she paused just enough for her voice to carry, cool and precise. "Hope the farewell committee is as efficient with their actual work today, ___," she said, her eyes flicking to yours for a split second before moving on. "We still have a business to run."

The words weren't aimed directly at you, but the implication hung heavy, a subtle jab at the collective buzz of Jungkook's departure. You straightened, feigning deep concentration on your screen, but your jaw tightened. It was Friday, and all that was on your mind was getting through these last few hours. You told yourself it was about the event, the smooth execution, the professional pride. Not about him. Definitely not about him.

Just then, the familiar ding of the elevator announced his arrival. Jungkook stepped out, already laughing at something on his phone, oblivious to the sudden chill Natasha had brought. He looked… normal. Too normal for a last day, in your opinion. He was dressed in his usual casual attire – a perfectly fitted dark red t-shirt and jeans, a stark contrast to the crisp, formal look he’d sported when delivering his resignation. It was as if he was trying to make it seem like any other Friday, just another day at the office. But it wasn't.

He glanced up, his eyes sweeping across the office, and then they landed on you. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, a private acknowledgment that made your stomach do a familiar flip. You quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in an email, but you could feel his presence, a warmth radiating from across the room.

"Morning, losers!" Shane's text was loud in your mind from the "jk - farewell planning" group chat, a notification flashing on your screen.

shane (work): Morning, losers! Last day for our dear JK! Who's bringing the tissues? 

gyu (work): Tissues? Nah, I'm bringing the champagne! Or maybe just cheap sparkling cider, Natasha's watching. 

yuna (work): Please, you two. Let's try to be professional for five more hours. 

you: Professional? On a Friday? With JK leaving? Impossible. 

hoseok (work): I already have my crying playlist ready. 

jimin (work): Hobi, no! We're celebrating! 

yoongi (work): Celebrating what? The end of peace and quiet? 

jin (work): Yoongi, be nice! ___ did you confirm the cake delivery time? 

You: Yes, Jin, for the tenth time, the cake is confirmed for 3 PM. 

jaykay (work): (typing...) Wait, there's a cake? And you guys are planning a party? I thought we were just having a quiet send-off. 

shane (work): Oh, sweet summer child. You thought. This is the Survivors' farewell. It's never quiet.

You chuckled, a genuine smile finally breaking through your forced composure. The group chat was a lifeline, a constant source of amusement and distraction from the swirling emotions you refused to acknowledge.

Jungkook made his way over to your desk, his usual swagger a little subdued today. "So, a cake, huh?" he said, leaning against the partition, his eyes twinkling. "Chocolate buttercream, I'm guessing?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "How did you know? Are you stalking my dessert orders now?"

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that always managed to make your chest feel a little lighter. "Just a lucky guess. Or maybe you know me better than you think."

The casual intimacy of his words sent a familiar jolt through you. You quickly busied yourself with rearranging some papers on your desk. "Don't flatter yourself, Jungkook. I just picked the most boring option."

"Ouch," he said, a mock-hurt expression on his face. "And here I thought you cared."

"I care about avoiding a sugar-induced coma from your questionable dessert combinations," you retorted, finally looking up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. "Remember that time you tried to mix tiramisu with a red velvet cupcake? It was a crime against humanity on so many levels,"

Mingyu, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping, snorted from his desk. "Oh, I remember that! I almost called off our friendship that day,"

You couldn’t help but giggle about that which earned you a soft look from Jungkook - which Yuna noticed but you didn’t.

Jungkook then quickly rolled his eyes. "You guys are so dramatic. It was an experiment! At least I’m not too vanilla like you guys,”

"A culinary disaster," Shane chimed in, walking past with a stack of files. "Anyway, JK, don't forget we have the Nike final client brief to finalize before lunch. Natasha wants it on her desk by 1 PM sharp."

The mention of work, and Natasha, immediately shifted the mood. Jungkook straightened, his playful demeanor replaced by a focused one. "Right. The 'final' brief. Lead the way, ___."

You nodded, gathering your notes. This was it. The last official collaboration. You walked towards the conference room, the silence between you two now heavier than before. It wasn't awkward, not exactly, but it was pregnant with unspoken thoughts. The air hummed with the knowledge that this was a 'last.'

Inside the small conference room, the usual easy flow of your collaborative work felt… different. You were going over the final details for a major client presentation – a project you’d both poured countless hours into. Your hands moved efficiently, clicking through slides, adjusting figures, but your mind was a whirlwind. Every time Jungkook leaned in to point at something on the screen, his arm brushing yours, a spark ignited. Every time he finished your sentence, or anticipated your next thought, the synergy that Rowoon had mentioned felt almost painfully obvious.

"So, the projections for Q3 are looking solid," Jungkook said, tapping the screen. "We just need to emphasize the ROI on the experiential marketing aspect. That's where we really shine."

"Exactly," you agreed, pulling up a supporting graph. "And we need to highlight the seamless integration of digital and physical touchpoints. Remember how we nailed that for the 'Starlight Festival' campaign?"

A small, genuine smile spread across his face, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "The Starlight Festival. Man, that was a wild ride. We pulled that off with three days' notice and a budget that barely covered the coffee."

You laughed, the memory vivid. "And Natasha almost had an aneurysm. But we did it. We always did."

The 'we' hung in the air, a quiet testament to your partnership. He looked at you then, his gaze soft, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. "Yeah," he murmured. "We always did."

The moment stretched, filled with unspoken words, with the weight of shared history and the looming void of a future without it. You cleared your throat, breaking the spell. "Right. So, the final slide. Key takeaways. I've drafted some bullet points, but feel free to add your usual 'Jungkook flair.'"

He chuckled, the tension easing slightly. "My 'Jungkook flair,' huh? Is that a compliment or a warning?"

"Take it how you will," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. You worked in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, the rhythm of your collaboration as natural as breathing. It was a well-oiled machine, honed over years of late nights, tight deadlines, and unexpected crises. And it was about to be dismantled.

When you finally finished, the clock on the wall read 12:45 PM. "Done," you announced, leaning back in your chair, a sense of accomplishment mixed with something else – a deep, hollow ache – settling in your chest.

"Just in time," Jungkook said, stretching his arms above his head. "One last masterpiece delivered." He looked at you, his expression softening. "Thanks, ___."

"For what?" you asked, feigning nonchalance. "It's just work."

"No," he said, his voice quiet, his eyes serious. "For everything. For being the best partner anyone could ask for. For putting up with my 'culinary adventures' and my questionable fashion choices. For always having my back."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. You just managed a small, tight smile. "You too, Jeon. You too."

Before the silence could grow too heavy, the door burst open.

"Lunch!" Yuna declared, Taehyung, Mingyu, and Shane trailing behind her. "And then, the countdown to the party officially begins!"

The cafeteria was a blur of noise and activity, but your usual table, the "Survivors" corner, was a sanctuary. Today, it felt different. There was an undercurrent of melancholy beneath the usual boisterous laughter. Everyone was there: Namjoon, Jin, Hobi, Yoongi, Iseul, Jimin, Dae.

"So, JK," Shane began, his mouth full of bibimbap. "Any last words of wisdom for your loyal subjects?"

Jungkook grinned, taking a bite of his bulgogi. "Don't let Natasha break your spirit. And always keep a stash of emergency snacks."

"Wise words," Mingyu nodded sagely. "I'll engrave them on my desk."

"Seriously though," Yuna said, her voice softer, "we're really going to miss you, Jungkook. This place won't be the same."

A chorus of agreements followed. "Who's going to annoy ___ now?" Jimin teased, nudging you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine warmth spread through you. "I'll manage. Probably get more work done without his constant distractions."

Jungkook chuckled, but his eyes met yours, and for a moment, the playful mask slipped. There was a flicker of something raw, something akin to regret, in his gaze. You felt a pang in your chest, a sharp, unexpected ache.

"It's not goodbye forever," Hobi said brightly, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll still have the unofficial farewell this weekend! And the group chat!"

"The group chat will never die," Yoongi muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. "It's immortal, like our collective trauma."

Lunch passed too quickly. The jokes felt a little forced, the laughter a little louder, as if trying to drown out the ticking clock. Each shared glance, each inside joke, felt like a precious, fleeting moment.

As you walked back to the office, the realization truly hit you. This was it. After today, the daily rhythm of seeing him, working with him, bantering with him, would be gone. The thought left a hollow space in your chest.

The afternoon was a whirlwind of last-minute preparations for the party. The conference room was transformed, balloons in the company's colors, a banner proclaiming "Farewell, Jungkook!" (courtesy of Shane's questionable design skills), and a table laden with snacks and drinks.

At 4:30 PM, the office started to gather. Colleagues from other departments, some you barely knew, came to offer their goodbyes. Natasha stood near the entrance, a polite, almost detached smile on her face, occasionally nodding at well-wishers.

Then came the moment for the cake. Jin, beaming, wheeled in the trolley. The chocolate cake with buttercream frosting sat proudly in the center, a single candle flickering. Jungkook's eyes lit up when he saw it.

"No other desserts to mix with it, Jeon," you said, stepping up beside him, a playful smirk on your face. "Just pure, unadulterated chocolate goodness."

He laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. "You remembered."

"Of course," you said, your voice softer than you intended. "It's your last day. I had to make it special."

Natasha, surprisingly, stepped forward. "Jungkook," she began, her voice formal, "on behalf of the company, we wish you all the best in your new endeavor. You've been a valuable asset, and we appreciate your contributions." Her words were professional, but lacked any real warmth. She handed him a small, elegantly wrapped gift.

Jungkook accepted it graciously. "Thank you, Natasha. I appreciate the opportunity I've had here."

Then, it was the "Survivors'" turn. Shane, armed with a microphone (where did he even get that?), cleared his throat dramatically. "Alright, alright, settle down, people! It's time for the real farewell!"

He then launched into a hilarious, slightly embarrassing, and incredibly heartfelt "roast" of Jungkook, recounting various office escapades, his questionable fashion choices, and his uncanny ability to find snacks anywhere. Mingyu added a slideshow of candid (and often unflattering) photos. Hobi started tearing up. Yoongi actually cracked a smile.

Finally, it was time for Jungkook to speak. He stood before the crowd, a mix of amusement and genuine emotion on his face. He thanked Natasha, the company, and then his gaze swept over the "Survivors" gang, lingering on each one, before settling on you.

"And to my team," he began, his voice softening, "the 'Survivors.' You guys made coming to work actually bearable. You were my sanity, my entertainment, and sometimes, my therapists." A ripple of laughter went through the group. "Seriously though, thank you. For everything."

He paused, his eyes finding yours again, and this time, the look was intense, unyielding. "And to you, ___," he continued, his voice dropping slightly, almost a whisper, "thank you. For being the best partner. For pushing me, for challenging me, for making me laugh even when I wanted to pull my hair out. You're incredibly talented, and I've learned so much from you. I… I'm going to miss working with you more than words can say."

Your breath hitched. The room seemed to fade, the noise blurring into a distant hum. It was just you and him, his words a direct hit to the carefully constructed wall around your emotions. You felt a blush creep up your neck, and your eyes stung. You managed a shaky smile, unable to look away from his earnest gaze.

The party continued, a buzz of conversation and laughter. You found yourself drifting towards the quieter edge of the room, needing a moment to compose yourself. Jungkook, however, seemed to have a magnetic pull towards you. He navigated through the well-wishers, a glass of punch in his hand, until he was standing beside you.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, just for your ears.

You nodded, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. "Yeah. Just… a lot of emotions." You tried to joke, "Who knew you were so good at speeches?"

He chuckled softly. "Only for special occasions." He took a sip of his punch, then turned to face you fully. "I meant what I said, you know."

"I know," you whispered, finally meeting his gaze. The sincerity in his eyes was almost unbearable.

"I really am going to miss this," he said, gesturing vaguely around the room, but his eyes never left yours. "This team. This… dynamic."

You swallowed, your throat tight. "Me too. It won't be the same."

A beat of silence stretched between you, filled with the unspoken weight of everything. The attraction, the friendship, the partnership, the sudden, sharp realization of its end.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little hesitant, "about the unofficial farewell this weekend… you're coming, right?"

"Of course," you said, a small, genuine smile forming. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Gotta make sure you don't actually escape without one last roast."

He laughed, a genuine, relieved sound. "Good. I'll see you then." He gave your arm a brief, gentle squeeze, a touch that sent shivers down your spine, before he was pulled away by another colleague wishing him well.

The rest of the party was a blur. You continued to circulate, offering polite smiles, but your mind kept replaying Jungkook's speech, his gaze, the brief, intimate conversation. The facade of "not feeling anything" had well and truly shattered. You felt a confusing mix of sadness, warmth, and a terrifying flutter of hope.

As the office slowly emptied, the "Survivors" gang gathered to help with the last bits of cleanup. Shane was already planning the unofficial farewell down to the minute.

"Okay, so Saturday, 7 PM, at 'The Den'," Shane announced, wiping down a table. "Casual dress, bring your best stories about JK. And ___," he looked at you, "you're in charge of the 'sentimental' part. Something short, sweet, and maybe a little tear-jerking."

"Oh, joy," you muttered, but a small smile played on your lips. You knew you couldn't escape it.

Finally, the office was quiet, the balloons deflated, the remnants of the party a stark reminder of what had just transpired. You walked out with Jin and Yuna, the evening air cool against your skin.

"You okay?" Yuna asked softly, nudging your arm. She always had a knack for seeing through your defenses.

You sighed, a long, shaky breath. "Yeah. Just… tired."

Jin chuckled. "It's okay to be sad, you know. He's a good guy. And you two were a legendary duo."

You just nodded, unable to articulate the tangle of emotions inside you. They dropped you off at your apartment building, and you walked towards the elevator, the silence of your apartment looming.

You heard the familiar ting of your phone. It was the "jk - farewell planning" group chat.

shane (work): Official farewell done. Unofficially, the real party starts now. JK, you better be ready for Saturday. 

jaykay (work): Bring it on, Shane. I'm ready. 

You stared at his message, a strange mix of dread and anticipation swirling within you. Tomorrow wasn't just another day. It was the beginning of the end. And you knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified you, that you felt everything.

part 5

Once you had reached their room, surprisingly it was quite mellow which wasn’t normal for your family at all. You were quite used to the arguments, the drama.

“What are you guys doing? Everyone’s asking about you all,” You were confused. Why were your parents smiling? This can't be good. You immediately looked at Taehyung and the annoyed expression on his face told you what you needed to know.

“What’s going on?” You asked.

“You know what? I’ll speak to Jihoon once,” Taehyung said casually to your parents.

“Good,” Your father said, satisfied and your mom smiled.

“Um,” Yeah this is definitely not good. “About what exactly?” You asked, looking at the three of them.

“Come on Tae, tell your sister,” Your mother said proudly.

“Mom, please. Let me talk to Jihoon first,” Taehyung said. This cannot be good at all. You know how this ends.

“Mom,” You said sternly.

“Taehyung and Jihoon,” Your mom smiled and pointed towards her ring finger. They were doing it again. History was in fact repeating itself.

You sighed.

“What the hell are you guys upto?” You said annoyed. “Tae, have you lost your mind?”

Taehyung had already given up. You could see it on his face.

“Lost our mind? Honey, they are made for each other,” Your father’s voice rang in your ears. He was happy. They both were which only fueled your anger. They were doing it again.

“Yeah, dad, you had said that about me and Eunwoo too and now I want to divorce him,” You lashed out.

Oh my god. You had said it. Out loud.

What the fuck?

All you were met with were very shocked three faces.

Fuck.

You immediately panicked and left the room.

Taehyung had already followed you outside while you stood on the deck trying to manage the panic of your own actions.

“What was that __?” He asked. He was confused. Rightfully so because you didn’t expect to lash out. You were always level headed.

“Nothing,” That’s the only thing you could manage saying. 

“If you thought your luck was bad now, I wonder what you would say now,” 

Taehyung’s voice, matter-of-fact as he was, sent your panic into overdrive. You were utterly confused. Things could not get worse than they were right now. You were sure of it. This was rock bottom.

But life always finds a way to fuck with you. 

You knew you were doomed when you followed Taehyun’s gaze. The breeze shifted, salty and sharp, carrying the faint sound of laughter from somewhere behind you — too light for how heavy your chest felt.

Years have passed but your feelings clearly haven’t.

You saw him. The guy who was once your everything.

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.

He looked a little mature, the years had been kind to him. The same doe eyes, the same smile, that once were a source of your comfort.

Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t think of things like these. You weren’t allowed to.

You were married to Eunwoo. That was your reality and not the past that you suddenly found yourself standing in again.

You had moved on in every sense in front of the world - in your career, in love - but deep within, there was still that twenty-two-year-old you who was grieving. The one robbed of her happiness.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” It was Taehyung’s voice that broke you out of the trance. You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at the sea this whole time. The salt air bit at your skin, grounding you, reminding you where you were — and where you weren’t.

You nodded.

It was obvious he didn’t believe you. You definitely weren’t okay. Still, Taehyung wrapped his arms around you, and the warmth of his hug cut through the chill that had settled in your bones. Sometimes it felt like Taehyung was the oldest out of the two of you.

Thankfully, Jungkook hadn’t seen you. He’d already disappeared into the lobby of the cruise ship.

The cruise. A week that was supposed to be a getaway was slowly, yet easily, turning into the worst possible idea.

It was your parents’ 30th wedding anniversary — and somehow, the ocean felt too small for everything you’d left unresolved.

“I think he’s staying the whole time,” Taehyung murmured against your hair, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. 

Before you could react, you saw Eunwoo coming towards you with that practiced smile of his.

“There you are, honey. Everyone’s asking for you and we’re already late for today’s activities,” he said, his voice smooth and controlled, the perfect husband on paper. The touch on your arm was possessive, a warm, heavy weight that reminded you of your wedding ring and the vows you had sworn to uphold. You automatically slipped on the facade you’d been wearing for the last 3 years: the successful businesswoman, the loving wife. You forced a bright, wide smile that was perfected over the years.

 “Of course. Let’s go.” Every step toward the lobby felt like walking straight into the mouth of the past.

The anxiety in you was still there. It had barely left anyway.

Before you had seen Jungkook, well, it was complicated.

You wanted to divorce Eunwoo. Not because of Jungkook - far from that actually. The two of you weren't compatible. You knew that and you thought somewhere he did too, but he just didn’t want to accept it.

Once you entered the lobby you could see Jungkook at the reception, probably getting his key card. You didn’t want to be this aware of him. You had to make a plan to avoid him. That seemed like the only logical way out before you got time to think things through.

Eunwoo's hand was on the small of your back now, guiding you with practiced, proprietary ease toward the heart of the ship. The air in the lobby was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low, murmuring soundtrack of the wealthy social set. You forced your head up, navigating the glittering crowd as the successful, loving wife.

You saw him again, standing exactly where he was moments ago. Jungkook.

He was still at the reception desk, waiting. This was not a quick passing; this was a deliberate walk toward a collision point. Your gaze automatically locked onto his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the desk. He was laughing softly at something the receptionist had said. You remembered that laugh—a low, resonant sound that always started deep in his chest.

Look forward. Don't look at him. Breathe.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to stop, to turn, to bolt back to the deck, but Eunwoo's hand was a firm anchor. You had to look anywhere but at him. You focused on the gold lettering of the reception sign, the floral arrangement on the counter, the movement of the cruise staff.

But as you drew level with the desk, Eunwoo paused slightly to exchange a word with your relatives. It was just a second, but it was too long.

Jungkook finally turned.

Fate was definitely not on your side today.

His eyes, those unmistakable doe eyes, lifted from the key card in his hand and met yours.

The world went silent. The music, the laughter, Eunwoo’s breathing—it all disappeared.

He didn't give you the smile of the past, nor the cool indifference of a stranger. It was a look of pure, complex recognition: shock, a flash of something you couldn’t name but knew all too well and then, slowly, a careful, polite blankness that was the cruelest shield of all.

You felt the muscles in your jaw ache from holding your forced smile, and you realized you hadn't stopped smiling at all. You were beaming right through the heart-stopping trauma.

“Darling?” Eunwoo prompted, his hand pressing a little firmer.

You felt your throat constrict, the perfect reply trapped behind years of silence. You were one breath away from shattering the entire facade.

But the moment had  passed. Jungkook dipped his head once, a brief, formal social courtesy, as if acknowledging a distant acquaintance, and then turned back to the counter.

You took a staggered breath, the stolen, shallow air tasting of salt and panic. You didn't acknowledge him back. You couldn't.

“Just admiring the arrangement,” you managed, your voice only slightly tight. You pulled your attention fully to Eunwoo and let him guide you away, leaving Jungkook behind, physically, but not a single other way.

The only thing you were certain of was that, whether it was the past, the present, or the future, your life was officially in freefall.