𓐐 Cₕₑf’ₛ ₖᵢₛₛ! 𓎩

The hike was supposed to be easy. Just you, the trees, and a late autumn sky that looked like it had been brushed in pale watercolor.

You hadn’t planned to go far—just a few miles into the state forest near your hometown. The air was crisp, the ground damp from last night’s rain. You had music in your earbuds, your camera slung across your shoulder, and the blissful kind of solitude that made your lungs feel big and light.

You didn’t see when the world began to change.

At first, it was subtle—the birdsong faded, the rustle of leaves quieted. You stopped to look around, suddenly aware of how still everything felt. The air had a weight to it now, faintly sweet and metallic.

Then you heard it.

A low, wet growl.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You turned slowly, eyes straining to find the source. Between two moss-covered trees, something crouched, a thing with too many teeth, skin like stretched shadow, and eyes that glowed the color of rot.

You froze.

It didn’t.

The creature moved in a blur, and you ran before you could think, crashing through ferns, ducking low branches, your boots slipping on slick leaves. The growl followed, growing louder, closer, until you swore you could feel its breath on your neck.

You weren’t on a trail anymore. You weren’t anywhere you recognized. The forest twisted around you—trees taller, bark glimmering faintly in the dim light. Your lungs screamed for air.

Then- out of nowhere- he appeared.

A man stepped into your path, but no man you’d ever seen before. His presence was a blow to the senses; sharp, unreal, beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. His hair was black with hints of midnight blue, loose around a face cut from marble and sin. His eyes; gold, slit-pupiled, looked at you like you were prey, like you were treasure.

Before you could even gasp, he lifted his hand. The air shimmered.

The monster skidded to a halt several yards away, let out an ear-splitting shriek, and then fled back into the darkness between the trees.

Your chest heaved as you turned back to him. “What - who-?”

His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You’re in my realm, little human.” His voice was warm honey over cold steel. “And my lands do not forgive trespass.”

You shook your head, trembling. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” He took a step closer, and your body went still without you meaning to. “But you would have died if I hadn’t found you.” His gaze slid over you like it was mapping every inch. “I can keep you safe.”

You blinked, unsure if you could trust your own voice. “How?”

He tilted his head. “Give me your true name.”

“My… name?”

“Not the one you offer strangers. The one you were born with. The one tied to your soul.” His smile deepened, sharp at the edges. “Give it to me, and you will never know fear again.”

It sounded… strange. But if that was all he wanted, just your name, what harm could it do? You were still shaking from the chase, still tasting copper in your mouth.

“Y/N,” you said quietly.

The moment the word left your lips, it felt like something invisible tightened around your chest. His eyes lit with something bright and hungry.

“Perfect,” he murmured, almost reverent. “Now you are mine.”

You took a step back. “What—what do you mean, mine?”

“I own your name now.” He reached out, brushing a knuckle along your cheek, and your body didn’t move away even though your mind screamed to. “Without it, you cannot leave my lands. You cannot disobey me. You will be safe here… because I will make sure you never leave.”

The forest around you shifted again, brighter colors, stranger shapes, and behind him, in the distance, you could see something vast and gleaming. A palace of crystal and shadow, waiting.

Your pulse thundered. “No—I just wanted you to help me get back—”

He smiled, and it was both beautiful and cruel. “And I will help you. Back to my palace. Back to where you belong now.”

When you tried to take another step back, the air turned thick and heavy, as if unseen hands pressed you forward toward him.

“You’re mine now, little human,” he said softly, almost tenderly, as his fingers curled around yours. “And I will never let you go.”

-------

The journey to his palace felt like walking through a dream you couldn’t wake from.

The forest changed with every step you took at his side—trees stretching impossibly tall, their leaves shimmering like spun glass, flowers breathing out silver mist. Strange creatures peered from the undergrowth: some delicate and glowing, some sharp and watching with predator eyes.

Your legs wanted to stop moving. Your chest wanted to scream. But the moment you even thought about slowing, his voice brushed over you like velvet and steel.

“Keep walking, Y/N.”

Your body obeyed before your mind caught up. You stumbled forward, heart pounding.

When you glanced at him, he was smiling, gentle, almost fond, but there was something in his eyes that told you he’d noticed. That he’d done it on purpose.

The palace rose ahead like something out of an old fairy tale, if fairy tales had teeth. Towers of crystal pierced the sky, their spires curling like frozen flame. The gates shimmered with a light that didn’t feel like sunlight.

Inside, the halls were vast and echoing, floors of obsidian polished until they reflected the chandelier glow above. Everything smelled faintly of sweet wine and something older, wilder.

You barely had time to take it in before he stopped in the center of the entrance hall and turned to you.

“This is your home now.”

“I didn’t agree to that—”

He stepped close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Y/N.”

The sound of your name in his mouth was unlike anything you’d felt before, it wrapped around your ribs, slid down your spine, locked into place like an unseen collar. Your lungs tightened.

“Come here.”

You walked to him. You didn’t want to, but you did, your body ignoring every desperate scream your mind gave it.

His fingers brushed your cheek, slow and possessive. “See? You don’t have to think anymore. You don’t have to worry. You will always do what I say, and I will always keep you safe.”

“This isn’t safety,” you whispered.

“It is,” he said softly, leaning down until his golden eyes filled your vision. “You just don’t know it yet.”

He led you—because of course you followed—through halls lined with windows that opened onto gardens lit by moons you didn’t recognize. Eventually, you reached a chamber so lavish it made your stomach twist: a bed draped in midnight silk, a vanity carved from ivory, a balcony looking out onto the endless, shimmering forest.

“This is yours,” he said. “Everything you want, you will have. But you will not leave these lands. Not without me. Not ever.”

You clenched your fists. “And if I try?”

The faintest smile curved his mouth. “You won’t.”

You tried to look away, but he murmured your name again, low, smooth, and your chin tilted up to meet his gaze without your consent.

“That’s the beauty of our bond,” he said, thumb stroking your lower lip. “I don’t have to chain you. You carry my leash inside you.”

You felt dizzy. “Why me?”

His eyes softened, though the hunger in them didn’t fade. “Because I love you.” The way he said it made your skin crawl and your heart stutter all at once. “And fae love, little human, doesn’t let go.”

------

You hadn’t realized until you walked among them that Jungkook was not an exception, he was a warning.

The other fae you met in his court were just as tall, just as impossibly beautiful, just as wrong. They moved with the fluidity of wind over water, their voices like music threaded with knives. They bowed to Jungkook, eyes full of reverence—or fear—but when they looked at you, their curiosity was sharp enough to cut.

“This is her?” one of them murmured to another, a male whose hair shone like molten silver. “The human,” a woman with skin like frost said, tilting her head. “He bound her already?”

Bound. The word made your stomach twist.

Jungkook’s hand settled on the small of your back. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice warm and claiming. “She’s mine.”

The others exchanged looks—some amused, some envious. You felt like you were standing in a den of predators wearing a ribbon instead of armor.

They led you through a moonlit hall where every surface glimmered faintly. Fae music drifted from somewhere unseen—slow, winding, and intoxicating.

You kept your gaze on the ground, willing yourself to fade into the shadows. That was when you heard it.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name in his voice slid over you like silk dipped in honey, pulling something deep in your chest taut. You stiffened.

“Look at me,” Jungkook said.

Your chin lifted before you could stop it, your eyes locking with his golden ones.

“Come here.”

You stepped forward, pulse thundering in your ears.

He smiled faintly, and in the next breath, his hand was cupping your cheek. “Kiss me.”

Your heart seized. Your will screamed. You could feel every muscle in your body straining against the command—but the magic threaded through your name burned hotter than your resistance.

Your lips brushed his.

He made a low, pleased sound, deepening it before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Good girl.”

You jerked away the second you had control again, chest heaving. “Stop doing that.”

“I could,” he said softly, “but why would I? It’s the easiest way to get what I want from you.”

His hand slid down to your wrist, thumb stroking lazily as if to soothe you. “And besides,” his eyes glinted, “you look so lovely when you’re fighting yourself for me.”

You tried not to react, but he said your name again, slow this time, tasting each syllable, and your body swayed forward despite your grip on the edge of the table beside you.

“Touch me,” he commanded.

Your fingers curled into his sleeve before your mind caught up, and his smile turned almost tender.

“See?” Jungkook murmured. “You can’t help it. You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s all there is now.”

The others in the hall had stopped to watch, their unreadable expressions making heat crawl up your neck. You wanted to shove him away, to spit in his face, to do something—but your own body betrayed you again when he said your name once more, pulling you back into his orbit like gravity.

And he looked down at you as though nothing in the world had ever pleased him more.

------

You avoided him for the rest of the day. Or… you tried.

It wasn’t easy to disappear in a palace that was as much his as the air was. Every corridor curved back to him eventually, every glance from the other fae reminded you that you were the mortal pet of their prince.

You stayed in the upper gardens as the sun dipped into the horizon, hidden in the shadow of a massive flowering tree whose petals glowed faintly in the dusk. The air was still and thick with perfume. For a moment, you could almost pretend you were alone.

Then his voice slid into your ear like a blade dipped in sugar.

“Found you.”

You spun, heart slamming. He stood just behind you, not even pretending to keep his distance. The moonlight turned his hair to midnight silk, his eyes molten gold that seemed to see straight into your bones.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his mouth so close to your ear you could feel the shape of every word.

“Try again,” he murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

“Run. Resist. Fight me.” His breath was warm, almost intimate. “I like watching you try. It excites me to break you every time.”

Your stomach twisted. “You’re sick.”

“Mm.” His smile was audible in the hum he gave. “And you’re mine.”

You shoved past him—actually managing two steps before he said your name.

It was like invisible chains yanked tight around your ribs. Your body locked, your breath caught, and then—like a marionette—your feet turned you back toward him.

The other fae were gathering along the marble path now, curious eyes glittering in the half-light. They leaned against columns and carved railings, watching the mortal who dared to test their prince.

Jungkook’s head tilted as he regarded you, one hand tucked behind his back, the other curling in a loose beckon. “Come here.”

Your muscles screamed to stay put. You gritted your teeth until your jaw ached. But one foot moved. Then the other. The fight burned hot in your chest, but the magic burned hotter.

When you stood before him, he reached out and brushed his knuckles over your cheek. “Good. Again.”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

Your knees nearly buckled as your hand lifted toward him without permission, palm flattening against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“That’s it,” he whispered, leaning closer until his forehead touched yours. “Do you feel it? The way your soul bends for me? It’s beautiful.”

Tears pricked your eyes—hot, furious. “Stop.”

He smiled like you’d just told him the sweetest thing. “Why would I stop when you make the most exquisite face right before you give in?”

Around you, the fae court murmured like an audience at a theater, some smirking, some whispering to one another. And still, his voice wrapped around you like silk and iron, pulling, coaxing, owning.

“You’ll try again tomorrow,” Jungkook said softly, thumb brushing away a tear before it could fall. “And the day after that. And I’ll break you each time, until even the thought of resisting me is gone.”

The most terrifying part wasn’t the threat. It was how certain you were that he meant every word.

-------

You didn’t know what finally pushed you over the edge. Maybe it was the constant tug-of-war between your will and his magic. Maybe it was the way the other fae looked at you like a fascinating pet, an oddity that would never be one of them. Maybe it was simply the exhaustion of being hunted, caught, and kept.

That night, you tried to run.

You waited until the palace was quiet, slipping barefoot through the halls, moving as silently as you could. The moonlight spilled through tall windows, painting the marble floors in silver. The gates to the outer gardens glimmered ahead—your one chance to disappear into the strange, endless forest and somehow find your way back to your world.

You made it three steps past the threshold before his voice fell from the shadows.

“Y/N.”

The sound was gentle, almost soft—but it might as well have been a command shouted in your ear. Your body froze. Your lungs locked.

You turned slowly.

He was leaning against the gate, dressed in black that shimmered faintly with the light, looking for all the world like he had been waiting for you to try this. His expression wasn’t angry—it was worse. Calm.

“Do you know what happens when my pet tries to run?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook pushed off the gate and closed the distance between you with unhurried steps. His hand found the back of your neck, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his.

“I have to remind her who she belongs to.”

You opened your mouth to spit something back—but he said your name again, and your knees went weak. You ended up pressed against the cold stone wall, his body a cage around yours.

His mouth brushed your jaw. “I could have dragged you back in front of everyone, but I wanted this moment to be ours.” His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “You want to fight me? Fight me from here.”

It was suffocating—the heat of him, the scent of wildflowers and storm wind clinging to his skin, the invisible pull of his command holding you in place. You tried to turn your face away, but his hand caught your jaw, holding you steady.

And then—without knowing why—you kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t surrender. It was a clash of frustration and inevitability, your lips pressed to his because you hated that you wanted to, hated that you couldn’t stop.

When you pulled back, breathing hard, his eyes were molten. “You’ll kiss me again,” he murmured.

“No.”

“Y/N.”

Your lips met his again before the word had fully faded.

When he finally let you breathe, you whispered against his mouth, “You can’t keep me here forever.”

His smile was slow, unbearably fond. “I can,” he said simply, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And I will.”

That was what broke you. The quiet certainty in his voice. The knowledge that he wasn’t boasting—he was telling the truth.

The tears came hot and sudden, spilling over your cheeks. He caught them with his thumb, his expression softening into something almost tender.

“Shhh, little human.” His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against him, the silk of his voice threading into your ears. “You’ll understand, one day. You’ll thank me.”

And in the cold moonlight, in the arms of the fae prince who owned your name, you cried—knowing he would never, ever let you go.

----

The banquet hall was full of light and laughter—if you could call the strange, lilting sounds the fae made laughter. The air was heavy with the scent of strange fruits and wine the color of spilled rubies, candles floating high above the table without flame or smoke.

And you… you were in Jungkook’s lap.

The throne at the head of the long table was carved from black crystal, sharp yet beautiful, and he sat in it like a king born from shadow and moonlight. You sat sideways across his knees, your back pressed to his arm, his other hand curled possessively at your hip.

You had been kissing him for what felt like an hour.

At first, you’d tried to pull away, subtle at first, then with more intent, but every time you even thought about it, he murmured your name against your lips, and the magic pulled you back like a leash around your ribs.

So you kept kissing him. Slow, languid, almost dazed from the constant press of his mouth.

The other fae at the banquet noticed, of course. They laughed, whispered, drank their glittering wine while sneaking glances at you; the mortal bound to their prince, unable to stop even in front of them. Some smirked, some looked at you with open hunger, others with thinly veiled pity.

Jungkook didn’t seem to care. If anything, he enjoyed it. Every time you shifted uncomfortably, his thumb would stroke your hip in a soothing, possessive circle, as if to say be still, they’re only seeing what’s mine.

When his lips finally left yours, your lungs pulled in air so fast it made you dizzy.

His mouth was redder than usual, a glint of satisfaction in his golden eyes as he studied your breathless state. He didn’t look away from you when he spoke, even though his voice carried easily over the table.

“I want more of you tonight,” he murmured low enough for only you to hear.

You swallowed, still trying to catch your breath. “…More?”

His smile was slow and sure. “Your body. Your warmth. All of you.” His fingers flexed on your hip, drawing you just a fraction closer. “You’ll give it to me. You’ll give me everything.”

Your heart pounded—not just from the hours-long kiss, but from the way his certainty left no space for refusal.

Around you, the fae kept drinking, talking, pretending not to watch the way you stilled in his lap at those words. But you could feel their attention, the way predators always notice the moment prey realizes the trap has already sprung.

Jungkook’s gaze softened slightly, though the hunger in it remained. “Finish your wine,” he said, brushing your lower lip with his thumb, “and then we’ll go somewhere quieter. I don’t want to share even the sight of you anymore tonight.”

And with that, he leaned in again, his breath warm against your cheek, making it clear that the next time he took your mouth, he wouldn’t be letting go nearly so soon.

---

One year later — Interview Room B, Major Crimes

The recorder’s red eye blinks like a tired heartbeat. The mirrored wall holds its breath. Somewhere beyond it, a legal advisor pretends not to lean closer, and a clerk times each pause down to the second.

You sit where suspects sit. Where informants sit. Where, for six months after the yacht, your friends refused to sit at all.

Detective-Inspector Seo flips to a fresh page, pen poised. “It’s been six months since you returned—” he consults the paper, careful with the word, “were released from your rendezvous with Jeon Jungkook.” A neutral glance. “You understand why we’re doing this again.”

“I do,” you say. Your voice is steady. The trick is to breathe before you speak.

He clicks the recorder. “State your name for the record.”

You give it. You don’t stumble. You don’t say the name he trained into your mouth at night.

“Friends Minji Kang and Hari Jin were released that same evening from the vessel’s main deck. Both declined to press charges and have refused formal statements.” Seo’s tone is mild, but the question is barbed: why won’t even your best friends talk? “They remain adamant that ‘nothing happened.’”

You keep your gaze on the glass. “They were scared.”

“Of whom?”

“Not me.”

A line appears between his brows, then smooths. “Let’s start at the beginning. You receive a call. Your friends say they’re on a yacht. You go to the private dock. Then?”

“Then I woke up in a private suite.”

The word lands cleanly. You’ve practiced it. Suite. Not cell. Suites have keycards and fruit bowls. Cells have drains.

Seo nods. “Describe it.”

You lean back like you’re pulling a file from memory, not building a set from blueprints and a handful of careful truths. “Soundproof. Too cold. Air that smelled like chlorine. No windows I could open. Someone left food. I barely saw him for the first few weeks.”

Him, like you might forget the name. He notices. You let him.

“Bathroom?” he asks.

“Marble. Camera dead center of the ceiling.” You give him the details that prove you want him to catch Jungkook. The screws were hex. The towels were heavy. The door handle stuck when the humidity rose. “The suite was somewhere inland. Or staged to feel that way. I couldn’t hear water.”

You could hear water. The floor hummed in a way only boats do, like a heartbeat trapped in wood. At night, waves pressed secrets against the hull. You keep that.

“Did Jungkook visit?” Seo’s pen hovers.

“Twice. Maybe three times.” You let your mouth shape a careful waver. “He was… disinterested. Always in a rush. He’d ask if I was eating. He’d take my trays.”

“And in six months you never learned where you were.”

You let out the smallest laugh. “He built a life on not being found.”

Seo studies you. The glass studies back.

He tries a different angle. “When you returned, when you were found—” he corrects himself, making the lie tidier for you, “there were no restraints. No injuries beyond superficial bruising. No verifiable trauma markers. You refused hospital intake. Why?”

“I wanted my apartment,” you say. You wanted a lock he didn’t own. A sink that didn’t remember his hands. “I wanted a shower. And I knew whatever I’d give you that night would be noise. I needed to separate what happened from what I could prove.”

“What could you prove?”

“Almost nothing.” You spread your hands, empty. “He doesn’t leave fingerprints. He doesn’t use names. He doesn’t stand near cameras unless he wants to be a ghost on tape.” You glance at the recorder; the red light blinks once, like agreement. “When he was there, which was rare, he was… polite. Bored. He asked about work, about my mother.” Your eyes soften at a phantom that isn’t your mother. “He was careful.”

He was never bored. He watched you eat like people watch fires. He asked about your mother because he already knew the answers, and he liked hearing what you’d choose to keep. You don’t say that. The trick with lying to cops is to give them a shape that holds their own assumptions.

Seo shifts to the timeline. “One hundred and eighty-four days unaccounted for. Six months home. No contact since?”

“No,” you say, and it’s almost true. No messages anyone else could see. No calls from numbers that exist. Just the weight of a gaze that arrives before you open a door. Just the ace of hearts that turned up once in your pocket as if you’d put it there yourself. Just the absence that feels like a hand.

He flips to a page that smells like printer heat. “We’ve subpoenaed marina ledgers, private flight manifests, fuel logs. Either his name never appears or it appears five minutes after he leaves. Shells inside shells. We can’t even prove the yacht was his.”

“That’s because it wasn’t,” you say, and you allow yourself a small, tired smile. “It was everybody’s and nobody’s. A registry that changed flags with the wind.”

He watches that smile like a crack in a door. “You were one of the best profilers in the unit. You’re young, but your instincts are… respected.” He chooses respected because feared would make this a different conversation. “Off the record,” he lies, with the recorder running, “what do you think he is now? Dead? Gone?”

“Hungry,” you say before you can help it. You recover. “Careless, maybe. That’s how people like him get caught.”

“People like him,” he echoes. “And people like you?”

You don’t blink. “I came back.”

He lets time move across the table, slow enough to make the chair creak. “I have to ask this,” he says, and the shape of the ask blooms in the glass. “Were you coerced into protecting him? Threats? Promises? Debt?”

“You mean did he turn me?” Your mouth makes a line that looks like hurt. Looks like how dare you. “No.”

“Then why are your answers so… curated?”

Because lies that save a life have to be beautiful. Because the truth would light a path he could follow back to you or—worse—the other way around. Because some promises are iron and some are silk and both cut when they tighten.

You rub your thumb over a faint scar on your wrist. He sees it. “Zip ties,” you say before he can ask. “From the dock. The night you say I rendezvoused.” You give the word back to him, blade turned sideways.

He nods, half apology, half checkmark.

“We can keep you on protection,” he offers after a page of nothing. “Quiet. No uniforms. A car that follows your car that you pretend you don’t see.”

“You already do,” you say gently. “It won’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because if he wants to be found, you’ll find him in a day.” You meet his eyes. “And if he doesn’t, you won’t find me either.”

The silence that follows that is not the silence of a room; it’s the silence of a decision no one wants to write down.

Seo changes tack, back to safe ground, to narrative. “Walk me through the first week again. You wake in the suite. The meals, the schedule, any routine.”

You give him a story sturdy enough to audit. Three meals delivered through a mute slot. Lights that dimmed on a timer you never cracked. A cleaning crew you never saw. A guard who hummed the same four bars of an old pop song on Tuesdays. Once, a newspaper left on a chair with the date torn off. Twice, a doctor who never touched you with bare hands. And him “rarely” - who wore a different watch every time and never a cologne you could name.

He lets you talk. He wants the texture of captivity because texture feels like truth.

You do not tell him about the way the door opened before you reached it, how the fresh air on the other side smelled like him. You do not tell him about the shape his absence took, an imprint heavier than his presence. You do not tell him about the nights the ocean stilled and the world shrank to a palm against your ankle under silk.

You keep the lie humane. That’s how it lives.

The interview lengthens and frays. Seo circles back to old points the way tired men do when they’re hoping a thread will snag. You offer a weary ally’s patience. You nod where victims nod. You hold the paper cup of water with both hands because it trembles less that way.

“This helps,” he says at last, meaning he has nothing new. Meaning you’ve given him a box with six neat sides and no air. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Of course.”

He stops the recorder. The room exhales.

On the way out, you catch your reflection in the mirror. You look intact. You look like someone the city might believe.

Your phone buzzes when the elevator doors close. No name. No number. Just a calendar notification that isn’t on your calendar. Tide at 2:17. You delete it without opening and suddenly understand that no one in the building will find it in logs. It never existed for anyone but you.

In the lobby, Minji and Hari wait on a bench, shoulder to shoulder like girls at a bus stop. They don’t ask how it went. They never do. Minji peels the label on a water bottle to shreds. Hari’s eyes live on the revolving door.

“Coffee?” you offer, performing normal.

“Not hungry,” Hari murmurs.

“Me either,” Minji echoes, though she is.

Outside, the city is everything it ever was, honking and impatient and lit from angles that flatter no one. Your badge sits heavy in your bag. Your hands are steady. Your story is clean.

Behind you, a man you respect files your statement under cooperative. He writes: Subject appears forthcoming. No clear indicators of coercion. Reinterview in 60 days.

He will not notice that you described the suite’s lamp switch as a toggle when that hotel chain uses dimmer dials. He will not notice that you called the floors decking once and corrected to flooring too fast. He will not notice the pattern you tapped with your ring against the metal chair. three, one, four. over and over, like a metronome that keeps time for someone else.

You step into daylight, and for a second the harbor wind cuts through the exhaust. You taste salt.

“Let it go,” Minji whispers without looking at you.

“I have,” you lie, gently.

Because that’s what the interview was: a beautiful lie with smooth edges. A gift-wrapped absence. A road map with one street missing, the only one that matters.

Scene 1: the convenience store arc

“Don’t get the blue slushie,” Jungkook says, hands in pocket, round glasses reflecting the freezer lights. “You get brain freeze and act like you’re seeing God.”

You beam at him. “You notice the little things.”

He looks away so hard his neck cracks. “I notice how annoying you are.”

(Translation: I have a folder in my brain labeled Things That Make Her Smile. It is alphabetized.)

You push the door open with your hip and the bell rings like a tiny carnival. Jungkook side-quests to the ramen aisle and pretends he isn’t also grabbing your favorite honey-butter chips. When you catch him, he tucks the bag behind his back like contraband.

“It’s not for you.”

“Okay.”

He glares. “It’s not.”

“Okayyy.”

“Stop smiling.”

You are incapable.

At the register, he taps his phone to pay before you can even scan yours. “I owe you like… a thousand dollars,” you say.

“You can Venmo me.”

“I tried. You keep declining.”

“Because I—” he starts, then aborts the sentence like it’s a spam call. “Because your descriptions are embarrassing.”

To be fair, last time you wrote: FOR BEING THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE 💖 . The time before that: payment for you tolerating me (sexy).

His ears go pink. He shoves the receipt at you. “Hold this.”

You do. You would hold the moon if he asked, which is unfortunate (for you), because he would absolutely say “Don’t be weird” and then Google “how to buy the moon.”

⸻

Scene 2: group chat, the greek chorus

[Chaotic Friends (7)]

Jimin: sooooooooo how are my two favorite idiots

You: we’re at the store! koo keeps bullying me out of the blue slushie

Taehyung: he is protecting your brain cells which are few and precious

Jungkook: I can see this chat

Hobi: i love the friends to lovers slow burn vibe you guys give

Yoongi: confess or perish

Jungkook: who.

Jimin: you.

Jungkook: blocked.

Namjoon: can you both pick up AA batteries

Jungkook: no

You: yes 😊

Jungkook: okay fine we can

Jimin: whipped.

Jungkook: I’m not whipped I just hate inefficiency

Taehyung: he’s whipped

Yoongi: tragically sous-vide

⸻

Scene 3: the lecture hall incident

You choose the only empty seats: one at the end, one next to it. Jungkook takes the aisle like a guard dog with a 4.0 GPA. Midway through the professor’s talk, a random guy you barely know leans over your chair.

“Hey, you’re in my lab section, right? Want to study together later?”

Before you can answer, Jungkook’s arm materializes on the back of your chair like an eclipse. “She’s busy.”

The guy blinks. “Doing… what?”

“Not you.”

“Jungkook,” you whisper, amused. “That was rude.”

“You’re right,” he says, deadpan. He leans toward the guy again. “Sorry. She’s busy… not you.”

The guy retreats, vanquished by customer service with malice.

You poke Jungkook’s sleeve. “You’re funny when you’re jealous.”

He chokes. “What.”

“Jealous,” you repeat, rolling the word like candy. “J-e-l—”

His pen explodes ink on his fingers. He stares at his hand like betrayal. “You’re delusional.”

“You put your arm around me.”

“I was stretching.”

“You sniffed my hair.”

“I had… something in my nose.”

“Your true feelings?”

He doesn’t look at you for the rest of class, which would be more convincing if his knee wasn’t pressed against yours like it forgot the memo.

⸻

Scene 4: childhood flashback speed montage

• Age 8: Jungkook tells you your shoelaces are dumb and then kneels to tie them for you. He makes bunny ears. You clap. He gets so red he looks like a tomato in witness protection.

• Age 12: You cry because someone called your art “weird.” Jungkook says, “It is weird,” and then quietly takes every drawing you’ve ever given him and puts them in a binder labeled Portfolio. When you see it years later, there are tabs. There is an index.

• Age 16: He says, “You can’t just let people walk all over you,” immediately lays his hoodie on a puddle so you can step over it.

• Age 19: He tells everyone he doesn’t like parties and shows up to yours early to set up chairs, late to clean confetti, and somehow “doesn’t like parties” again the next morning.

⸻

Scene 5: pretending-not-to-date, accidentally dating

It starts as a bit. Everything with Jungkook starts as a bit that evolves like a Pokémon into an emotion.

You say, “Let’s pretend to be a couple so people stop asking questions.”

He says, “We don’t have to.”

“Why?”

“Because no one’s asking me questions,” he lies. People ask him questions all the time: Are you and Y/N together? He answers, No, in Times New Roman, then spends an hour uninstalling and reinstalling his feelings.

Eventually he shrugs. “Fine. For efficiency.”

What begins as fake hand-holding becomes real hand-warming because your fingers are cold and his are callused from guitar and stubbornness. What begins as a staged Instagram photo becomes his lock screen that he refuses to show anyone (he shows Jimin, who screams; Jungkook tackles him like a linebacker with shame).

You start calling him “Koo” in front of people and he says, “Don’t,” but when you stop, he looks like you kicked his puppy. You start again. He glares at the floor in relief.

⸻

Scene 6: the jealousy speedrun (boss level)

At a friend’s game night, some guy named Jay sits too close to you during charades. He smells like a cologne sample and hubris. You laugh at his impression of Timothee Chalamet. Jungkook does not.

Later, while you’re cutting brownies in the kitchen, Jay leans against the counter. “So, what are you doing after this?”

“Sleeping,” you say.

“We could, like, not.”

Before you can respond, the plate of brownies slides away. So does the counter. Because Jungkook has physically picked you up by your hips and rotated you like a pizza.

“Kitchen’s closed,” he says to Jay, who leaves behind the scent of rejected ambition.

You stare at Jungkook. “Koo.”

“What.”

“You can’t just pick me up like I’m a cat.”

He swallows. “You’re… small.”

“So is dynamite.”

“Exactly!” He stops, recalibrates. “No. I mean. That’s not what I meant.”

You put your hands on his shoulders. He pretends this is standard. It is not standard. His heart starts doing the We Will Rock You beat.

“Why does it bug you when people flirt with me?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Jay literally didn’t get to finish his sentence.”

“He uses three-in-one shampoo.”

“So do you.”

“Yes but the expensive one,” he says, then immediately regrets saying it out loud.

You raise your eyebrows.

He exhales, looks everywhere but you: the ceiling lamp, the sink sponge, the existential void. “I don’t like it because… it makes me think, like, maybe you’ll—” His voice goes quiet. “—forget about me.”

You are a human sunbeam. You cup his jaw and force him to meet your eyes. “Never.”

He melts for exactly half a second, then freezes back into Jungkook Classic. “Anyway,” he mutters, ears pinking. “The brownies are overbaked.”

“You ate three.”

“To be sure.”

⸻

Scene 7: the almost-confession (windows xp error sound)

After game night, you walk home under streetlights, your knuckles brushing. The night feels like a secret.

“Koo,” you say.

“Don’t call me— okay.”

“I like you.”

He trips over absolutely nothing, recovers like an anime protagonist, and pretends it didn’t happen. “Everyone likes me.”

“I like-like you.”

Silence. Somewhere, a cricket clocks out.

His mouth opens. Closes. Reopens like he’s buffering. His eyebrows are having a small war with gravity.

“It’s not like I like you back or anything,” he says, as if the last eleven years have been a prank.

You smile. “Okay.”

“Stop saying okay.”

“What should I say?”

He looks panicked. “I don’t know. Say ‘prove it.’”

“Prove it.”

His whole brain blue-screens. “I— I… okay.”

“Okay?”

“Stop saying okay!”

“Okay.”

He inhales like he’s about to dive. Then: “I like you.” He says it fast, like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid. “A lot. It’s bothersome.”

“It bothers you?”

“It bothers me how much I want you to be happy,” he says, helpless. “It bothers me that your laugh makes my chest feel like goo. It bothers me that I miss you even when you’re right next to me.”

You stare at him, heart doing donuts. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said it,” he says, and you burst into laughter so bright he actually smiles—full and unguarded and boyish.

“Too late,” Jimin says from behind the hydrangea bush, where the entire friend group is crouched like wildlife photographers. A phone flashes. “Proof!” Hoseok stumbles and asks how did Jimin transport us here?

Jungkook makes a noise only dogs can hear. Everyone sprints. He does not chase them only because you are holding his sleeve.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“Hi,” he answers, softly back.

You take his hand. This time he squeezes on purpose.

⸻

Scene 8: the soft launch, hard launch, public beta

Soft launch: hands in the same frame holding iced coffees. Caption: errands. Comments: we been knew.

Hard launch: a photo of your matching socks. Caption: not a coincidence. Jungkook writes … and then deletes it, then writes we are efficient and deletes that, then writes yeah and leaves it. It gets 5,000 likes. He pretends not to care. He cares like it’s a part-time job with benefits.

Public beta: you show up to a study session with a hoodie that is obviously Jungkook’s. Jimin points. “Are we sharing clothes now.”

“No,” Jungkook says, zipping it to his chin.

“It literally says JEON on the back,” Hobi says.

“It’s a common surname.”

And they don’t mention the previous week when he was caught wearing one of your only hoodies that fit him, SUNSHINE in bold on the front. He said “it’s supposed be an ironic statement.”

“You look happy,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook goes quiet, because he is. He is happy in a way that makes his shoulders drop and his eyes soften and his mouth want to tell the truth.

He tugs your sleeve. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere.” He squeezes your fingers. “Everywhere.”

⸻

Scene 9: domestic micro-slice (dlc: tenderness)

Jungkook knocks on your apartment door with a bag of groceries. “You forgot to eat lunch yesterday,” he says accusingly, unloading eggs, spinach, and strawberries. “So today I made a schedule.”

“A schedule for food?”

“And hydration,” he says, taping a piece of paper to your fridge: 8AM WATER. 12PM FOOD. 3PM SNACK. 6PM FOOD. 10PM WATER. It is illustrated with chibi doodles of you and him, and a very buff carrot. You point. He looks mortified. “I was bored,” he mutters.

You lean into his shoulder. He goes very still like you’re a deer he doesn’t want to spook, then relaxes all at once. He cooks you an omelet. He burns one side and pretends it’s “artisan.”

“It’s perfect,” you say.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m in love,” you say, like it’s the same thing.

He inhales, then exhales like a prayer. “Me too,” he says, eyes on your mouth. He kisses your forehead, then your nose, then almost your lips, then stops an inch away because he is a menace.

“Koo,” you whisper. “Please.”

He swallows. Smiles like a secret. “Say ‘prove it.’”

You laugh and tug him in. He proves it.

⸻

Epilogue: notes app confession

A week later, Jungkook texts you a screenshot of his Notes app. The title is Not An Apology (I’m Not Sorry) and the body says:

• I like you more than my favorite hoodie

• I pretended to hate your blue slushie so you’d let me hold the straw while you drank

• I kept rejecting your Venmos because i like paying for you

• Please stop walking into traffic while waving at dogs

• I love you, I love you, I love you (don’t show anyone this)

You type back: too late lol

He sends a single skull emoji and then, two seconds later, come outside.

You do. He’s there with a helmet and a dorky grin. “Bike ride?”

“It’s dark,” you say.

“I have lights,” he says, and he does: one on the handlebars, one in his eyes whenever he looks at you.

“Okay,” you say, and for once he doesn’t tell you not to. He just reaches out, laces his fingers with yours, and pulls you gently toward the night, like there’s nowhere else in the world to be except next to each other, making everything brighter.