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The library was nearly empty, and Y/N liked it that way.

The scratch of her pen against paper, the hum of her laptop, the faint creak of the old air vents—it was the kind of quiet that let her think. That made the world feel smaller, manageable.

But deadlines circled her like vultures.

Two essays. A midterm. A looming presentation. She tapped her pen against the table, flipping another page of her Civil Procedures textbook, her eyes already burning from too many hours of staring at tiny black print.

Focus, she told herself. Just a few more chapters. Just a few more hours.

And just as she was about to drown into her studies again, a shadow fell across her desk, followed by a very familiar, very exasperated sigh.

“Y/N,” Teddy, her best friend, plopped into the seat across from her. “You’re officially a hazard to yourself and others.”

“Hello to you too.” Y/N mumbled, not bothering to look up.

“You need human contact,” Teddy said dramatically. “Sunlight. An actual Friday evening.”

Y/N could practically sense Teddy’s ulterior motives just from the way she was talking. She knew what Teddy wanted, and there was only one answer she would get, “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking,” Teddy whined.

Y/N raised a skeptical brow, finally peering up at Teddy over the screen of her laptop. “You’re smiling, that’s enough for me to know it’s bad.”

“It’s not bad per se…it’s character development!” Teddy beams with a bright smile.

She reaches over and pushes down the screen of Y/N’s laptop, to which the girl groans in annoyance.

“Teddy! I wasn’t done with that!”

“Y/N, you need a break. Your eyeballs are going to fossilize at this rate.” Teddy rolled her eyes, and without asking, started packing up Y/N’s things for her.

Y/N knew there was no point in arguing with someone like Teddy—persistent, tenacious—so she sat there and watched as her best friend destroyed her perfectly set-up study area.

“Is this about the art department thing?” Y/N finally spoke up, her arms crossed as she frowned.

Teddy paused, a wide grin taking over her face. “The Rent-A-Date auction? Duh, everyone’s going.” She shoved Y/N’s textbooks and laptop into her backpack, and Y/N had to bite her tongue as she watched her precious babies being handled so carelessly.

The Fine Arts department had their annual Art Gala coming up, where all the students displayed their creations to the world. But in order for that to happen, they needed funding, and funding came from the public. So they hosted a Rent-A-Date auction, where people from other departments bid on students from the art department to take on a date, essentially raising money for the exhibition.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous to Y/N.

Y/N immediately shook her head, “I can’t, I have two essays due next week. And a presentation. And—”

“—Gosh! Do you even know what the word 'fun' means?” Teddy cut in, waving her hand dramatically. “Come on, Y/N. Just for an hour. Think of it as…cultural immersion.”

“I major in law, not cultural immersion.” Y/N grumbled and rolled her eyes.

“Exactly,” Teddy said, already getting up to leave. “Which is why you need balance in your life.”

Before Y/N could even formulate a convincing excuse, Teddy pointed at her like a courtroom prosecutor.

“One hour,” she said. “If you still hate everything after that, I’ll personally drive you back here and buy you coffee. Then you can rot away in your textbook madness. Deal?”

Y/N pauses, contemplating.

One hour wouldn’t kill her…probably.

Hopefully.

She sighed and stood in defeat, dragging her bag onto her shoulder. “Fine. But I swear, if anyone tries to make me bid on anything, I’m leaving.”

Teddy grinned so wide it could have been suspicious.

“Cross my heart,” she said sweetly.

Y/N followed her out into the cool evening air, unaware that Teddy had already crossed that line long ago.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Chaos.

That’s the only way you could describe the scene before you. The pavilion, where the auction was happening, was packed with students. When Teddy had said everyone was going, you didn’t think she really meant…well, everyone.

Students from nearly every department were here, and you swore you even saw Yoongi. That man was more of a stay-at-home-introvert than you, yet he still came.

Art students were lounging around, laughing and speaking amongst themselves, and the loud chattering only made you more nervous.

“Do I really have to be here?” You leaned over to Teddy and mumbled under your breath to her.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and slapped a numbered paddle into your chest. “Yes,” was the only thing she said before she skipped away to the front of the stage.

You reluctantly followed behind while gripping the paddle like it was a live grenade.

“I should be in the library,” you muttered to Teddy as you reached her side. “I have so much to do.”

“You also have a pulse, which you’re wasting by living like a nun,” Teddy said, tugging your sleeve. “Come on, it’s for a good cause! You’re basically doing charity work.”

You shot her a withering glare. “By bidding on random guys?”

“By supporting the starving artists,” Teddy corrected, sweeping her arm toward the cluster of said art students. “Besides, it’s just one date. Harmless. You can go back to your boring spreadsheets afterward.”

First of all, you didn’t even use spreadsheets.

Second, before you could even formulate a protest, the pavilion quieted as Professor Han, head of the Fine Arts Department, gently tapped the microphone for attention.

“Welcome, everyone!” His voice echoed through the hall. “Thank you for coming to support our annual Art Gala fundraiser! Let’s raise some money—and maybe find a little love while we’re at it.”

The crowd cheered, but your stomach sank. You didn’t do love.

The auction starts, and you watch with a grimace as students strutted up the stage one by one. Some waving awkwardly, others providing outgoing, and outrageous, performances to appeal to the crowd. Teddy occasionally would nudge you to bid, to which you reluctantly did, but never ended up going high enough to actually get the date.

As each student gets paired up with their respective dates for the night, it seemed like the auction was finally about to come to an end.

But the next person, however, seemed to have caused an uproar amongst the crowd.

“Next up, we have Jeon Jungkook from Fine Arts!”

The cheers pretty much doubled, and you were afraid your eardrums would explode.

And then he came up, the supposed “man of the hour.”

Tall, lean, with messy dark hair that fell into his doe eyes and a silver loop glinting from his bottom lip, Jungkook looked like he belonged in a museum exhibit. Hell, his right arm adorned with colourful, intricate tattoos seemed like it could have a museum of its own.

He stood on the stage with an easy going smile, oozing lazy confidence. Jungkook did the least out of every guy that went up so far, yet seemed to elicit the most response.

Teddy suddenly elbowed you hard. “BID.”

“What? No—!”

But Teddy had already grabbed your paddle and shoved it up in the air.

“Fifty dollars!” Teddy shouted, and you choked on your own breath.

The silence in the room was deafening, until everyone erupted into cheers and whistles. Professor Han blinked, then laughed. “Well then, we have a very generous starting bid! Sold to Y/N!”

Teddy squealed and clapped, but you just about wanted the ground to open and swallow you whole right at this moment.

You never planned on bidding so high…or even getting a date, with Jeon Jungkook of all people!

And as if your thoughts had summoned him, he appeared in front of you seconds later, head tilted to the side with a smile that exposed a cute little dimple on his right cheek.

“Guess I’m all yours now,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Lucky you.”

You stared up at him horrified, though for a second, you forgot how to breathe. You blamed the noise, the lights, the humiliation.

Definitely not the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

a/n: hey guys...this is lowkey my first post ever 🫣 ive had this idea for a while and i couldnt find anywhere to read something like this so i thought i'd write it myself :P idk if this is hella corny or smth but lmk if we are into this boys 🙏

Chapter 1: The Date

The word “date,” nor the concept of keeping your Saturday night free of all studies for said “date,” was ever in your vocabulary. In fact, the only time “date” ever showed up was the date to your next final or project. So getting ready for something that didn’t involve having your tote bag filled with textbooks hanging off your shoulder was so incredibly foreign, that you had no other choice but to turn to Teddy for outfit inspo.

She went on a damn spiral, tossing clothes out of your closet until she finally found the one that looked perfect.

“I’m telling you right now, Jungkook will go insane over this outfit,” she said proudly with a grin so wide she might as well have turned into the Cheshire Cat. And you prayed to God that she was wrong in every way possible, because you didn’t need Jungkook thinking you looked good. Or worse, asking for another date. This was strictly professional; a hangout, if you must, to raise money for whatever showcase the art students had.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

When you first made plans with Jungkook for your “date,” he didn’t say much at all, and you wondered if you remembered wrong, considering it was 7:10 PM and there was no sign of him.

“Meet me at the front of the art building. 7 pm, don’t be late or I’ll find you myself.” Jungkook said with a devastating grin.

He’s late, and you started to think that maybe he even forgot. Or ditched.

This was a terrible idea.

You contemplate texting Teddy something dramatic (like “I’ve been stood up, hope you’re happy”) but your thoughts were cut off as the door to the building swings open.

Out came Jungkook, dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt, sleeves straining against his biceps. Tattoos on full display too and, unfortunately, you struggled to not stare.

He grins, his eyes lighting up, and leans his forearm against the doorframe. “You came,” he said, voice easy.

“Mm,” you nod and rock back and forth on your heels in a nervous manner. “I thought we’d just be going for coffee or something?”

“Coffee?” He repeated, almost seeming offended. “I actually want my girl to enjoy her date,” he scoffed and held the door open wider for you.

You ignored the way your heart skipped a beat at the way he said my girl so casually, and stick your head inside in a cautious manner.

You hesitated, but eventually stepped inside. The studio smelled like turpentine, old wood, and something fairly metallic—paint drying, canvases breathing.

It wasn’t polished or neat. Supplies were scattered everywhere: brushes, half-finished sculptures, canvases leaning at strange angles. A battered stereo played low music in the background, something steady and old.

You stood awkwardly while Jungkook moved about the studio freely, as if he lived here.

“Hope you don’t mind getting dirty,” he said, eyeing you over his shoulder as he set up some sort of wheel mechanism.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “What…kind of dirty are we talking?”

Jungkook laughed, low and warm. “Relax. It’s just clay.”

He handed you an oversized apron, his fingers brushing yours for half a second too long…not that you were counting.

“Rule number one for tonight,” he began, putting his own apron around his waist. “Don’t think, just do.”

“That’s a terrible rule.” You muttered and followed suit, clumsily tying on the apron.

Jungkook chuckled and his shoulders shook with amusement while he watched you struggle to put on the apron. He casually stepped up behind you and took the strings from your hands, tying it for you instead.

You mentally berated yourself for the way your breath stuttered in your chest, and then you swear that the next time your heart is gonna skip a beat like that is because of nervousness for a test. Not for him; never for him.

“There is nothing terrible about being in the art studio,” he said while his large palms glided over the expanse of your waist, smoothing out the material of the apron. “Here, you just let go.”

You didn’t realize he moved away from you because you were still caught up in the way he so casually touched you, almost in a reverent manner. So much for not letting your heart skip for him.

You cleared your throat and turned to face him once more, watching as he continued to set up, what you assumed, the pottery machine. “Um, so, what exactly are we doing?”

“We’re doing pottery, obviously,” he paused and glanced at you, big eyes catching yours from under the fringes of his hair. “Have you ever?”

You carefully approached him next to the machine, watching as he pulled up a single stool in front of the wheel. “Um, no. Never.” Pottery, or anything art related, was never really your thing. The last time you ever did something remotely close to arts was probably in elementary.

He stood up with a huff, hands on his hips, and nudged his head towards the stool. “Sit,” he said, “I’ll teach you.”

“Wait so, we’re just getting right into it? We’re not…talking?” You asked before hesitantly taking a seat on the stool, staring at the wheel like it was completely foreign and would eat you alive within seconds.

“I don’t mean to be rude but judging by your body language, I think it’s best to skip the small talk.” He chuckled softly and before you could retaliate, you felt his chest brush right up against your back. You might as well have gotten whiplash from how fast your head turned to look at him.

Cheeks flushed and eyes widened, you glanced up at him, sitting so close you could basically smell his cologne. Something woodsy and citrusy, but also clean like detergent. Your eyes met his and from this close, you noticed things you probably would never have paid attention to.

The tiny mole under his bottom lip; the slight crinkle around his eyes when he smiled. The glint of his lip ring, twitching every time he brushed his tongue against it.

What the hell? Stop staring!

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked, voice stuttering despite how desperately you tried to keep it steady.

He blinked down at you before breaking into a dimpled grin. “Relax. Just gonna help you get your flow then I’ll move to my own spot.” He reassured, before giving your arms a gentle pat.

Okay. There's two things you’ve learned about Jungkook so far. He smells awfully too good, and is insanely unaware of how naturally charming he is. Well, isn’t that great for you?

He slapped a heap of clay on the wheel before dipping his hands in a nearby bowl with water, then gestured for you to do the same.

“Pottery is easy,” he started. “You just need to have steady hands and the rest comes naturally.”

Easy was solving limits and linear equations. Easy was learning and memorizing civil wrongs and harmful acts. Easy was not molding a piece of clay into some mug or pot.

But regardless, because you literally had no other choice, you dipped your hands in the water and hovered them over the clay awkwardly.

“So…” you shifted to get comfortable and positioned your hands awkwardly over the clay. “How does this work?”

“Basically,” he hesitated for a second before gently resting his hands over yours. Big and warm, the contact had goosebumps rising on your skin. You prayed he wouldn't point it out because your best excuse would be because of air conditioning…but the room felt awfully hot. “You press down on this pedal,” he nudged your foot with his, letting you press down as a quick demonstration. “There you go,” he mumbled quietly, tone holding a hint of praise and encouragement behind it. “And your hands just kinda…move over the clay. It’s easier said than done.” He chuckled and you hated the way his breath brushed against your ear, because it sent that awful fluttery sensation down your spine again.

“Right,” you mumbled before clearing your throat. “Why are we doing pottery again?” You couldn’t help but ask. There were literally a hundred other things to do, and this guy had to choose the most messy, nuisance of an activity? Is he setting you up for failure or what?

“Because it’s fun,” he shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

He encouraged you to press on the pedal again and when the wheel hummed to life, he gently guided your fingers to the clay. “It’s mostly about feeling where the clay wants to go.”

“That sounds strangely philosophical,” you frowned, earning another soft laugh from him.

Soft and breathy and oh so ridiculously heartstopping.

God, stop. stopstopstop–

At first, Jungkook let you feel around with the clay by yourself.

Your hands glided carefully over the spinning clay, slow and deliberate, approaching it the same way you approached everything else in life—with caution, precision, and the quiet confidence that if you followed the instructions, you'd get it right.

You'd always gotten it right.

So naturally, you assumed this wouldn't be any different.

The clay promptly collapsed in on itself with a pathetic thud.

You stared at it.

"...Seriously?"

A quiet laugh sounded behind you.

"No stress," Jungkook said, his voice low and reassuring by your ear. "It's a little finicky at first."

Your brows pinched together.

"I can—"

Before you could finish insisting you were fine, his fingers slipped gently between yours.

"I've got you."

His hands guided yours back to the clay with practiced ease, steadying the uneven pressure until the wheel began to cooperate again.

You should've been focused on what he was showing you.

Instead, all you could think about was how warm his hands were despite the cool slip of water and clay coating both of your fingers. How his broad chest brushed up against your back every time he leaned an inch too close.

It should've felt strange.

Messy and uncomfortable. Instead, it felt…oddly natural.

And that realization alone was enough to send an embarrassing rush of butterflies tumbling through your stomach.

For God's sake...

It was just pottery.

So why did your heart insist on making it feel like something more?

“There you go,” he praised softly, head right next to yours, voice deep and honey-like in your ear. You had half a heart to shove him away but somehow, you kept still.

“Okay…this is weird.” You mumbled, watching as the clay molded perfectly with the help of his hands guiding yours. Fingers slipped across the slippery, slick material, gliding up and down while the wheel spun in a slow, easy manner and the clay rose gradually.

Calling it weird was the only way you could deflect how you were really feeling.

“Weird?” He repeated, glancing at the side of your face with slightly furrowed brows. “It’s just clay.”

Well, this boy was clueless. How could you explain that the clay wasn’t the thing that was weird; the immediate dynamic; the way both your hands moved so perfectly in sync, was the thing that was weird. Because nobody had actually fallen into such an easygoing rhythm with you before so quickly.

You were difficult, demanding, but he just…made everything so easy. You realized you weren’t even thinking about your classes or exams, just the boy who was oh so gentle with you, and the clay that changed in whatever way you wanted, giving you full control.

“Um,” you eventually cleared your throat, realizing you had been zoning out. “I dunno…just feels slimy.” You deflected because what else were you supposed to say? The truth? Never.

“Slimy,” he repeated with a small snort. “That’s a new one.”

Christ, being with this guy was going to be nothing short of a nightmare.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

“There, all done.” Jungkook finally eased back with a proud smile, and you wondered why the hell you felt disappointed from the lack of warmth.

Between casual chatter and frustrated sighs, you ended up making a mug. Crooked, but a mug nevertheless. Its handle was slightly askew as well, but Jungkook picked it up as if it was a masterpiece.

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but frown. It looked ridiculous.

“Not bad for a newbie,” Jungkook teased, poking you on the rib to which he earned a startled noise from you.

“It looks like a two year old made it.” You grumbled, a slight pout in your tone.

“No,” he stands from his seat and places the mug carefully on the drying rack. “It’s got character.”

You rolled your eyes because obviously he was trying to make you feel better…and oddly enough, it was working.

“Whatever,” untying your apron, you tossed it in the dirty cloth rack before turning to Jungkook, watching as he cleaned up the wheel. He was unfairly attractive, you had to admit. Veins popping along his strong forearms every time he scrubbed a little too hard, brows furrowed in concentration, tongue tucked under his lip ring.

“Are we done now?” You asked after clearing your throat, looking everywhere but at him now. Way to be discreet.

“Done?” He repeated around a snort, standing up and dusting his hands off on his apron. “We’re just getting started.”

𓍯𓂃𓏧

You told yourself you’d stay for just an hour, because you had a civil procedures textbook waiting for you back at your apartment. You told yourself you wouldnt do anything too artsy or too messy–wanted to keep your hands clean.

So how, on God’s green earth, did you end up sitting next to this damn art major, shoulders brushing occasionally, and painting mugs?

Not even the heavens could answer that.

"You know..." Jungkook glanced over at your mug before looking at his own. "I don't think I've ever seen someone paint with such serious concentration."

You didn't bother looking up.

"I'm trying not to ruin it."

"You look like you're taking an exam."

"I practically am."

He laughed, dipping his brush into a bright orange paint.

"See? That's your problem."

"My problem?"

"You think too much."

"And you don't think enough."

"...Fair."

You blinked.

"...You agreed with me?"

"I'm an artist, not delusional."

Before you could question further, he spoke up.

“Would you look at that,” Jungkook started, holding up his mug next to yours. His was coloured in bright oranges and yellows; intricate flower designs that only artists could perfect the details of. Yours?

Neutral browns and greys, because you didn’t know how to be creative. Even painting was like a perfectly curated task; it had to look perfect, be perfect.

“You’re a natural.” He said with a dimpled grin, nudging your side with his elbow. That simple comment had you snapping out of your mind, blinking up at him like some lost deer. You never knew how to take compliments.

“It’s all right,” you mumbled as you placed the mug on the drying rack, right next to Jungkook’s, The contrast was almost comical.

“Well, this was…nice. But I really should get going now.” You immediately deflected, grabbing your tote bag from the floor, paint smudging over the fabric. You had already overstayed your welcome, and if you stayed any damn longer, you didn’t know what you would end up doing.

“Oh,” Jungkook nodded, brushing his hands off on his jeans, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your demeanor. Had you two not just been getting along? He almost sounded disappointed but you told yourself it was your mind playing tricks. “Yeah, no, of course.”

A beat passed.

"I guess it did get kinda late."

It was only ten.

The sun had barely started to set.

But neither of you pointed that out.

“Thanks for helping with the fundraiser,” he said as he followed you to the door like some lost puppy; doe eyes staring into the back of your head. “I can tell this isn’t your thing but I appreciate it.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly with a smile that had your stomach flipping.

Why? You refused to acknowledge that.

“Yeah, no problem. Hope the art gala goes well.”

“Thanks! Maybe I–”

You didn’t even let Jungkook finish before you were scurrying off, desperate to get out of this situation. To get your damn bearings together and eliminate all of these stupid, fuzzy feelings in your chest.

Meanwhile, Jungkook?

Oh, that boy was a mess.

Not only did he never even plan on getting as far as painting the mugs with you, he also didn’t realize how effortless it was to be around you. Sure, you were a little dense about things, a little stuck up. But conversations came naturally–he learned you were a law major, lived by yourself, and had a cat–and the more he learned, the more he wanted to be around you.

Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.

Because this was supposed to be a one time thing, but as Jungkook watched your retreating figure like a fool–hand clutching that tote bag he recognized from the auction, soft pink babydoll top complementing your skin, and white maxiskirt flowing gently in the breeze–he realized that this wasn’t enough.

He had to see you again, one way or another.

a/n: omg guys much anticipated chapter 1!! finally omg. i love these two sm like i was a giggling fool writing this entire chapter. sorry it was so late! i've been so so busy with work and stuff but i tried super hard to get it done for you guys! hope it's up to ur expectations and i hope u guys love it as much as i do. they're literally my babies :> (also i didn't think ppl would actually like this so lmk if u wanna be tagged for the next part!) and sorry for any typos!