☆ Paring: Officer! Jungkook x Female Reader.
Synopsis: In a stylized European city during the early 20th century, you, a cheerful young woman living with a severe heart condition runs away from your controlling mother in search of freedom and a life you can truly call your own. Determined not to let your fragile heart define you, you begins navigating the city alone—until you cross paths with a quiet, stoic police officer named Jungkook. Though reserved and difficult to read, Jungkook reveals his affection through gentle gestures, unwavering patience, and a deep attentiveness toward your condition. As the two of you slowly grow closer through quiet moments and everyday life, your relationship blossoms into a soft, intimate romance filled with devotion, longing, and the aching beauty of loving someone fragile in a world that feels equally delicate.
Genre: Romance, Slice of life, Agnst, Fluff, Strangers to lovers.
Now Playing: Black Water Lilies - Aurora..
Warnings: setting is based off a strong 1920s to 1950s high-fashion vibe, with elegant vintage clothing, old-world cobblestone streets, and a classic, atmosphere reminiscent of mid-century European cinema, Mature language, Jungkook and Reader are both in their twenties, Reader has a servere heart condition (they have a hole a the center of their heart), Jungkook is an entire green forest in here, Drinking & Smoking, Slow Burn, Jungkook and Reader actually communicate with each other (but there’s still arguments), even though this is a slow burn they are pretty much two people who do not explicitly use labels, relying instead on subtle, unspoken acts of love to show their intimacy, Thriller, Crime solving (somehow), Pure Fluff, Drama, Jungkook is DEVOTED to you, Jungkook is literally HUSBAND MATERIAL, Eventual smut, Jungkook is a soft Dom, oral sex, Praise & size kink, Emotional sex, Humor, Author decided to not be sleep deprived (yay!), Poetry still has me on a leash, Jungkook is a fashion EXPERT, Reader is a SASSY BRAT despite her bubbly personality, Jungkook is a certified brat tamer, author LOVES the weeknd & lana del rey.
Author’s Note: This was heavily inspired by the manga named ‘Veil’ literally—go read it if you haven’t. Also ignore the fact that i misspelled my own username LMAOOO.
Chapter One: Far From Home.
Once upon a time, there lived two people selfish enough to fall in love with each other.
Not the soft kind of love spoken about in fairytales or tucked inside romance novels left abandoned on library shelves. Their love had been desperate. Reckless. Wild enough to destroy reputations and careful enough to survive poverty hand in hand.
Your father used to joke that your mother looked far too elegant to be sleeping on train benches beside him while they traveled from city to city searching for work. And your mother, younger then and brighter around the edges, would only laugh before resting her head against his shoulder and saying:
“Then earn enough money so I don’t have to anymore.”
Years of endless labor turned your father into a successful businessman with tired eyes and expensive suits. The tiny apartment they once shared eventually became a luxurious estate hidden away near endless green fields and iron gates kissed by ivy vines. Your mother traded old cotton dresses for silk and pearls. Your father bought her a cream-colored automobile just because she once stared at it too long through a shop window.
And despite all the wealth surrounding them—
They still looked at each other like starving people finally fed. Then came you. You were born during spring.
The nurses remembered it clearly because rain had battered against the hospital windows while your mother screamed through labor with your father trembling beside her, gripping her hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“She’s beautiful,” one nurse whispered the moment they placed you into your mother’s arms.
And you truly were. Tiny fingers. Curled lashes. Soft cries. A perfect child.
Until the doctor entered the room afterward with a look that permanently altered the course of your family forever.
Your father noticed immediately. Your mother did too. The doctor sat down quietly beside the hospital bed while carefully removing his glasses.
“There appears to be a problem with the baby’s heart.”
Your mother stopped breathing. Your father’s hand immediately tightened around hers “Atrial Septal Defect,” the doctor explained gently. “There is a hole between the upper chambers of her heart.”
Silence followed. Heavy silence. The kind that settled inside bones permanently. “Can you fix it?” your father asked immediately.
The doctor hesitated. Your mother began crying before he could even answer. From that moment onward, love became fear inside your household. Not hatred. Never hatred. Fear.
Your mother watched over you obsessively from the moment you learned how to walk. Servants followed you through gardens to ensure you did not run too hard. Doctors visited frequently enough for their faces to become familiar. Medicine bottles cluttered shelves beside your bed like decorations nobody wanted.
But even then—You refused to behave delicately. At five years old, you climbed trees while your mother shrieked from below.
At eight, you ran through rainstorms until your father carried you inside wrapped in his coat while laughing breathlessly.
At thirteen, you nearly fainted after dancing too long during a party and still smiled through the dizziness afterward. “You are impossible,” your mother once sighed while brushing your curls carefully before bed.
You grinned through the mirror. “But lovable.”Your mother’s expression softened instantly.
Painfully. “You look exactly like him,” she whispered quietly.
Your father adored you. Sometimes you believed he adored you too much.
He bought you books constantly because you loved stories. Jewelry because you admired shiny things. Dresses because you spent hours spinning in front of mirrors pretending you were actresses from old films.
“You spoil her,” your mother would complain.
“She deserves it,” your father always replied. And perhaps that was the problem. Because after your father died—
Everything beautiful inside your home began rotting slowly. The funeral had been elegant. Expensive flowers. Black umbrellas. Whispered condolences.
You remembered standing beside your mother dressed in black lace while feeling entirely disconnected from your own body. Your chest hurt horribly that day—not emotionally, but physically. As though your heart itself understood something devastating had happened.
Your mother never truly recovered afterward. At first, her grief looked normal. She cried often.
Stopped sleeping properly. Spent long hours staring at your father’s old belongings in silence. Then gradually—Her grief transformed into obsession.
You became all she had left. And she clung onto you so tightly it became difficult to breathe.
“You’re coughing too much today.”
Every aspect of your life slowly slipped from your control and into hers. The servants noticed it. The doctors noticed it. Even you noticed yourself becoming smaller inside the walls of your own home.
And still—You loved her. That was the cruelest part. You loved her despite the suffocation. Loved her despite the fear. Loved her despite the loneliness growing between you both like thorns crawling through old walls.
Until one evening she calmly informed you over dinner that a man wished to marry you.
The memory still made your stomach twist.
The dining room glowed warmly from chandelier light while untouched food rested neatly across polished plates.
“He comes from a respectable family,” your mother explained while cutting into her meal gracefully. “Financially secure. Well mannered.”
You stared at her blankly. “…What?”
“He has expressed interest in meeting you properly.”
Your pulse immediately quickened. “Mother,” you laughed nervously, thinking she must be joking. “I’m not marrying a stranger.”
Her fork clinked softly against porcelain. “You will eventually need someone capable of caring for you.”
“No,” she replied sharply enough to make you flinch, “you cannot.”
Silence filled the room. Your chest tightened painfully. Your mother finally looked up at you then. And for the first time—you realized she truly believed you incapable of surviving without someone controlling your life.
“You are sick, Y/n,” she whispered tiredly. “You have always been sick.”
Something inside you broke quietly at those words. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just softly enough to hurt forever.
Because your entire life, you had spent fighting to prove that your condition was merely a part of you—not your entire existence.
Yet to your mother—It had become the only thing she saw anymore. That night you cried alone inside your bedroom.
Not because you hated her. But because you missed her.
You missed the version of your mother who used to dance with you in kitchens and kiss your forehead after nightmares. The woman who once loved you gently instead of fearfully.
By the time moonlight spilled across your bedroom floor hours later—Your decision had already been made. The room felt hauntingly beautiful in the dead of night.
Your expensive dresses hung neatly inside wardrobes you would never open again. Jewelry boxes glimmered softly beneath silver light. Family portraits watched silently from walls. You stood near your bed wearing a dark elegant coat over your clothes, your suitcase resting patiently beside your legs.
Your hands trembled slightly. Not from weakness. From grief. You slowly approached the glass door leading outside before pausing entirely.
The house remained silent. No footsteps. No voices. Only the distant ticking of clocks echoing through endless hallways.
Your throat tightened painfully. You turned around one final time to look at your bedroom.
At your home. At the life you were abandoning behind. And suddenly memories flooded you violently. Your father reading beside the fireplace.
Your mother helping you lace dresses. Birthday candles. Christmas mornings. Laughter. Love.
A shaky breath escaped your lips. “I’m sorry,” you whispered softly into the empty room.
Whether you were apologizing to your mother, your father, or yourself—You didn’t know.
Then finally—You opened the door. Cold wind immediately brushed against your face like freedom itself.
The fields stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight, silver grass swaying softly while flowers bent beneath the breeze.
For one terrifying second—You nearly stayed. Nearly turned back. Nearly convinced yourself this was a mistake. But then you remembered your mother’s voice.
And suddenly your chest burned with determination. No. You refused to spend your life trapped inside somebody else’s fear. So gripping your suitcase tightly, you stepped into the grass.
Then another step. Then another. Before panic suddenly surged through your veins all at once. And you ran. You ran across moonlit fields in expensive heels and trembling breaths, your heart pounding violently against your ribs while cold air clawed at your lungs.
You did not look back. Not once. Because deep down—you already knew if you saw that house again.
You might never find the courage to leave it at all.
Three months later, the city breathed on without you.
Morning rain had long since passed, leaving the cobblestone streets damp and glimmering beneath the pale afternoon sun. Cars rolled through narrow roads in elegant lines while bicycles passed by storefronts decorated with fresh flowers and striped awnings. The air smelled faintly of wet pavement, expensive perfume, roasted coffee beans, and cigarette smoke curling lazily from open café windows.
The city itself felt alive. Busy. Unbothered.
And somewhere within the middle of it all sat a man entirely detached from the noise surrounding him.
Inside a small café tucked between a bookstore and tailor shop, Jungkook rested silently against a velvet booth seat with all the composure of someone carved from marble rather than flesh.
Everything about him looked painfully put together.
Dark uniform freshly pressed. Black gloves fitted perfectly around large hands. Silver buttons on his black coat gleaming faintly beneath warm café lighting. Even the dark strands of hair falling near his eyes somehow appeared deliberate despite clearly not being so.
Women glanced toward him often. Some subtly. Others shamelessly. Jungkook ignored every single one of them.
His attention remained fixed outside the café window while steam slowly curled from the untouched coffee resting near his hand.
Across from him sat Jaewon. Unfortunately.“And then,” Jaewon continued dramatically with wide gestures, “the man started CRYING, Jungkook. Crying. Over a goose.”
Jungkook remained staring outside.
A couple crossed the street holding hands beneath one umbrella. A little girl chased pigeons near the fountain nearby. Somewhere in the distance, music drifted softly from an open record shop.
Peaceful. Jaewon narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t listening to me.”
“No, you’re pretending to.”
Jungkook sighed quietly before finally dragging his gaze away from the window. “The goose belonged to his ex-wife,” he replied flatly.
Jaewon blinked once. “…Okay, maybe you were listening.”
Jungkook hummed lowly before lifting his coffee toward his lips. His voice was deep even when speaking lazily. Smooth. Controlled.
The kind of voice that naturally commanded attention without effort.
Jaewon sometimes found it irritating how effortlessly attractive the man sitting across from him actually was. Jungkook never tried. Never flirted. Never entertained people for longer than necessary.
And somehow that only made others more interested. “You know what your problem is?” Jaewon suddenly asked.
Jungkook took another sip. “I don’t care enough to ask., but please—enlighten me.”
“You have absolutely no interest in human interaction.”
“You stared at a wall for twenty minutes yesterday.”
Jaewon groaned dramatically before leaning back in his chair. Jungkook, however, merely looked back out the window again.
He preferred observing people from a distance rather than speaking with them directly. Observing required no emotional effort. No unnecessary explanations. No obligations.
People were simple when watched quietly. Some rushed too much. Some talked too loudly. Some loved too carelessly. And some—
Looked lonely even surrounded by crowds. Jungkook noticed things most people didn’t. Small details. Shaking hands. Forced smiles.
Uneven breathing. Tired eyes hidden behind expensive clothing. Perhaps that was why he excelled at his work. Or perhaps he simply spent too much time studying people instead of allowing himself to become one of them.
“You seriously need a woman,” Jaewon sighed.
Jungkook nearly looked offended. “No.”
“And work constantly. You barely sleep. Your apartment probably looks depressing.”
Jungkook stared at him blankly. “It does look depressing, doesn’t it?”
Jaewon blinked. “Only one?”
A quiet chuckle nearly threatened to escape Jungkook at Jaewon’s horrified expression, but it disappeared before fully forming.
Instead, he reached inside his coat pocket before pulling out a cigarette pack slowly.
The movement alone earned several glances from nearby women. Jaewon noticed immediately. “You know,” he muttered bitterly, “life must be easy when you look like that.”
Jungkook lazily slid one cigarette between his fingers. “Like what?”
Jaewon looked genuinely offended. “You can’t be serious.”
Jungkook merely tilted his head slightly.
Unfortunately for Jaewon, the man truly did not seem aware of how attractive he actually was. There was something frustratingly natural about him.
The broad shoulders. The calm demeanor. The deep voice. And even the tattoos that Jungkook tries—or not to hide. The stoic eyes that softened only slightly whenever he listened carefully.
And worst of all—His gentleness.
Jungkook carried himself carefully around people, especially women, despite appearing cold at first glance. He opened doors instinctively. Walked slower when accompanying elderly citizens. Removed his gloves before helping children tie loose shoelaces.
He treated softness like something sacred. Which made him infinitely more dangerous. Jaewon sighed dramatically before suddenly remembering something. “Oh right.”
Jungkook glanced up lazily.
“We got another missing person report today.”
“This one’s interesting though.”
Jungkook looked uninterested already. Jaewon reached into his coat pocket before pulling out a folded paper. “The entire station practically had to deal with this woman crying for hours.”
Jungkook’s brows furrowed faintly.
“She’s wealthy,” Jaewon explained while sliding the paper across the table. “Upper-class family. Apparently the daughter vanished three months ago.”
Three months. Jungkook finally reached for the paper. His gloved fingers unfolded it carefully. And then—He saw you.
The café noise faded strangely afterward. Not entirely. But enough. You looked beautiful in an effortless way that almost annoyed him immediately. Not polished beauty. Not artificial beauty. Something softer. More alive.
Your curled hair framed your face while light reflected gently against your earrings. Your patterned blouse looked elegant yet playful at the same time. And your expression—God.
Your smile looked warm enough to melt winter itself. Jaewon leaned forward slightly. “Pretty, right?”
Jungkook stayed silent longer than necessary. Then finally—“Yes.”
The answer came calm. Respectful. Yet strangely honest. Because denying it would’ve been pointless. You were beautiful. Painfully so.
His eyes lowered toward the information written beneath your photograph.
Missing for three months.
Jungkook’s eyes paused there. Medical condition. “Atrial Septal Defect,” Jaewon read aloud while peeking over the table. “Apparently she has some severe heart problem.”
Jungkook’s gaze flickered back toward your picture. A strange feeling settled quietly inside his chest. You did not look fragile. You looked—
Bright. Like someone too stubborn to sit still even when told to.
“What happened?” Jungkook asked quietly.
Jaewon shrugged. “Mother claims the daughter disappeared overnight. No note. No explanation.”
“Not really,” Jaewon snorted. “Rich families are always insane.”
Jungkook hummed quietly. Still staring. Your eyes bothered him most. Not negatively. Just—Curiously.
They held something difficult to explain. Like hidden rebellion beneath elegance. Like someone smiling while standing dangerously close to collapse.
“You think she’s dead?” Jaewon suddenly asked.
Jungkook immediately shook his head once.“No.” The certainty in his answer surprised even himself slightly.
Jaewon raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”
Jungkook folded the paper neatly again before slipping it onto the table. “She left willingly.”
Jaewon blinked. “You got all that from one picture?”
Jungkook leaned back against the booth calmly. “She doesn’t look frightened.” He glanced toward the window again afterward. Outside, people continued moving through the city without pause.
Cars. Laughter. Rainwater. Life. Somewhere within all of it—You existed too. Breathing the same air. Walking the same streets. Living some unknown life hidden beneath an entirely different sky than the one you grew up under.
Strangely enough—Jungkook found himself wondering what kind of woman would abandon luxury for disappearance. And why.
Jaewon eventually continued rambling afterward about work, paperwork, and his constantly arguing girlfriend, but Jungkook barely listened anymore.
Because despite never meeting you—Your face lingered quietly inside his mind long after the conversation should have ended.
Like cigarette smoke refusing to disappear from fabric. Subtle. Persistent.
Your apartment was small enough that if you stood in the center of it and stretched both arms outward, you could almost touch everything you owned.
And somehow—You loved it more than the mansion you grew up in.
The building itself was old, tucked between a flower shop and a tiny bakery hidden along one of the quieter streets within the city. The staircase creaked beneath your heels every single morning, and the elderly woman downstairs always complained about someone leaving newspapers in the hallway even though she was usually the culprit herself.
It felt human. Lived in. Real.
Nothing like the polished perfection of your childhood home where every room looked untouched, preserved, almost too expensive to breathe inside comfortably.
Here, the wallpaper peeled slightly near the corners from age. The pipes groaned whenever you turned on hot water. Your neighbors occasionally argued loud enough for you to hear through the walls.
And you adored every flaw.
Soft afternoon sunlight spilled through your curtains while music crackled quietly from your vintage radio resting near the kitchen counter. The melody drifting through the apartment felt warm and sleepy, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh bread sitting inside a paper bag on your tiny dining table.
You stood in front of the mirror brushing through your curls carefully while humming under your breath.
The reflection staring back at you looked different now. Not physically. But lighter somehow.
Freedom had softened something inside your eyes over the past three months.
You still became breathless too quickly. Still woke some mornings with your chest aching unpleasantly. Still occasionally frightened yourself whenever dizziness struck too suddenly after climbing stairs or laughing too hard.
But despite all of it—You looked happier. Your apartment reflected that happiness too.
Vintage fashion magazines cluttered your coffee table. Fresh flowers sat inside chipped ceramic vases near the windowsill. Books were stacked absolutely everywhere because you kept buying more despite having nowhere left to place them.
And your wardrobe—God. You smiled sheepishly while glancing toward the coat rack overloaded with clothing. Perhaps you enjoyed fashion slightly too much.
Not expensive luxury the way your mother preferred. No. You loved personality. Long coats. Soft gloves.
Lace collars. Flowing skirts. Pearl earrings found in tiny antique stores for cheap prices. You enjoyed dressing beautifully even if nobody noticed except you. Maybe especially then.
The mirror reflected your smile as you pinned a pair of earrings into place.
“Perfect,” you whispered proudly to yourself.
Then immediately coughed afterward. The sharpness inside your chest arrived suddenly enough to make you pause. Your smile faltered slightly. There it was again.
That awful tight feeling. Like invisible fingers squeezing around your lungs.
You slowly sat down at the edge of your bed while inhaling carefully through your nose exactly the way your doctor instructed. Slow breaths. Gentle. Steady. You waited quietly until the dizziness eased enough for the room to stop spinning slightly.
Then sighed. “Well,” you muttered tiredly toward the ceiling, “that’s unfortunate.”
Some days were worse than others. That was simply reality now.
You had learned your body carefully over the three months. Learned how exhaustion settled into your bones before symptoms worsened. Learned which foods made you feel heavier. Which weather conditions made breathing more difficult.
And most importantly—You learned how to hide it. Not because you were ashamed. But because you hated pity.
People looked at sick individuals strangely once they discovered something fragile existed beneath their skin. Their eyes softened too much afterward. Their voices became careful. Hesitant.
As though your entire identity suddenly transformed into something tragic.
You despised that feeling. You refused to become somebody people mourned while you were still alive.
A soft knock suddenly echoed from downstairs followed by the familiar sound of Mrs. Laurent yelling at somebody outside the building “Young people have no respect these days!”
The elderly woman terrified almost everyone in the neighborhood despite secretly being incredibly kind beneath all the yelling. The first week you moved into the apartment, she had stared at you suspiciously before bluntly asking: “Are you dying?”
You nearly choked. “What?!”
You laughed so hard that day your chest hurt afterward. Now she occasionally left pastries outside your door without explanation.
Your smile softened at the memory. Life here felt strangely gentle despite its hardships.
Lonely sometimes. But gentle.
Your eyes drifted toward the tiny calendar hanging near your kitchen. Three months. You had truly survived alone for three whole months now.
No servants. No luxury. No mother hovering anxiously nearby. Just you. And honestly? You felt proud of yourself. You should be.
The money left behind by your father still existed untouched in accounts your mother thankfully could not fully access, but you refused to rely on it excessively. You wanted independence properly. Wanted to know you could survive through your own efforts instead of inherited wealth.
So you worked quietly where you could. Small freelance writing. Occasionally helping local boutiques organize displays. Sketching fashion concepts for shop owners.
Nothing physically demanding. At least—Nothing too demanding.
Your doctor nearly lost his mind during your late st appointment. “You need to stop overexerting yourself.”
“No, you are ignoring me professionally.”
You laughed nervously from your chair while he adjusted his glasses with visible frustration.
“Miss L/n,” he sighed, “your condition is not improving.”
Your smile faded slightly. You already knew that. The doctor’s office smelled like antiseptic and old paper while rain tapped softly against windows behind him. His expression softened eventually after noticing your silence.
“I am not saying this to frighten you.”
“You simply must understand your limits.”
That word followed you everywhere. Your entire life had been shaped around limitations. Don’t run too fast. Don’t become too excited. Don’t overwork yourself. Don’t stress. Don’t stay out too long. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
You smiled sadly while staring down at your hands resting in your lap. “What if I don’t want my whole life to revolve around being careful?”
The doctor looked at you quietly afterward. And though his voice remained gentle—His answer still hurt. “Then eventually your body will decide for you.”
You left the appointment shortly afterward feeling strangely hollow. But that emptiness never lasted long. Because the city itself kept pulling you back toward life.
Toward beauty. Toward curiosity.
You loved wandering through crowded markets despite your limited budget. Loved watching street performers dance while children clapped nearby. Loved sitting near fountains with warm pastries balanced between your gloved hands.
You especially loved observing people. Young lovers arguing dramatically before kissing moments later. Old women gossiping from apartment windows. Men rushing toward work with newspapers tucked beneath their arms.
The city pulsed with life constantly.
And after spending years trapped beneath your mother’s suffocating protection—You felt starved for all of it.
Though unfortunately, your mother’s desperation eventually found its way into your new world too.
The missing posters appeared gradually. At first only near train stations.
Then shop windows. Lamp posts. Street corners. You remembered the horrible feeling settling inside your stomach the first time you saw your own face staring back at you from paper.
The word looked cruel beside your photograph. You immediately tore the poster down that day before anybody nearby could notice your expression.
Afterward they became impossible to avoid. Everywhere you looked—There you were. Your mother’s grief and control plastered across the city for strangers to stare at. You understood her worry. You truly did.
But something about the posters angered you deeply. Because she reported you missing as though you belonged to her.
As though you were incapable of choosing your own life.
You were twenty-three years old. Not a child. Not property. And certainly not a prisoner.
Your jaw tightened slightly at the memory and thought before shaking the frustration away. “No,” you murmured quietly to yourself while standing from the bed. “Not today.”
Today was beautiful. And you refused to ruin it by thinking about your mother.
Especially because you finally had enough money to properly grocery shop without calculating every coin nervously beforehand.
Your smile instantly returned. That alone deserved celebration.
You grabbed your long coat from the rack before slipping it over your shoulders carefully. Then your purse. Gloves afterward. Finally a quick spray of perfume near your wrists.
Your apartment mirror reflected a woman who looked far too elegant to be living in such a tiny apartment. But you liked that contrast. It reminded you that beauty did not belong exclusively to wealth.
Before leaving, your eyes drifted toward the flowers resting near the window. Tiny white lilies.
Your father used to buy flowers for the house constantly because he claimed beauty should exist everywhere people lived.
Perhaps that habit stayed with you. “Alright,” you whispered while grabbing your keys, “let’s go spend money irresponsibly.” Moments later you stepped outside into the busy afternoon streets completely unaware that somewhere else within the same city—
A stoic police officer with dark eyes and black gloves had already memorized your face without even realizing it yet.
And fate—Quietly. Patiently.
Was already beginning to pull both of your lives together thread by thread.
By evening, the city had transformed into something softer.
Golden light spilled from glowing shop windows onto damp cobblestone streets while the distant sound of jazz drifted lazily through the air from hidden bars and cafés tucked between narrow alleyways. Couples wandered beneath umbrellas despite the rain having long stopped hours ago, their laughter blending into the endless hum of city life.
Everything felt alive. Warm. Beautiful.
And entirely unaware that somewhere amongst the crowd, fate had already begun rearranging itself quietly.
Inside the café, Jungkook finally stood from his seat after nearly enduring two straight hours of Jaewon’s endless rambling. His chair scraped softly against the floor.
“Leaving already?” Jaewon asked dramatically.
Jungkook slid money onto the table without looking up. “You’ve exhausted me.”
“I’m your favorite coworker.”
“You’re my loudest coworker.”
Jaewon scoffed while grabbing his coat. “One day you’ll appreciate my company.”
“I doubt it.” Despite the coldness of his words, there was no genuine cruelty behind them. That was simply how Jungkook spoke.
Blunt. Quiet. Dry enough to sound uninterested even when he cared. Jaewon had long since learned how to read between the lines.
Outside, cold evening air immediately greeted them the moment they stepped onto the sidewalk. The city smelled faintly of rainwater, cigarette smoke, perfume, and old pavement warmed beneath dim streetlights.
Jaewon stretched dramatically near the curb. “I swear if my girlfriend accuses me of cheating one more time, I might actually lose my mind.”
Jungkook pulled a cigarette pack from inside his coat pocket. “Maybe stop flirting with waitresses.”
Jungkook slid a cigarette between his lips with an unimpressed stare. “You’re exhausting.”
“And you’re emotionally constipated.”
Jungkook ignored that entirely. His gloved fingers flicked open the lighter smoothly while the cigarette rested lazily between his lips. The flame illuminated his face briefly beneath the dim evening glow, sharpening the already unfair angles of his features.
Broad shoulders hidden beneath dark uniform fabric, and the dark coat.
Black gloves. Silver badge catching light. Heavy-lidded eyes that looked permanently tired yet observant all at once.
Even standing silently against the sidewalk, he somehow looked cinematic.
Jaewon sighed dramatically. “You know women stare at you constantly, right?”
Jungkook lit the cigarette calmly before finally speaking around the smoke. “I don’t care.”
A quiet exhale of smoke escaped Jungkook’s lips. Cool. Slow. Controlled. He was about to reply when suddenly—Someone rushed past him fast enough for wind to brush lightly against the side of his coat.
Jungkook’s eyes instinctively shifted toward your figure moving hurriedly through the crowd.
Your heels clicked rapidly against the pavement while your coat swayed around your legs. You looked distracted. Completely unaware of your surroundings as you clutched shopping bags against your chest while weaving quickly through passing people.
And then—Your heel caught unevenly against the pavement. Everything happened too quickly afterward. Your eyes widened. Your body tilted forward suddenly. A startled gasp nearly escaped your lips—But before you could hit the ground, two strong gloved hands wrapped firmly around your waist.
The shopping bags nearly slipped from your grasp. Your breath hitched sharply. For one disorienting second, the world seemed to stop moving.
Jungkook steadied your body effortlessly against his chest while leaning down slightly to keep you balanced. His grip remained secure but careful, as though instinctively aware he needed to handle you gently. “You should watch where you’re going miss,” he murmured lowly.
God. His voice. Deep enough to settle somewhere dangerous beneath your ribs. But before you could even properly respond—Pain struck your chest suddenly.
Your breathing immediately turned uneven from both panic and the abrupt movement. One hand instinctively clutched the fabric near your heart while you tried inhaling properly.
Jungkook noticed immediately. His brows furrowed.
The stoic expression resting naturally across his face shifted almost instantly into concern. Not exaggerated concern. Not panic. Just quiet attentiveness. The kind belonging to someone who noticed small details carefully.
“Miss?” His voice lowered slightly. Gentler now.
Your breathing trembled embarrassingly while you struggled to steady yourself. “I-I’m alright,” you managed softly.
You weren’t. Jungkook could tell immediately.
Your pulse visibly fluttered at your throat while your fingers pressed harder against your chest beneath the coat fabric. Without thinking, his hand carefully moved upward to brush several curls away from your face so he could properly look at you.
“Can you stand?” he asked quietly. The simple touch nearly startled you more than the fall itself.
His gloves were cold. Yet his hold somehow felt unbearably careful. You slowly looked up at him properly for the first time—And your brain nearly stopped functioning. Beautiful.
No. Beautiful felt insufficient.
The man standing before you looked unfairly attractive in a way that almost irritated you immediately. Dark eyes. Sharp features softened only slightly by concern. Broad frame hidden beneath police uniform—or better yet, a neatly white shirt along with a black tie, adding on to the black coat that covers him.
And those eyes—God. They looked so calm. So observant. As though nothing escaped his attention. Your heart beat harder for entirely different reasons now.
Dangerous reasons. You swallowed nervously before nodding quickly. “Yes.”
Jungkook slowly loosened his hold around your waist before guiding you upright carefully with one hand resting against your back. Even after you steadied yourself, he did not immediately remove his hand.
Not possessive. Attentive. As though waiting to ensure your legs truly could support you alone. “You’re pale,” he said bluntly.
You blinked. ‘What an odd thing to say to a stranger.’ Still—Something about his voice made the statement sound more concerned than rude.
“I’m always pale,” you replied weakly before offering a quick smile. Bright. Too bright. The kind of smile people used when trying to hide discomfort.
Jungkook noticed that too. Of course he did.
Your eyes curved warmly despite your obvious struggle to breathe normally again. “Thank you for catching me,” you laughed softly, slightly embarrassed now. “That would’ve been horribly humiliating.”
Jungkook stared at you silently for a moment. Then glanced downward. Your hand remained pressed against your chest. “You’re still having trouble breathing.”
“No, no,” you quickly waved him off despite your uneven breathing. “Just startled.”
Liar. The word nearly sat at the edge of Jungkook’s tongue. Not because he believed you dishonest in a malicious way. But because he recognized the look in your eyes immediately.
You were trying not to worry him. Strange. Most people exaggerated injuries for sympathy. You seemed determined to minimize yours instead.
Meanwhile, Jaewon stood several feet away watching the interaction with shameless curiosity. Then suddenly—Jungkook froze slightly. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly while looking at your face again.
Recognition. You noticed the subtle shift instantly. Your smile faltered.
Jungkook’s gloved hand slowly slipped inside his coat pocket before pulling something folded from within. Paper. Your stomach dropped immediately.
No. No no no—He unfolded it calmly. And there you were. Your own face stared back at you from the missing poster. For a moment, the city noise around you disappeared entirely. Your pulse roared violently inside your ears.
Jungkook looked between the photograph and your face carefully. Then finally back at you. His expression remained unreadable.
Stoic. Controlled. But his eyes sharpened slightly with realization. “It’s you,” he said quietly.
Your throat tightened. You forced out an awkward laugh immediately. “I think there are lots of women with curls.”
Jungkook did not smile. Not because he seemed cruel. But because he genuinely looked too observant to fall for such a terrible lie. “You’re Y/n L/n.”
Hearing your full name from his mouth felt terrifying somehow. Your fingers tightened around your purse straps.
“Who are you?” you asked carefully now.
Jungkook folded the paper once more before sliding it back into his pocket. “I’m an officer.”
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. Of course he was. Of course the devastatingly handsome stranger who caught you dramatically in the middle of the sidewalk just had to be a police officer.
How unfortunate. Your breathing turned uneven again—not from attraction this time. Panic. Jungkook noticed immediately. “You’re nervous,” he observed quietly.
“You’re breathing harder.”
Your eyes widened slightly. Was he always this observant? You quickly took a step backward. Jungkook’s gaze lowered briefly toward your heels. Then your chest. Then your face again.
“You shouldn’t run,” he said calmly.
And somehow—That single sentence told you he already understood far more than he should. Panic surged violently through you.
You didn’t think. Didn’t plan. You simply turned around and bolted.
“Well that’s concerning,” Jaewon muttered somewhere behind Jungkook.
Your heels struck sharply against pavement while you hurried desperately through the crowd. Your lungs burned almost immediately from the exertion, but fear pushed you forward anyway.
You couldn’t go back home. Wouldn’t. Not now. Not after finally tasting freedom. Behind you, Jungkook remained standing exactly where you left him.
He made no immediate move to chase you.
Instead, he simply watched your retreating figure disappear further into the crowd while cigarette smoke curled lazily beside him. His brows furrowed faintly. Running.
With a condition severe enough to affect your breathing that badly. In heels. Alone. Strange woman. A very strange woman. Yet despite the concern settling quietly inside his chest—
Something else lingered there too. Curiosity. Dangerous curiosity. Because the missing poster described someone fragile.
But the woman he just met? She looked stubborn enough to outrun death itself if given the chance. And somehow—
Jungkook already suspected meeting you today would not be the last time your lives crossed paths.
Nighttime transformed the city into something seductive.
The streets no longer belonged to exhausted workers rushing toward responsibility or businessmen disappearing into crowded offices with newspapers tucked beneath their arms. No—night belonged to entirely different people. Lovers wrapped in expensive coats whispering secrets beneath glowing street lamps. Women in silk dresses slipping into underground jazz clubs hidden behind velvet curtains. Men smoking cigarettes beside polished cars while laughter echoed from somewhere deep within the city’s endless maze of nightlife.
Everything shimmered after dark. The neon signs. The rainwater still resting along pavement cracks.
The windows glowing amber from crowded restaurants and cafés.
Even the air itself felt richer somehow. Warmer. Alive. And somewhere within all of it—
You wandered through the streets with grocery bags hanging from your arms while humming absentmindedly beneath your breath.
Mostly because after nearly an hour of paranoid maneuvering through the city, you were finally beginning to believe you successfully escaped the terrifyingly attractive police officer from earlier.
You had ducked behind buildings. Crossed streets unnecessarily. Entered random stores pretending to browse. At one point, you even crouched behind an elderly couple because you thought you spotted his broad figure several blocks away.
Only for it to be some poor random man wearing a similar coat.
Embarrassing. Still—Better safe than dragged back home.
You sighed dramatically while adjusting the grocery bags digging into your fingers. “This is exhausting,” you muttered to yourself. Yet despite your complaining, a small smile still rested against your lips.
Free enough to wander through glowing streets at night buying unnecessary pastries and flowers if you wanted to.
Free enough to exist without someone monitoring every breath you took. Your pace slowed slightly as your apartment block finally came into view.
Thank God. Your feet were beginning to ache from walking in heels all day. But just as relief began settling inside your chest—You froze.
Standing near the curb underneath the glow of a street lamp was a painfully familiar figure.
Tall. Broad shouldered. Dark coat. Black gloves. And beside him stood Mrs. Laurent from the first floor speaking animatedly with her hands flying dramatically through the air.
You stared in horror. The officer. Of course it had to be him.
Your annoying elderly neighbor suddenly pointed somewhere while continuing her rambling explanation, causing the officer to glance down briefly toward the notepad resting inside his hand.
Even from a distance—He looked unfairly handsome.
The warm glow from nearby storefronts illuminated the sharpness of his features while strands of dark hair rested near his eyes. His posture remained calm and composed as he wrote something down quickly before sliding the notepad back inside his coat.
You caught a glimpse of the dark suit neatly fitted beneath his uniform coat. Your stomach flipped annoyingly. This was terrible.
You immediately turned around intending to disappear before either of them noticed you.
Unfortunately—“Miss L/n!”
You nearly died. Mrs. Laurent’s voice echoed loudly enough for half the block to hear. You closed your eyes briefly.
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
Slowly turning back around, you forced the brightest smile you could manage despite wanting to scream internally. Mrs. Laurent waved excitedly from beside Jungkook.
Meanwhile, Jungkook simply stared at you silently beneath the streetlight. Stoic. Unreadable.
Though you noticed immediately how his eyes briefly lowered toward the heavy grocery bags hanging from your arms before returning to your face again.
Observant. Always observing.
You awkwardly approached them while mentally preparing for the worst possible outcome. Mrs. Laurent immediately grabbed your arm dramatically.
“This officer was asking questions about someone trespassing near the alleyways,” she explained quickly. “Young men these days have absolutely no manners.”
You nodded politely despite barely listening. Because Jungkook was still looking at you. Not rudely. Not harshly. Just—Attentively. Like he was quietly studying every expression crossing your face.
Your throat tightened slightly. Fine. If this was happening, you would simply pretend earlier never occurred. Perfect plan.
You immediately held your hand out politely toward him. “Lovely to meet you, officer.”
Jungkook’s gaze dropped toward your outstretched hand. Then slowly back up toward your face. And for the briefest second—Something almost resembling amusement flickered within his dark eyes.
You wanted him to play along. He realized that immediately. Without questioning it, Jungkook carefully took your hand inside his gloved one.
Warm. Large. His grip remained firm yet strangely gentle. “Jeon Jungkook,” he introduced calmly. “Pleasure meeting you.”
His voice sounded even deeper at night somehow. Smooth enough to settle heavily beneath your skin.
You swallowed nervously before pulling your hand away perhaps a little too quickly. Mrs. Laurent thankfully remained oblivious. She continued rambling for another several minutes about suspicious men, broken bottles, and how nobody respected apartment buildings anymore.
Eventually she sighed dramatically before turning toward the entrance. “Well, I’m freezing,” she muttered. “Goodnight, children.”
Children. You nearly laughed.
Mrs. Laurent disappeared inside the building shortly afterward, leaving you alone beneath the street lamps with the exact man you had spent hours trying to avoid.
This is tiring. You sighed. Heavy silence. You shifted awkwardly beneath his gaze before clearing your throat. “Well,” you smiled nervously while lifting the grocery bags slightly, “I should probably head upstairs and make dinner.”
Jungkook remained still for a moment. Then quietly—“Why did you run away?”
Straight to the point. Of course. You looked away briefly. The city noise suddenly felt distant compared to the weight of that question.
You could’ve lied. Should’ve lied.
Yet something about his voice made dishonesty feel exhausting. So instead, you sighed softly. “My mother means well,” you admitted quietly. “But after my father passed away, she became…” You struggled for the right word. “Controlling.”
Jungkook listened silently. You shifted the grocery bags again before continuing. “I have a severe heart condition,” you explained. “There’s a hole in the center of my heart called—”
“Atrial Septal Defect.” Your eyes widened immediately. Jungkook’s expression remained calm.
“You know it?” you asked softly.
“My mother worked in healthcare,” he replied simply. “I’ve heard of it before.” Something about that answer softened your nervousness slightly.
Only slightly. Because reality still remained painfully clear. He was an officer. And you were technically a missing person. Your fingers tightened around the grocery bags nervously.
“So…” your voice lowered helplessly, “are you going to report me?”
Jungkook stayed quiet. The silence nearly killed you.
He glanced upward briefly toward the dark sky while cigarette smoke from some nearby stranger curled lazily through the air. Street lamps illuminated the sharp line of his jaw while distant jazz music echoed faintly from somewhere down the block.
Finally, he sighed. “No.”
Your entire body visibly relaxed. Relief flooded your face so quickly it almost startled him.
“But,” Jungkook added calmly, “you need to be more careful, and I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
You nodded immediately. Rapidly. Almost desperately. Jungkook stared at you for a moment before speaking again. “If you truly want to stay hidden, then stop drawing attention to yourself.”
You blinked innocently. “I don’t draw attention.”
“You ran from a police officer in public.”
“And stop overexerting yourself.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Because unfortunately—He was right. Jungkook’s gaze lowered briefly toward your chest before returning to your face. “You were struggling to breathe earlier.”
You looked away awkwardly. “That was slightly dramatic of my lungs.”
“That isn’t funny.” His tone remained calm. Yet strangely firm. The words settled warmly and heavily all at once inside your chest.
Nobody your age usually spoke to you so seriously about your condition without sounding pitying.
Jungkook sounded…Concerned. Genuinely concerned. And somehow that felt far more dangerous.
You smiled softly before bowing your head slightly. “Thank you, Officer Jeon.” You turned toward the apartment entrance—Only for his voice to stop you immediately. “Jungkook.”
“No formalities,” he said simply. The city lights reflected softly inside your eyes as you stared at him for a moment.
Then smiled. “Thank you, Jungkook.”Something unreadable flickered across his expression briefly. Then his eyes lowered toward the grocery bags nearly slipping from your grasp.
His brows furrowed immediately. “You carried all of this by yourself?”
Without another word, Jungkook stepped forward and effortlessly removed the heaviest bags from your arms before you could protest.
“You shouldn’t be lifting this much stuff.” His tone left absolutely no room for argument.
Before you could even fully process what was happening, his free hand gently wrapped around yours.
Warm. Secure. Protective. Your breath caught embarrassingly fast. Not from your condition this time.
Jungkook slowly guided you toward the apartment entrance while carrying the groceries easily with one hand. His pace remained unhurried. Careful. Like he instinctively adjusted himself around your body without needing instruction.
The staircase quickly became your enemy.
By the second flight, your breathing already began turning uneven. Sharp little inhales escaping despite your efforts to hide them.
Jungkook immediately slowed further. “Take your time,” he murmured deeply beside you. “There’s no rush.”
The gentleness in his voice nearly made your chest ache worse. You laughed weakly between breaths. “You sound like you’ve escorted dying women upstairs before.”
Jungkook glanced at you calmly. “You’re not dying tonight.”
The statement came so certain. So matter-of-fact. That warmth spread unexpectedly through your chest. By the final staircase, you genuinely thought your legs might collapse from exhaustion.
Thankfully your apartment door finally came into view.
Jungkook stopped beside you while holding the grocery bags effortlessly. You fumbled slightly with your keys before finally unlocking the door.
Then hesitated. Your eyes slowly drifted toward him. Toward the man standing patiently beside you after helping carry your groceries upstairs instead of arresting you.
You cleared your throat softly. “It’s late,” you murmured awkwardly. “And it feels unfair making you walk home alone after helping me.”
Jungkook remained silent. You immediately prepared for rejection. Instead—“Alright.”
Your eyes widened slightly. Oh. Well. That was surprisingly easy.
Jungkook stepped forward before opening the apartment door wider for you first like it was the most natural thing in the world.
A gentleman. Painfully so.
You slowly stepped inside while your pulse fluttered strangely beneath your ribs.
Unsure whether inviting a police officer who could expose your location at any moment into your apartment was the smartest decision you had ever made—
Or the beginning of something that would quietly change your entire life forever.
