𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐲

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :

between shifts and walls | jjk.

troubleshooting [m] | jjk.

versions of you | jjk.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :

comment a 🪴 under this post to be added to my general taglist. <3

ahh thank you so much! I’m so so happy you enjoyed it 🥹🩷

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader (she/her)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8k +

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a crash splits your world in two—until Jungkook becomes every version of love you've ever known.

The hum of the highway was steady, almost hypnotic, as you leaned your head against the cool window. Outside, the world blurred into streaks of silver and black—streetlights, empty road signs, the occasional distant pair of headlights. It was close to midnight, that hour where even time itself felt drowsy, like it was slipping past unnoticed.

Beside you, Jungkook drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his voice cutting into the silence.

“Don’t fall asleep on me. I’ll get lonely.”

You cracked an eye open, suppressing a smile. “You’ll survive ten minutes without me.”

“I doubt it,” he said, feigning seriousness. “What if I need a DJ to keep me awake? Or someone to tell me my jawline looks good under this streetlight?”

You snorted, but there was no stopping the warmth that spread through your chest. This was so typically him—half joking, half fishing, always with that boyish grin that made it impossible to stay annoyed.

“I think your jawline will manage,” you replied, settling deeper into your seat.

For a while, silence stretched comfortably between you. The kind of silence that only comes after years of knowing someone inside out. Jungkook had been by your side for so long—study sessions that turned into sleepovers, concerts where you lost your voices screaming, late-night drives just like this one. Best friend. That’s what he was. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

But sometimes—like now, when the dashboard lights traced the slope of his cheekbone, or when his laughter filled up the car so completely—it felt like the word didn’t quite fit.

A low rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, dragging you back. You frowned at the windshield. “Was it supposed to rain tonight?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Nope. Forecast was clear.”

Yet the clouds above looked heavy, swallowing the stars. You shivered, not sure why the sight unsettled you. Maybe it was the way the headlights ahead seemed to flicker for just a second, like the world itself glitched.

“You okay?” Jungkook’s voice softened. He glanced at you briefly, concern knitting his brows.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just… tired, I guess.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “Then sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re back.”

But you didn’t close your eyes. Something about the air felt strange, charged—like the seconds before a lightning strike.

And then it happened.

A blinding flash of light swallowed the road ahead, too bright to be just headlights. Jungkook cursed, jerking the wheel. Tires screeched. Your body slammed against the seatbelt, the sound of metal twisting and glass shattering filling your ears. For a breathless second, the world spun—a kaleidoscope of broken light and noise—before everything went black.

⸻

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the silence. No sirens, no rain, no distant hum of the highway. Just the steady beep of a heart monitor and the faint scent of antiseptic.

A hospital.

Panic surged, but before you could move, a warm hand clasped yours. You turned your head—and froze.

Jungkook was sitting beside your bed, his eyes red-rimmed but relieved, his thumb stroking your knuckles like he’d done it a thousand times.

“God, you’re awake,” he breathed, his voice breaking into a laugh of pure relief. “I thought—I thought I lost you.”

Your throat felt dry. “W-what happened?”

“The crash. You don’t remember?” His hand tightened around yours. “But you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

You blinked at him, disoriented. Something was wrong. Not with the hospital, not with your body—

With him.

Because the way he was looking at you wasn’t how a best friend looked. It was raw, desperate, overflowing with something unspoken. You quickly checked your phone. Time: 11:11. Your eyes fell to the bracelet on your wrist.

Emergency contact: Jeon, Jungkook - Boyfriend.

Your breath caught. Boyfriend?

You stared at him, at the warmth of his hand around yours, at the way his lips curved when he whispered, “I couldn’t live without you.”

The room spun. The accident, the light, the shift—it hadn’t just changed your world. It had changed him.

And deep in your chest, beneath the confusion and fear, your heart pounded with a single truth you couldn’t ignore:

This wasn’t the same Jungkook who had been driving the car.

The morning light was too bright. It slipped through the hospital blinds in thin stripes, painting lines across your skin. For a moment, you just lay there, heavy-limbed and groggy, waiting for the pieces of the night before to slot back into place. The road. Jungkook’s laugh. The blinding light—

Your chest tightened. The crash.

You turned your head. Jungkook was still there, slumped in the chair beside your bed. His dark hair fell over his forehead, his arm draped casually across the sheets as if even in sleep he couldn’t stand to let go of you.

Something inside you twisted.

You’d woken up beside Jungkook before—passed out after movies, late-night study sessions—but this was different. There was a heaviness to the way his fingers curled around yours, like he was holding on for dear life.

You glanced down again at the hospital bracelet. The word still glared up at you in neat block letters: Boyfriend.

Your pulse quickened. You were supposed to be best friends. Always had been. So why did the nurse, the paperwork, the universe itself insist otherwise?

Jungkook stirred then, blinking awake. The moment his eyes met yours, something softened in his expression. Relief. Warmth. Love, plain and unguarded.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice still rough with sleep. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You swallowed. “I… I don’t remember much.”

“That’s okay.” He sat up straighter, squeezing your hand. “You don’t need to. What matters is you’re here. With me.”

His thumb traced soothing circles against your skin, and your body betrayed you by leaning into it. Every instinct screamed that this was right—that this was exactly where you belonged. But your mind couldn’t reconcile it.

“What… what did the doctors say?” you asked, trying to focus on anything else.

“Minor concussion. Some bruising. They want to keep you for observation tonight, but you’ll be fine.”

“Right.” You forced a nod, though your head felt anything but fine.

The silence that followed was different from your usual easy quiet. It was heavy, humming with words unsaid. Jungkook looked at you like you might vanish if he blinked too long.

Then he did something that made your heart stumble—he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Not playful. Not teasing. Familiar. Routine.

You froze.

“Don’t do that,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“I—” You hesitated, the words tangling in your throat. How could you explain that in your world, he wasn’t supposed to kiss you like that? That you were supposed to be best friends, not… whatever this was?

“You’re acting weird,” he said slowly, searching your face. “Is it the concussion? Do you… not remember us?”

Your stomach dropped. “Us?”

His hand tightened on yours, a flicker of panic crossing his features. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Jungkook. We’ve been together for almost a year.”

Your blood ran cold. A year? He said it so easily, so certain. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, his worry giving way to determination. He reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out his phone, and swiped through the gallery before handing it to you.

Your breath caught.

Picture after picture filled the screen—selfies of you and him, pressed close together. His arm slung around your waist, his lips brushing your cheek. A video of him singing to you on your birthday. A shot of you two at the beach, your head on his shoulder.

They were real. Too real. The kind of pictures you’d have remembered taking—except you didn’t.

“See?” he said, voice quiet but steady. “We’re real. You and me.”

The room tilted. Either you were losing your mind, or the world had shifted under your feet. Maybe both.

“I…” Your throat tightened. “I don’t remember.”

Pain flickered across his face, but he didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours with that same intensity that always undid you.

“Then I’ll make you remember,” he murmured. “Every smile. Every kiss. Every reason you love me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest.

This wasn’t your Jungkook. Not exactly. But as he looked at you like you were his entire world, one terrifying, undeniable thought took root.

Maybe he was.

The first time it happened, you thought it was just a dream.

You’d closed your eyes in the hospital bed with Jungkook’s fingers laced through yours, his quiet breathing a comfort.

When you opened them again, the shadows were different—softer, golden. Not fluorescent, not sterile. The faint hum of the heart monitor had vanished, replaced by the ticking of your alarm clock blinking 11:11 AM.

Panic surged. You sat up, clutching your head, the sudden shift making you dizzy. And then you heard it—footsteps in the hallway. The door creaked open.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Jungkook’s voice. But not the same Jungkook.

This one stepped in wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair messy, his eyes wide with worry. Your Jungkook. Your best friend Jungkook.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, sitting at the edge of your bed. “The crash… I thought you weren’t gonna wake up.”

You stared at him, words tangling in your throat. “You—where—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reached out, brushing his hand lightly over yours. Gentle. Familiar. Safe. “You’re home now. You’ve been out for a while. But I stayed. I wasn’t leaving you.”

The room spun. Your chest tightened. This wasn’t possible. You’d been in a hospital. With Jungkook. But not this Jungkook.

You blinked hard, willing the world to make sense. And just like that—

The posters on your walls flickered. The alarm clock light glitched. And in the span of a heartbeat, you were back in the hospital room, the monitor beeping steadily at your side.

Jungkook was there again, gripping your hand tighter. “Bad dream?” he asked softly, brushing hair out of your face.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “I—I think so.”

But it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real. Too real.

⸻

The second time, you didn’t fight it.

It was the next morning. You’d woken to find Jungkook fussing over you—tucking your blanket tighter, arguing with the nurse about your release papers, offering to carry you home if he had to. His protectiveness was overwhelming, dizzying.

But then, as you blinked, the world shifted again.

The hospital walls flickered to pale yellow. The smell of antiseptic gave way to the faint scent of your laundry detergent. And there he was again—Jungkook—sitting cross-legged on your floor, scrolling on his phone like he’d been there the whole time.

“You hungry?” he asked without looking up. “I can order something. Whatever you want.”

You swallowed hard. “Jungkook…”

He looked up at you then, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Your chest ached. This was him—the boy who had been your anchor for years. The boy you laughed with, fought with, depended on. The one you thought you couldn’t live without.

And yet…

When you blinked again, you were back in the hospital, Jungkook watching you closely. “You keep zoning out,” he said softly. “Scaring me again.”

You forced a smile, but your hands trembled.

You weren’t dreaming. You weren’t imagining it.

You swallowed hard, the question rising but sticking in your throat: which one of these was real?

⸻

By the third time, you stopped pretending.

You were sitting with Jungkook in the hospital garden, the autumn air sharp and cool. He held your coat closed for you, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. His closeness was warm, grounding.

But then you blinked—

And you were back in your room, sunlight streaming through the blinds. Jungkook was there, perched on the edge of your bed with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Black, two sugars,” he said, offering one to you with a grin. “Just the way you like it.”

The whiplash of it all left you breathless. Your hands shook as you took the cup.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Of course,” he said easily. Then his eyes softened, lingering on you a little longer than usual. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Your chest clenched. Two Jungkooks. Two worlds. Both looking at you like you were theirs.

And somewhere deep down, terrifying and undeniable, you realized—maybe you were.

The hospital let you go that morning. Jungkook carried your bag for you, refusing to let you lift a finger, his hand hovering protectively at your back like the smallest stumble might shatter you.

It should have felt smothering. But instead, there was something almost unbearable in the tenderness.

The ride home was quiet. His car smelled faintly of laundry detergent and spearmint, and every so often, you caught him glancing at you at red lights. Not quick glances—long, searching looks, like he was memorizing the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the fact that you were here.

When you reached your apartment, he didn’t even ask. He simply slipped his shoes off and followed you inside, moving through the rooms like he belonged there. Maybe he did.

You settled on the couch, still a little lightheaded, and Jungkook joined you. Not on the other cushion, not at the edge—he sat right beside you, thigh pressed against yours. His warmth seeped into your skin, grounding and dizzying all at once.

“Do you need water? Food? I can make ramen,” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he countered gently, turning toward you. “You almost—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought I’d lost you. I don’t think I’ll ever get that sound out of my head. The crash. The silence after.”

His hand found yours on the couch cushion. Fingers threading easily, like they’d always known the shape of you.

“Don’t talk like that,” you whispered.

“I have to,” he said, his voice fierce and breaking all at once. “Because I need you to know. I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me.”

The words shouldn’t have surprised you. Not when your wristband had already called him boyfriend. Not when every glance, every touch, every kiss on your forehead had whispered it. And yet hearing him say it—hearing the raw, unshaken truth of it—left your chest aching.

“Jungkook…” Your voice trembled, the weight of his love pressing against the walls of your ribs.

He leaned closer, so close you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint tremor of his lashes. “Tell me you feel it too,” he breathed. “Please. Even if you don’t remember every moment. Tell me you still feel me.”

And you did. That was the terrifying part.

Every nerve in your body screamed yes. Yes, to the warmth of his hand. Yes, to the way his voice cracked on your name. Yes, to the thought of him loving you so wholly it made your bones shake.

But beneath the yes was confusion. A memory of another Jungkook—laughing in a car, teasing about his jawline, singing off-key with the windows down. A best friend, not a boyfriend.

Your silence stretched.

Jungkook’s face faltered for a second, and then he surged forward—not desperate, but steady, inevitable. His lips brushed yours in a kiss so soft it felt like a prayer.

Time stilled. The world outside the window dimmed. It wasn’t fireworks or chaos, it was something heavier: the weight of forever pressed into a single breath.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His whisper was ragged. “I’ll spend forever reminding you if I have to.”

Your chest ached. Your heart raced. And yet, for the briefest, most dangerous moment—you let yourself believe him.

The shift came quietly this time. No blinding light, no violent jolt—just a drift.

You must have blinked too long, because when your eyes opened, you weren’t on your couch anymore. You were in Jungkook’s car.

The highway stretched endlessly ahead, the night sky spilling stars instead of rain. The hum of the engine filled the silence, and beside you, Jungkook’s hand tapped an absent rhythm against the steering wheel.

Best friend Jungkook. Hoodie half-zipped, hair mussed, voice humming along to the song on the radio.

Your heart gave a startled thud.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at you with a grin. “You spaced out. Don’t tell me my singing’s that bad.”

You forced a laugh, throat tight. “It’s… not bad.”

“Wow,” he gasped dramatically. “Not bad? Coming from you? That’s basically a compliment.”

His teasing was so familiar, so easy, that for a second you almost forgot. Almost forgot the weight of another kiss, another version of him whispering forever against your lips.

Here, he was still just your best friend. The boy who stayed up with you cramming for finals, who once carried you on his back when your shoes gave you blisters, who had never—not once—looked at you the way boyfriend Jungkook did.

But then again… maybe he had.

The streetlight flickered gold across his face, catching the curve of his smile, the slope of his jaw, the softness in his eyes as they lingered on you just a second too long.

Something twisted in your chest.

You turned toward the window, trying to steady your breath. “Thanks… for staying with me. After the crash.”

“Where else would I be?” he said simply. “You’re stuck with me, remember?”

It was such a him answer—playful, casual, but underneath it, a truth he would never admit aloud.

Your fingers itched to reach across the console, to thread them through his the way the other Jungkook had without hesitation. Instead, you folded your hands in your lap, nails pressing crescents into your skin.

“Do you ever think about… what if things were different?” you asked quietly, almost to yourself.

He didn’t answer right away. The radio hummed, the tires hummed, your heart hammered.

Finally, Jungkook’s voice came low, unguarded. “All the time.”

Your breath caught.

He glanced at you then, and for the first time, you saw it—clear as day. The possibility. The wanting. The space between what you were and what you might have been.

But the moment passed as quickly as it came. He looked back at the road, drumming his fingers again, the playful mask sliding neatly back into place.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his grin easy again. “You’re not sick of me already, are you?”

You laughed, though your chest ached. “Never.”

And you meant it.

Because in this world, he wasn’t yours. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But he was Jungkook—the boy who felt like home, even when he didn’t know it.

And somehow, that was almost enough.

Almost.

It was late when you left Boyfriend Jungkook’s apartment. The city outside was quiet, washed in the glow of streetlamps and the hush of tires against wet pavement. He’d insisted on walking you down, his hand resting at the small of your back like it belonged there. When you paused by the curb, he leaned close, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Let me take you home,” he murmured. “Please?”

Your throat tightened. “I'll be fine, I'll text you when I get home.”

"Promise?"

You nodded with a soft smile. "Promise?"

The cab pulled away, neon lights flashing across the windows. You watched his figure shrink in the rearview until the city blurred, until it was just you, the hum of the car, and the strange pull in your chest you didn’t have words for.

When you blinked next, the world shifted.

You were standing in the fluorescent glow of a corner store.

Best Friend Jungkook was beside you, hood up, hair a messy fringe over his eyes. He was balancing two bags of chips in one arm, debating over which soda to grab.

“Don’t say it,” he said, catching your stunned look. “Yes, I know. I’m predictable.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound echoing off the empty aisles. It felt so startlingly normal—being here, just the two of you at some ridiculous hour, like nothing could touch the bubble you existed in.

“You always pick the same thing,” you teased, reaching for your usual snack without thinking. Your fingers brushed, light as a spark.

He stilled for half a heartbeat, then grinned. “Yeah, but you’d miss it if I didn’t.”

Something twisted in your chest.

At the register, he paid for both, waving off your protest. “Don’t even try,” he said. “It’s tradition.”

You wanted to argue, but when he smiled at you—soft, sure—you didn’t.

⸻

Later, you sat in his kitchen, legs pulled up onto the chair. The tiny space was warm from the stove, steam curling off two bowls of instant ramen. He slid one toward you, sitting so close your shoulders brushed every time either of you moved.

“Be honest,” he said, chopsticks in hand. “My cooking skills are unmatched.”

You snorted. “Pouring hot water doesn’t count as cooking.”

“It does if I time it perfectly.” He took a dramatic bite, noodles slipping clumsily back into the bowl. His laugh filled the small kitchen, the kind of laugh that made you laugh too, even when you didn’t mean to.

You watched him then—how his lips curved, how his lashes caught the light, how he leaned toward you without even realizing it. And for a moment, it felt like this was the only version of him that existed.

Until your gaze flicked to the microwave.

11:11.

The numbers glowed faintly on the screen, steady, waiting. You stared, heartbeat stumbling.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, nudging your knee with his. “What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you burned your tongue again.”

You tore your eyes away, forcing a laugh. “No. Just thinking.”

But your chest thrummed with something you couldn’t explain.

⸻

When the world shifted back, it was seamless.

One blink—and you were curled on Boyfriend Jungkook’s couch, a soft blanket tucked around you. His hand traced lazy circles on your arm, his voice low as he hummed a song under his breath. You tilted your head, dizzy at how natural it felt.

The hum stopped. “You’re staring,” he whispered, lips quirking.

You flushed. “Am not."

He only smiled, leaning closer until his nose brushed yours. The quiet between you was electric, the kind that begged to be broken.

And then, from the corner of your eye, you saw it—your phone lighting up on the coffee table.

11:11.

The air caught in your lungs. Boyfriend Jungkook followed your gaze, reaching for it. “Want me to check?”

You shook your head quickly, heart hammering. “No—it’s fine.”

But inside, something was unraveling. Two Jungkooks. Two lives. And the same hour weaving them together like a secret thread.

You leaned into him when he kissed your cheek, but your mind was elsewhere—back in a cramped kitchen, the glow of a microwave, the echo of laughter you couldn’t forget.

And for the first time, you wondered if the universe was giving you a choice.

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of music drifting from Jungkook’s speaker. You stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, cutting vegetables while he stood far too close for someone who claimed to be “just helping.”

“You’re going to cut yourself,” he murmured, leaning over your shoulder, one hand braced against the counter.

You glanced up at him, suppressing a smile. “You don’t trust me with a knife?”

“Not when you’re distracted.” His eyes lingered on you a beat too long, like he’d forgotten what the argument even was.

Heat rose in your cheeks, and you shoved the diced peppers toward him. “Fine. Then you do it.”

He grinned, taking the knife with exaggerated care, as though to prove a point. But his movements weren’t much better—too dramatic, too quick. You shook your head, laughing.

“You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m terrible at letting you do all the work,” he corrected. Then, softer, almost to himself: “I just like being near you.”

The words slipped into the space between you, fragile and weighty all at once.

You busied yourself with the pan, though your chest ached at how easily he said it—like it was the simplest truth in the world.

⸻

Dinner was clumsy but good, eaten cross-legged on the couch, plates balanced on your laps. Jungkook kept stealing bites from your plate, pretending to look innocent when you glared.

“You’re the worst,” you said, batting his fork away.

“Correction,” he said, smirking. “I’m the best. You just don’t appreciate my talents.”

“What talents? Stealing food?”

“Among other things.” His gaze softened, lingering on your face in a way that made your heart thud.

You looked away first, swallowing. “Cocky.”

He laughed, leaning back against the couch, but the warmth in his eyes never faded.

⸻

Later, you ended up on the balcony. The city stretched below, glittering with a thousand tiny lights. Jungkook draped his hoodie over your shoulders before you could protest, his hand brushing against your arm as he did.

“Better?”

You nodded, tugging the fabric closer. His hoodie smelled like him—something warm and familiar that made your chest tighten.

For a long moment, you just stood there, side by side, the silence easy, filled with the hum of traffic and the faint echo of music from someone’s window.

“You always do that,” you said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me. Even when I don’t ask.”

He shrugged, eyes still on the skyline. “I wouldn’t know how not to.”

You turned to look at him then, really look. The way the city lights traced the sharp line of his jaw. The way his hair curled slightly at the ends. The steadiness in his gaze when he finally met yours.

It was overwhelming, how much love could fit into a single look.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re too good at this,” you admitted, voice soft. “Like you’ve been practicing.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I guess I’ve had a lot of time to fall in love with you.”

The words hit you like a spark, leaving your breath caught in your throat.

You wanted to ask what he remembered that you didn’t. But the words tangled, stuck somewhere between your ribs and your lips.

Instead, you said nothing, and he stepped closer, so close you could feel his warmth even in the cool night air.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he whispered, as though reading the panic in your silence. “I just need you to know. That’s all.”

The world blurred at the edges, your heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out the city below.

The wish in your chest remained, heavy and unspoken.

When you finally went inside, Jungkook tucked you onto the couch with another blanket, fussing until you laughed at him. He pressed a soft kiss to your hairline before sitting down beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

“Stay tonight,” he said, voice low. Not a command, not even a plea. Just a hope.

You looked at him, at the boy who treated you like something precious, at the boy who wasn’t supposed to be yours—and wondered how you could ever say no.

The next afternoon, you were walking down the quiet street outside your apartment when Jungkook fell into step beside you. He wore a black hoodie, his hair pushed back, his hands tucked into his pockets like he always had in high school. Best Friend Jungkook.

“You okay? You look like your brain is carrying a whole library in there,” he teased, bumping your shoulder with his.

You forced a smile. “Just tired.”

But then you froze. The hoodie. You knew it. Just last night, Boyfriend Jungkook had taken it off and draped it over your shoulders after dinner, telling you, you were always cold, even in the middle of summer. You had folded it neatly, placed it on your desk.

Your throat tightened. “Where… where’d you get that?”

Jungkook blinked at you. “This? You bought it for me.” He tugged at the sleeve, grinning. “Christmas, two years ago. Remember?”

Your stomach sank. “Right,” you lied.

⸻

That evening, you sat on the couch in Boyfriend Jungkook’s living room, watching him cook. He moved easily, shirt sleeves rolled up, humming some half-familiar tune under his breath.

“Smells amazing,” you murmured, hugging your knees.

He looked over his shoulder with a smile. “You always say that. Ever since high school, when I used to bring you leftovers in those ugly plastic containers—”

Your heart stopped. High school. That wasn’t him. That was… best friend Jungkook. He was the one who used to pass you lunchboxes under the cafeteria table when you forgot to pack food.

You swallowed hard. “You… did that?”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, just a little. “Of course I did. Why do you sound surprised?”

By the time you left, you felt sick. Like you were walking on glass and couldn’t tell when it might shatter.

At home, you pulled out her journal. Keep track, you told yourself. Don’t lose yourself. You scribbled down what you thought belonged to each Jungkook—Boyfriend, Best Friend. The hoodie. The lunchboxes. The way he said don’t go too far ahead when they walked together.

But the lines blurred, smudging even as you wrote. Did you really remember which one had said it first? Or was your mind rearranging them?

Your chest ached.

⸻

The next morning, you were at a coffee shop, stirring sugar into your latte when Best Friend Jungkook slid into the seat across from you. His hair was damp from a shower, his smile easy.

“You look like you didn’t sleep.”

You stared at the table. “Do you ever feel like… like someone else’s words are in your mouth?”

He tilted his head. “That’s a weird question.”

“I’m serious.” Your fingers tightened on the mug. “Like you’re living something, but you don’t know if it’s yours to live.”

He didn’t laugh. His smile slipped, and for a moment, his eyes softened with something almost… worried. “Why does that sound like it hurts you?”

Your throat closed. Because it does.

You wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him that every time you blinked, you felt the edges of two different boys bleeding into one. That you were terrified you’d lose both, or worse, confuse them so much you’d ruin everything.

But instead, you whispered, “Forget it. I’m just tired.”

⸻

Later, in Boyfriend Jungkook’s arms, the words almost spilled again. They were lying on the couch, his heartbeat steady under your ear, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your back.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said softly.

You hesitated. “Jungkook… if I ever seemed… different, or confused, would you—would you think I was crazy?”

He paused, his fingers stilling. Then he kissed the top of your head. “No. I’d think you were hurting.”

Your eyes burned.

But the strangest part was—you could almost hear Best Friend Jungkook saying the same thing. His voice overlapping. His concern identical.

And suddenly it was too much. You sat up quickly, blinking fast, needing air.

“Hey—what’s wrong?” Jungkook asked, sitting up with you. His hand reached for yours, warm, grounding. “Did I do something?”

You shook your head, the words stuck in your chest.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t done anything. Neither of you had. But the walls between you were thinning, and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep pretending they were whole.

The coffee shop buzzed around you—clinking mugs, quiet laughter, the hum of espresso machines—but all you could hear was Jungkook’s voice.

Boyfriend Jungkook’s voice.

Except it wasn’t.

You looked up from your drink, blinking fast, because it was Best Friend Jungkook sitting across from you, chin propped on his hand, watching you with a faint smile. But the words he’d just said—“You bite the inside of your cheek when you’re nervous”—those belonged somewhere else.

Your boyfriend had whispered them against your temple weeks ago, his thumb brushing your lip as if he wanted to soothe away the habit.

You gripped the cup tighter. “What did you just say?”

Best Friend Jungkook raised a brow. “That you’re nervous.” He tilted his head. “Am I wrong?”

Your pulse stuttered. “No, I just… thought I’d heard it before.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe I’ve said it a thousand times and you’re only just now listening.”

The warmth in his smile made your chest ache.

⸻

Later, you walked hand in hand with Boyfriend Jungkook along the river. The night air was crisp, the city lights reflecting on the water in trembling ribbons. He carried a paper bag with takeout, the smell of fried dumplings following you.

“You’re distracted again,” he said, bumping your shoulder gently.

“Am I?”

“Mm.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “It’s okay. Just don’t disappear on me.”

You forced a smile. But your chest squeezed, because just this morning Best Friend Jungkook had said almost the same thing when you split paths after coffee. “Don’t vanish on me, alright?”

You glanced up at Boyfriend Jungkook. “Do I do that often?”

He looked down at you, brow creasing. “Lately, yeah. Like you’re here, but somewhere else at the same time.” His voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you.”

You stopped walking, the words cutting too close. For a heartbeat you couldn’t breathe. Lose me?

You wanted to tell him you were already slipping. That you didn’t know how to stay, no matter how tightly he held your hand.

Instead, you whispered, “You won’t.”

⸻

At home, you tried to anchor yourself with something real. You lit the candle on your desk, opened your journal, and wrote until the ink bled into the paper.

Jungkook brought dumplings. Jungkook noticed the way I bite my cheek. Jungkook said don’t disappear.

You stopped, staring at the words. The same name over and over. No markers. No lines. Just Jungkook, until the letters blurred and your eyes stung.

You slammed the journal shut.

⸻

The next day, Best friend Jungkook leaned against your kitchen counter, eating an apple. He watched you move around the room, his gaze thoughtful.

“You’ve been… different,” he said finally.

You stilled, your back to him. “Different how?”

“You laugh, but then your eyes look like they’re somewhere far away. And sometimes you look at me like…” He trailed off.

Your heart pounded. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure out if I’m real.”

The apple crunched between his teeth, but you barely heard it. Because he was right. Because maybe he wasn’t real. Maybe none of this was.

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. “What if I was?”

He smiled faintly, but his voice was softer, gentler. “Then I’d tell you to hold on anyway.”

⸻

That night, lying beside Boyfriend Jungkook, you couldn’t stop hearing those words. Hold on anyway.

Your hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. He kissed your hair and whispered, “What are you thinking about?”

You hesitated. Your lips parted, and before you could stop yourself, you murmured, “I don’t want to lose this.”

His arms tightened around you. “You won’t. Not in a million years.”

Your throat burned. Because you could almost hear Best Friend Jungkook saying it too, his voice overlapping like an echo.

The clock on the nightstand glowed softly in the dark.

11:11.

You closed her eyes, wanting to make a wish. But which Jungkook would you be wishing for?

The storm rolled in just after sunset, rain rattling against the windows in sharp bursts. You sat curled on Boyfriend Jungkook’s couch, knees pulled to your chest, watching the shadows dance across the walls.

He was in the kitchen, humming as he washed dishes. The sound was steady, familiar. But the longer you listened, the tighter your chest grew.

Because you could hear Best Friend Jungkook in it too.

The way he hummed when he helped you with homework, bent over your desk, tapping a pencil against the paper. Same tune. Same unthinking rhythm.

Your nails dug into your palms.

⸻

“Dinner was good, right?” Jungkook said as he came back into the living room, drying his hands on a towel.

You nodded, your smile tight.

“You’re quiet again.” He sat beside you, concern flickering in his eyes. “I feel like I’m losing you piece by piece.”

Your throat closed. The exact same words had been whispered by Best Friend Jungkook last week, late at night when you’d walked him back to his apartment.

Your head spun. Why do you both keep saying the same things?

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice small.

Jungkook reached for your hand, grounding. “You don’t look fine.”

⸻

The next day, it happened again.

You were walking down the street, rain still slick on the pavement, when Best Friend Jungkook appeared beside you. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his hair damp, his grin easy.

“Hey, I was gonna call. Thought maybe you’d want to grab ramen.”

Your chest squeezed. Just last night, Boyfriend Jungkook had said the same thing—same words, same casual tone, standing in the kitchen with chopsticks in his hand.

Your steps faltered. “Did you…” you stopped. “Did you say that last night?”

Jungkook frowned. “Say what?”

“About ramen.”

He tilted his head. “No. Why?”

Your heart stuttered.

⸻

By the time you got home that evening, you felt like your skin didn’t fit anymore. You paced the living room, your mind a whirl of voices, memories, gestures that didn’t belong to one world alone.

You bite your cheek when you’re nervous.

Don’t disappear on me.

I feel like I’m losing you.

All from both Jungkooks. Both true. Both impossible.

The sound of the door unlocking snapped you out of it. Boyfriend Jungkook stepped in, dropping his keys on the counter, his smile softening as soon as he saw you.

“Hey.” He crossed the room, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Rough day?”

You flinched back before you could stop yourself.

His smile faltered. “What’s going on with you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

“Talk to me.” His voice cracked, frustration bleeding into worry. “I can’t keep guessing. You’re here, but you’re not. You look at me like I’m… like I’m someone else.”

Your chest caved. The dam cracked.

“You are someone else,” you whispered.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Rain pounded against the windows. The clock on the wall ticked loud and cruel.

Boyfriend Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his voice low, careful. “What does that mean?”

Tears blurred your vision. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. But sometimes you say things I’ve already heard… and sometimes he says things you should’ve said. And I don’t know which one of you is real anymore.”

His jaw tightened, confusion and hurt flashing across his face. “He? Who’s he?”

Your throat closed around the truth, but it spilled out anyway. “You. And… not you.”

Jungkook leaned back slightly, his hand dropping from yours. His chest rose and fell, steady but sharp, like he was bracing himself. “You’re scaring me.”

You pressed your hands to your face, your voice breaking. “I’m scaring myself.”

For the first time, you didn’t try to hide it. Didn’t try to pretend everything was fine. The weight of both Jungkooks, both worlds, pressed down until you couldn’t breathe.

And for the first time, Jungkook looked at you, not with patience, but with fear—fear that he was losing you to something he couldn’t fight.

⸻

The clock blinked in the corner.

11:11.

Your tears slipped hot and fast, and this time, you made a wish.

Please, let me find him. Let me find the right version of you.

The quiet of your room pressed around you, heavy and almost tangible. You hugged your knees to your chest, staring at nothing and everything at once, your mind a whirl of what had just happened.

Your wish, whispered into the air only hours ago, felt like it had lodged itself into the walls, the floor, the very air around you.

You closed your eyes, heart thudding. You could still feel Boyfriend Jungkook’s intensity lingering in your chest, a warm, tethering pull that made it impossible to dismiss what had happened between you. And yet… there was a weight pressing against your awareness, something that felt familiar but different.

The faintest echo of a laugh brushed your ears. You froze.

It wasn’t the playful teasing laugh from last night. No, this one was softer, warmer, tinged with worry. Your eyes snapped open, scanning the room. Nothing. The curtains swayed slightly, though the air was still. Your pulse quickened.

“Hello?” Your voice barely reached the ceiling, swallowed by the quiet.

For a heartbeat, the room felt empty. Then—a shadow flickered across the corner of your vision. Quick, just a hint of movement, like someone stepping out of the edges of a dream. You spun, but the room was as it had been: your bed, your desk, the familiar posters on the wall.

A strange pull tugged at your chest, part excitement, part unease. Your wish… had it started answering itself? Was this magic, or just your imagination, fraying at the edges after everything with Boyfriend Jungkook?

You pressed your palms to your eyes. “It’s just me,” you whispered. “It has to be.”

But the feeling wouldn’t leave. The warmth, the familiarity, the tiny ache of recognition—you knew it. Knew him. Somewhere inside, you knew.

A soft shuffle of footsteps. This time, closer.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering. And there he was—or at least, a flicker of him. Standing near your doorway, leaning casually, that familiar tilt to his posture, fingers running through his hair like he always did when he was worried or lost in thought.

Your breath caught. He smiled—half teasing, half gentle, but his eyes… his eyes held something more, something you couldn’t yet name.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice like a balm. “You okay?”

You bit her lip, trying to steady yourself. “I… I think so. I just…” Words tangled in your throat. The room seemed too small for the pulse of your heartbeat, too quiet for the surge of emotion coursing through you.

He stepped forward, cautious, as if afraid to break whatever fragile line held reality together. “You’ve been… distant. I could feel it.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to tell him everything—how confused you were, how much you missed Boyfriend Jungkook, how this… this presence made your heart ache in ways you didn’t understand. But how could you?

“I’m… I don’t know,” you admitted finally, voice trembling. “Everything feels… off. Like I’m… split between things I don’t understand.”

His gaze softened, and something flickered in his expression—worry, longing, confusion. “I get that,” he said quietly. “I really do. I… I want to help you. I want to be here, even if I don’t fully understand."

You hand twitched toward him, almost reaching. You didn’t want to, didn’t know why, but something in you was drawn to him. The tug was magnetic, frustrating, impossible.

The air around you shimmered. The sunlight streaks seemed to bend. You froze, heart hammering.

He leaned a little closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Whatever’s happening… I’ll stay. I won’t let go. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Your fingers brushed against his by accident, and the contact sent a shiver up your spine. Your heart ached, confused and yearning, because the touch was familiar yet… somehow not entirely him. Something about him was like Boyfriend Jungkook—but softer, warmer, less possessive, more… home.

You stepped back slightly, shaking your head, breath coming fast. “I… I can’t…”

He stopped immediately, hands falling to his sides, confusion clouding his features. “You can’t what?”

“I… I just… don’t understand,” you admitted, the words tasting like guilt. “I wish… I wish I could… figure it out. Figure out who you are. Who… who’s right for me. I just… don’t know.”

His eyes flickered with something raw and unsteady—longing, frustration, love. “I don’t know either,” he admitted, voice thick. “But… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be whatever you need me to be… even if it’s just a shadow for now.”

You swallowed, heart aching, as the room seemed to stretch and bend around you. The sunlight flared briefly, then dimmed. You felt dizzy, the edges of the world warping like a reflection in water.

Your gaze met his again. There was something undeniable in that look—a promise, a tether, a plea.

And the room flickered again.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the world soft and hazy. The beeping of a heart monitor, the sterile scent of the hospital, and the faint hum of air through the vents anchored you back to reality. For a moment, panic rose—had it all been a dream? Another shift of worlds? Another flicker of someone who wasn’t real?

Then you saw him.

He was sitting in the chair beside your bed, hair slightly tousled, eyes red from worry, a soft smile tugging at his lips. And in that instant, every lingering fear and confusion melted away. You knew. This was him. The Jungkook you had carried through every flicker, every dream, every wish. He was your anchor, your constant—everything you had ever needed.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm and gentle. “Finally awake.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your chest unclenching as relief washed over you. “You’re here,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, concern knitting his brow. “Of course. I’ve been here the whole time." He moved his chair closer. "Hey… what were you dreaming about? You kept murmuring my name.”

Your throat tightened. You hesitated, glancing down at your hands, then back up at him. Could you explain everything? The flashes of different versions, the flickers of realities, the impossible shifts that had left your heart aching for both him and…him?

“I… it’s going to sound strange,” you said, voice trembling. “But I need to tell you.”

He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, grounding. “Hey… whatever it is, tell me. I’m right here.”

You drew a shaky breath and began, words spilling like water from a dam. “It’s… it was like… there were two of you. Not two boys, not two people exactly, but two versions of you. One… one was my best friend. Always there, warm, safe, playful… and the other… the other was… more… intense, like you were my boyfriend, but it was more than that. I couldn’t tell them apart sometimes, and… and I kept wishing I could find the right one. I wanted to know which version was… mine.”

He listened silently, nodding slowly, letting each word sink in. There was confusion flickering in his eyes, but it softened immediately into something tender and unwavering.

“I… I don’t know if that makes sense,” you admitted, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “It felt real… every version of you felt real, and I… I don’t know how to explain it.”

He took your hand, holding it firmly, and smiled softly. “Hey… it makes sense,” he said quietly. “I might not understand all of it, but I understand you.”

You blinked at him, heart hammering.

“You'll never have to pick a version,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Every part of me you love—your friend, your protector, your lover—I'm all of them. Right now.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of relief and overwhelming emotion. You could feel the truth in his words, in the warmth radiating from him, in the steadiness of his hand holding yours.

“You… you’re really saying that?” You asked, voice breaking softly.

He nodded, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “I mean it, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, shaking with tears and disbelief. “I think… I think I’ve wanted to hear that my whole life.”

He smiled, soft and knowing. “Then hear it now,” he whispered.

Your fingers found his cheek, tracing the familiar lines, memorizing the warmth and weight of him.

Your chest swelled as a tear slipped down your cheek, and he brushed it away gently. You exhaled slowly, letting yourself finally relax fully, letting yourself believe.

The magic of the flickering worlds, the shifting versions, the impossible flashes of him—they had all led to this. Him. Right here. Right now.

“I… I know,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I trust you.”

He cupped your face, eyes searching yours, and for the first time since the accident you felt whole. Slowly, hesitantly, he dipped his head. You rose to meet him.

Your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss—gentle at first, then deepening, carrying every version of him you’d ever known and every version of you he’d ever held. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a promise, a merging, an anchor.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, his thumb traced your lips, eyes soft and steady. "I'm yours, in every way you've ever needed me," he began, never looking away. "No matter what, no matter when, no matter how strange the world feels... I'll be every version you need me to be."

Your Jungkook.

Finally awake. Finally his.

a/n: I hope this wasn't a confusing read for your guys. I enjoyed writing this out so much, I just wanted to try something different! I hope you all love it :))

pairings: jungkook x reader (she/her)

<prev [part 3.]

please read the first and second part for better understanding :)

The slam of the door replayed in Jungkook’s head long after you were gone. He hadn’t followed you—not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew you wouldn’t have let him close. Not then. Not with the way your voice had cracked when you yelled.

The apartment was too quiet now, and for the first time in a long time, he hated being alone in it.

You didn’t sleep much that night. Even with your phone facedown on the nightstand, the screen lit up every so often—messages from him, each one shorter than the last.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean it like that.

Please talk to me.

You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But your chest still burned, the words you’d thrown at him echoing in your ears. I did it for your birthday. To spend it with you.

Why hadn’t he believed you?

The next evening, you came home from your shift and found him leaning against the wall by your door, hoodie pulled up, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked up when you approached, eyes dark, almost sheepish.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer. Just pushed your key into the lock.

“Please,” his voice cracked slightly, making you pause. “Don’t shut me out. I messed up, I know I did.”

The key stopped in your hand. You turned, meeting his gaze. There it was—the guilt, the regret. The boy who looked like he could take on the world, undone by the thought of losing you.

“I was just… scared,” he admitted, shoulders tense. “The idea of someone else having a piece of you—it makes me crazy. But that’s not your fault. That’s mine.”

Your throat tightened. He was saying the words you needed to hear, but the wound was still raw.

“You didn’t trust me,” you whispered.

His jaw flexed. He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne clinging to the fabric of his hoodie. “I do trust you. I just—” He broke off, shaking his head. “No. That’s not enough. I should’ve trusted you the first time you said it."

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not sharp this time. Softer.

Finally, you let the key turn, pushing the door open. You stepped inside, glancing over your shoulder.

“You’re not off the hook,” you said quietly.

Something flickered in his eyes—relief, gratitude, maybe both. He nodded once, almost reverently. “I know.”

And though you didn’t invite him in, Jungkook lingered in the hall long after the door clicked shut, vowing to prove himself worthy of the trust he’d almost shattered.

It wasn’t flowers or grand speeches that cracked the wall between you and Jungkook.

It was pancakes.

You woke up late on your day off, still groggy from a week of back-to-back shifts, and the faintest smell of butter and batter drifted through the wall separating your apartments. It was ridiculous, but you knew instantly it was him.

Your doorbell rang not long after.

When you opened it, Jungkook stood there with a plate balanced carefully in his tattooed hands, steam curling into the hallway. He looked almost boyish in his hoodie and messy hair, like he hadn’t slept much either.

“I made too many,” he said, though the sheepish smile on his lips told you the truth. He’d made them for you.

You raised a brow. “You bribing me with breakfast now?”

His grin faltered, eyes dipping. “I’m… apologizing.”

For a moment, the air between you was still heavy with the fight. But then your stomach growled—loudly—and his laugh cracked the tension in half.

You sighed, stepping aside. “Fine. Bring them in before they get cold.”

It was simple, really. You at the counter in your oversized t-shirt, Jungkook leaning against the fridge, both of you picking at pancakes with mismatched forks.

“I really am sorry,” he said finally, quiet but certain. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t trust you. I just… care about you so much it scares the hell out of me sometimes.”

You stabbed at a blueberry, chewing slowly before answering. “You hurt me, Jungkook. You should’ve known better.”

“I know.” His voice cracked a little. “But I want to do better. For you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp anymore—it was soft, filled with unspoken forgiveness.

And when he reached out to wipe a smear of syrup from the corner of your lip with his thumb, you let him.

“Still mad at you,” you muttered.

He smirked, leaning closer, his thumb lingering just a little too long. “Guess I’ll just have to keep making breakfast until you’re not.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

The morning stretched on, comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected. And though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, as Jungkook washed dishes like he’d done it a hundred times in your kitchen, it felt a little like home.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the TV. A stack of snacks sat abandoned on the coffee table—half a bag of popcorn, a couple of candy wrappers, and Jungkook’s precious bottle of soda that he guarded like it was gold.

You sat curled up against him on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders. His thumb traced mindless circles on your arm, absentminded but grounding.

“You’re not even watching,” he teased, catching the way your eyes kept flicking to him instead of the movie.

“I am,” you lied, leaning your chin on his shoulder. “I’m just… multitasking.”

Jungkook grinned, smug. “Multitasking? Staring at your boyfriend’s jawline isn’t multitasking."

“Please,” you scoffed, nudging him in the ribs. “Your jawline isn’t that impressive.”

“Wow,” he gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me, nurse.”

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, the sound making Jungkook’s eyes soften even as he pretended to pout. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Admit it,” he whispered, “you like me too much to care about the movie.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were already heating. “Maybe.”

Jungkook’s smirk widened as he shifted, pulling the blanket higher over both of you. His arm tightened around your waist, tugging you fully against him. The teasing melted into a quieter intimacy, the world fading until it was just the two of you, tangled up together.

Halfway through the movie, you reached for the popcorn, only for Jungkook to snatch it out of reach.

“Mine,” he declared.

“You’ve had more than me!”

“Exactly. That’s why I need to keep my lead.”

“Jungkook,” you whined, but he only grinned, holding the bowl high above his head.

You tried to reach, straddling his lap for leverage, but he only laughed harder, his grip iron-tight. When your frustrated groan finally escaped, Jungkook gave in, setting the bowl down and tugging you against him instead.

“Fine,” he murmured against your temple, his tone suddenly softer. “You can have the rest.”

But neither of you reached for the popcorn again.

The movie droned on, but your eyelids grew heavier with each minute. By the time the credits rolled, your head had dropped against Jungkook’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

Jungkook glanced down at you, lips curving in a quiet smile. He shifted just enough to tuck the blanket around your shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair.

“Sleep well, baby,” he whispered, though you were already gone.

And for the first time in weeks, both of you slept without the weight of unspoken tension, tangled together like it had always been this simple.

The apartment was too quiet. Too heavy.

You tossed and turned for an hour before finally giving up, dragging on a hoodie over your pajama top and slipping into sneakers. It wasn’t unusual—after long shifts, your body sometimes forgot how to rest. The fluorescent lights and steady beeping of monitors still hummed in your mind, refusing to let you settle.

When you stepped into the hallway, you nearly jumped. Jungkook was leaning against his own doorframe, hands shoved into his sweatpants pockets like he’d been waiting. His hair was messy, like he’d just raked his fingers through it a dozen times.

“You too?” His voice was low, carrying in the hush of the night.

You blinked at him. “Too what?”

“Can’t sleep.” He nodded toward the stairwell. “Was about to go walk it off.” Then, after a beat: “Come with me?”

It wasn’t really a question. But it wasn’t a command, either. Just something natural, like the way he looked at you—as though you belonged there, in the same air as him.

You found yourself matching his steps down the empty stairs, out into the cool summer night.

The city was quieter at this hour. Streetlamps glowed amber, casting long shadows on the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed, but here it was still. Peaceful.

“You always do this?” you asked, hands stuffed in your hoodie pocket.

“Sometimes,” he said, kicking at a loose pebble. “Clears my head. Helps me breathe.”

You hummed. “Better than blasting music at two in the morning.”

That earned you a sideways grin. “You still holding that against me?"

“Maybe.” But your lips tugged upward despite yourself.

The conversation meandered easily, like the streets you wandered. From meaningless things—what counted as a sandwich, why grocery store fruit always tasted worse than the farmer’s market—to heavier thoughts that seemed easier to share in the dark.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Jungkook said quietly, “if I’m just… floating. No real plan. Just noise and distraction.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, jaw tight. “But then—” His eyes flicked to you. “You make it feel like I could figure it out.”

The words hung in the air, fragile as glass.

You swallowed. “You’re not just noise, Jungkook. You're so much more than that to me.”

For a moment, he stopped walking, like the sentence rooted him in place. The streetlight carved soft shadows along his cheekbone, it caught the shine in his eyes. He looked younger like this—unguarded.

Then, with a small exhale, he shook his head and started walking again. “You say things like that and expect me not to fall harder?”

Your heart stumbled. He said it so casually, but his tone was raw, real.

You bumped his shoulder lightly, trying to keep it from unraveling you completely. “You already admitted you like me. You can’t go back now.”

He chuckled, warm and low, and before you could blink, his hand brushed yours. Not a grab, not a claim—just a soft graze, testing. When you didn’t pull away, his fingers slid between yours, steady and sure.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore. It was electric.

By the time you looped back toward the apartments, the horizon was tinged with the faintest blush of dawn. Neither of you spoke about going inside. Not yet. Instead, Jungkook gave your hand a squeeze, eyes lingering on you with something that made your breath catch.

“You feel lighter now?” you whispered.

His smile was crooked, tender. “Only with you.”

And just like that, the night didn’t feel so sleepless anymore.

The keys slipped twice before you managed to fit them into the lock. That’s how tired you were—hands clumsy, eyelids heavy. Two twelve-hour shifts back-to-back had wrung you dry, and your whole body hummed with a dull ache. All you wanted was a shower hot enough to sting, then your bed. Nothing else.

When you pushed the door open, the warm glow of the lamp made you pause. So did the voice behind you. Jungkook was standing by his door, hands in his pockets.

His head snapped up the second he heard you, eyes softening at once. “Hey. You look so tired.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, kicking your shoes off with more effort than grace.

He grinned, but there was worry behind it. Without asking, he lifted the strap of your bag off your shoulder, setting it by the door. “You eat yet?”

You shook your head, too tired to care. “I’m fine. Just want to—”

“You’re not skipping food.” His tone was gentle but firm. He nodded toward the kitchen. “I grabbed takeout. Sit.”

Normally, you would’ve argued. Tonight, though, you didn’t have the energy. You sank into the chair, watching him plate up noodles and dumplings with a focus that almost made you smile. Almost.

When he slid the plate in front of you, you took a tentative bite. Warmth spread through your chest, cutting through the exhaustion just enough to make you realize how hungry you actually were.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching you eat. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes traced the lines of fatigue on your face, the way your shoulders slumped forward.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled around a mouthful.

“Because you scare me sometimes,” he admitted softly.

That made you glance up. “Scare you?”

“Yeah.” He pushed off the counter, walking over to crouch beside you. His hand brushed your knee, grounding. “You run yourself down like this and act like it’s normal.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide how his words landed. “That’s the job, Jungkook.”

“Maybe. But it worries me that you come home looking like you could collapse any second.” His voice wasn’t sharp—just steady, quiet.

You opened your mouth, ready to brush it off again, but the concern in his gaze rooted you in place. So you just sighed and nudged another dumpling around the plate.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, softer this time.

He didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your temple before standing. “Eat a little more, then bed. I’ll clean up.”

And you did—three more bites before your head started to tilt with sleep. By the time you shuffled to your room, Jungkook was already there, pulling back the covers. You barely managed to crawl in before he was tucking the blanket around you, sliding in beside you.

The last thing you felt before sleep pulled you under was his hand brushing lightly along your arm.

And as soon as you felt his touch, your body finally let go.

The morning sunlight crept through the blinds, spilling across the bed in soft golden stripes. You stirred first, groaning as the soreness from yesterday’s shifts caught up to you. Every muscle in your body protested, but instead of letting yourself sink back into sleep, your mind was already racing ahead—errands to run, laundry to fold, groceries to restock before work tomorrow.

Beside you, Jungkook shifted. You thought he was still asleep until his arm slipped tighter around your waist. “You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“I have stuff to do,” you whispered, trying to ease out of his grip.

He cracked an eye open, catching you. “No. You have resting to do.”

You laughed under your breath. “I don’t always get that luxury.”

Now fully awake, he sat up on his elbows, looking down at you with a frown that was equal parts worry and stubbornness. “You worked thirty hours in two days. That’s not nothing. You need to slow down." He caught your wrist gently, not to hold you back but to make you look at him. “You're running yourself into the ground.”

The words weren’t sharp. But they lingered, and something in you bristled at how easily he said them.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, standing anyway. “I can’t just stop because I’m tired. People rely on me. My patients rely on me.”

He sat up fully now, watching you move around the room. “I do get it. I know how important it is to you.” His voice softened, careful. “But I also see you come home so drained you can barely keep your eyes open. I’m not saying don’t work hard—I’m saying don’t forget you matter, too.”

Your chest tightened. Part of you wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t understand the pressure, the responsibility. But another part—the quieter one—knew he was only speaking from worry.

Still, the tension sat between you.

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “So what do you want me to do? Cut my hours? I can’t.”

“No.” He shook his head quickly. “I’m not asking you to do that. I’m asking you to… let me help. Even if it’s just with the little stuff. Groceries, laundry, dinner. You don’t have to carry it all.”

That stopped you cold. You blinked at him, his words disarming you more than any argument could have.

“You kind of already do that for me.” you said quietly.

He stood now, closing the space between you until he was right there, hands resting gently on your arms. “I know, but I hate watching you push yourself past your limit while I’m standing here."

The sincerity in his tone cracked something in you. The frustration bled away, replaced with a tired sort of relief—like maybe he did understand after all.

You exhaled slowly, leaning your forehead against his chest. “I don’t mean to shut you out. I just… I’m so used to handling everything myself.”

His hand smoothed over your back, steady and sure. “I know... But you don’t have to anymore.”

Silence settled, comfortable this time. Your heartbeat evened out against his, the weight of his words sinking deep.

Finally, you murmured, “Okay. You can help with groceries.”

He chuckled into your hair, the sound warm. “Deal. But I’m making dinner too. No arguments.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. “Fine. Just don’t burn the kitchen down.”

The fight, if you could even call it that, dissolved as quickly as it had begun. What lingered wasn’t resentment, but something quieter—trust. The kind built not by grand gestures, but by mornings like this, where you learned how to meet each other halfway.

The night was unusually still, the hum of the city muted under a blanket of silence. You stood in the kitchen barefoot, sipping water, your body still carrying the ache of the week. The only light came from the soft glow above the stove.

You hadn’t heard Jungkook come up behind you until his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into his warmth.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmured against your shoulder.

You shook your head, leaning back into him instinctively. “My brain’s too loud. Keeps making lists I don’t need right now.”

He pressed a slow kiss to your hair. “Then let me quiet it down.”

His voice was low, steady, and it made something inside you soften. You turned in his arms, catching the way his hair fell into his eyes, how the tiredness there didn’t dim the affection he carried for you.

“You know,” you whispered, brushing your fingers along his jaw, “you’re way better at grounding me than you think.”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “That’s because I know what you need before you do.”

Your laugh was quiet but real, echoing in the stillness of the apartment.

Then the mood shifted—so subtle you almost missed it. His hand slid down your back, his touch careful but deliberate, and his gaze held yours in a way that made your breath catch. There was no urgency. Just a quiet hunger, one that asked instead of demanded.

“Can I?” he asked softly, as though giving you the choice even now.

You nodded, your throat too tight to form words.

The kiss was unhurried at first—gentle, exploring, almost reverent. You melted into him, letting him guide you back until your hip pressed against the counter. His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking along your cheeks like he wanted to memorize the shape of you.

This wasn’t about making up after a fight, or silencing doubt. It was something steadier. A promise written in touches and quiet sighs.

“Jungkook…” Your voice broke slightly against his lips, a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

He only pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

The words undid you more than the kiss ever could. All the walls you’d been holding up—the independence, the insistence on carrying everything yourself—crumbled in the safety of his arms.

You let him guide you from the kitchen, the soft press of his hand at your back leading you to the couch instead of the bed, like he couldn’t wait another second. The world shrank down to the warmth of his body, the way he touched you like you were both fragile and untouchable all at once.

It wasn’t rushed. Every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, was deliberate—like he wanted to erase every moment you’d doubted if he truly saw you.

By the time you curled into him afterward, legs tangled beneath the throw blanket, the silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. It was peaceful.

“You know what’s crazy?” you murmured, tracing lazy shapes against his chest.

“What?”

“That I don’t feel so tired right now.”

He smiled, brushing his lips against your hairline. “That’s because you finally let someone carry some of the weight with you.”

You didn’t answer right away, your chest tight but in the best way. Instead, you kissed him again, softer this time, sealing the truth of his words with something that felt dangerously close to forever.

The weekend sun was spilling through the blinds when you finally stirred, tangled in Jungkook’s sheets. His arm was draped across your waist, heavy and warm, his breath slow against your shoulder. For a moment, you didn’t want to move. You wanted to freeze everything exactly as it was—quiet, safe, his.

But your phone buzzed across the nightstand, and the spell broke.

You slipped out carefully, padding to grab it before it woke him. A text flashed across the screen:

Jungwon: Hey, can you cover my Tuesday night shift?

The name made your stomach twist, not because of Jungwon, but because of what his name meant between you and Jungkook. Old wounds. Things you’d fought about, things that had left you raw.

You hesitated. Fingers hovered. Then, with a sigh, you typed back:

Sure. Only if you’ll swap me for Saturday.

“Who’s that?”

His voice came low and husky from the bed, startling you. You turned, guilt stinging before you could stop it. He was sitting up now, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Uh—Jungwon.” The name felt sharp on your tongue.

For a second, silence stretched. His jaw worked, like muscle memory wanted him to tighten, to shut down the way he had before. The air thickened.

But then, slowly, he exhaled. His shoulders eased. “Okay.”

Just that. No accusations. No edge in his tone. Just trust.

It threw you more than if he’d gotten angry. “Okay?” you echoed, blinking at him.

He nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. I mean… I don’t love the guy, but I trust you. If you say it’s fine, it’s fine.”

Your chest went tight. That wasn’t what you’d expected. Not after last time.

“Jungkook…”

He met your eyes, his expression softened, open in a way that made your throat ache. “I’m learning, you know? I don’t want to be the kind of person who cages you in just because I’m scared. You’re not mine to control. You’re mine to love. And that means trusting you—even when it feels messy in my head.”

It undid you completely. He loved you.

Before you could think, you crossed the room, climbing onto the bed and straddling his lap. His hands went immediately to your hips, grounding you, but you cupped his face like he might disappear if you didn’t hold on.

“What did you just say,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His eyes widened, and then it hit—hard.

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. Don’t do that. What did you say."

He stared at you like you were something holy. Then he laughed, a little choked, tugging you closer until your forehead pressed against his. "I said, you're mine to love."

"I love you too Kook," you smiled, pressing a small kiss to his lips.

His breath caught. “Say it again.”

"I love you," you said softly. “Even when you’re frustrating. Even when you don’t rinse your protein shaker and it smells like death. I love you.”

The grin that spread across his face was boyish, devastating. He kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear it, pouring every ounce of relief and hunger and devotion into you.

By the time you finally pulled apart, the sunlight had shifted, climbing higher, wrapping the room in warmth. You stayed curled up in his lap, his arms snug around you, your phone buzzing forgotten on the nightstand.

The rest of the day passed in fragments—pancakes flipped badly but eaten anyway, music spilling from the speaker while you both cleaned up, Jungkook’s shirt draped on you like it had always belonged there.

It wasn’t perfect. It was better.

And somewhere between shifts and walls, you found him—and yourself—exactly where you were meant to be.

a/n: this is the end of this mini series.. thank you sooo much to everyone for all the love. It means so much to me. I want to work on something a little longer eventually with consistent updates, but I will be focusing on shorter work for now. Love love love everyone. - Mely <3

YESSS moots 🤭🤭 hiiii !! <33

pairings: jungkook x reader (she/her)

<prev [part 2.] next>

please read the first part for better understanding :)

The blinds hadn't done their job, and sunlight spilled across your face before you were ready for it. You groaned, burying your head deeper into the pillow—only to realize it wasn't your pillow at all.

The faint smell of cologne and laundry detergent filled your senses, and the quiet, steady sound of breathing next to you made your stomach flip.

Jungkook.

Your eyes cracked open to find him sprawled on his side of your bed, hair messy, arm draped lazily across his stomach. In sleep, he looked nothing like the man who had smirked at you in doorways and tormented you with late-night music. His mouth was parted slightly, lashes dark against his cheekbones, no wall between you—literal or otherwise.

You tried to slip out quietly, but the mattress shifted and his voice, low and still husky with sleep, broke the silence.

"Leaving already?"

Heat crawled up your neck. "I was... just gonna make coffee."

He cracked one eye open, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Mmm. Domestic."

You grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it at him, which only made his grin widen as he caught it easily despite the bruises still healing along his arm.

"Fine," you muttered, standing. "Stay there. I'll make enough for two."

But when you returned with two mugs, Jungkook was already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his hoodie zipped halfway. He took one look at you balancing mugs and rolled his eyes before plucking them from your hands.

"You really think I'm gonna let you carry both?" he asked, setting one down in front of you.

"I thought you said you couldn't lift a finger because you were still recovering." You said, knowing well he only used that excuse when he really needed to.

"Just let me help you sometimes," he countered smoothly, sipping his coffee.

You shook your head quickly, hiding behind your mug.

This was everything. The sunlight, the coffee, the bruised boy in your kitchen with his teasing grin—and the realization that this was something you weren't sure you'd ever be ready to lose.

Your cart was half full and your brain was blissfully empty—no call lights, no alarms, no manager breathing down your neck. Just you, a shopping list, and the luxury of moving slow on your day off.

You were comparing jars of pasta sauce when a voice cut, warm and familiar.

You turned, and of course he was there. Jungkook, in a baseball cap and hoodie, leaning casually on your cart with his typical smirk.

"Following me?" You asked, raising a brow.

"Fate," he corrected.

You snorted. "Says the guy with nothing in his cart."

He grinned, and you couldn't help but grin back. "I didn't wanna miss out on the fun."

"Oh the joy of picking a pasta sauce?" You tilt your head at him.

The rest of the trip was more chaos than shopping. He kept slipping ridiculous things into your cart, and you kept sneaking them back when he wasn't looking. At one point you caught him humming under his breath in the produce aisle, swaying the cart like it was a dance partner, and you had to bite your lip not to laugh.

"You literally came here just to bother me," you accused, handing over your card.

"Not true." He reached for your grocery bags as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I also came to carry these for you."

You tried to protest, but he cut you off with a mock-serious look. "Nurse, I'm doing my civic duty. Let me."

Back at your apartment, he didn't even wait—just started unpacking, moving around your kitchen like he belonged there. He teased your choice of instant ramen, raised a brow at three bottles of coffee creamer, and found your hidden stash of snacks within minutes.

"Wow," you said, leaning on the counter as he lined up your groceries. "It's as if you lived here."

"Could've fooled me." He slid a box of pasta onto the shelf, then turned to you with a grin that softened just enough to make your chest ache. "Besides... admit it. You like having me around."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't tell him no. Words stuck somewhere in your chest, tangled up with the way he fit so easily into your space, your day, your life.

"Well, thanks for letting me play house." He kissed your forehead.

And when he finally left, the apartment felt too still. Too empty.

Your body felt like it had been wrung out, every muscle heavy with the weight of a twelve-hour shift. A day shift you had picked up. The quiet of your apartment was both a relief and a reminder—you were tired enough to collapse, but too wired to let yourself rest just yet. You tossed your bag onto the couch, debating whether it was worth cooking or if you'd just let hunger lose the fight tonight.

A knock came before you could decide, You frowned, padding over to the door. When you opened it, Jungkook stood there, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips, hands full of plastic bags.

"I knew you'd skip dinner," he said simply, lifting one bag as proof. "So I brought some food. And—" he wiggled the other bag—"snacks. You're welcome."

You tried for exasperation, but your lips betrayed you with a smile. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." He stepped past you like he'd done it a hundred times before, toeing off his shoes and setting the bags on your counter. "You worked all day saving people. The least I can do is feed you and make sure you don't pass out face-first into the couch."

You shook your head, but the warmth in your chest overpowered the fatigue. "You're ridiculous."

"And you like it," he shot back, already pulling takeout containers free and plating food like he belonged there. Like this was his space too.

Dinner was simple, quiet. You were too tired to talk much, but Jungkook filled the silence with easy chatter, stories about his day, little observations that made you laugh in spite of yourself.

He flicked on the TV and dropped onto the couch, you gave in, curling beside him. He pulled a blanket over both of you, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it was instinct.

"See?" he murmured as the movie started, "this is better than being alone."

You let yourself lean into him, the weight of his chest steady against your cheek, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you more than the film. Somewhere between a handful of popcorn and his fingers brushing yours, your eyes fluttered closed.

Jungkook noticed the way your breathing slowed, how your hand went slack in his. He didn't move, didn't dare. Instead, he shifted just enough to press a kiss into your hair.

And long after you'd drifted off, he stayed awake, holding you as if letting go wasn't an option.

You hadn't even been off work for an hour that morning when you ran into him—Jungwon, one of the ER residents who floated between departments. He caught you just as you were leaving the cafe near the hospital, his easy smile pulling you into conversation.

"Rough shift?" he asked, holding the door for you.

"Always," you admitted, grateful for the iced coffee in your hand. "But hey, at least I didn't have to stitch myself this time."

He laughed, the sound loud enough that it caught Jungkook's attention before you even realized he was there.

Across the street, he stood with a bag in one hand, his black hoodie pulled low over his forehead. His expression was unreadable, but his steps quickened, closing the distance between you in seconds.

"Hey." Jungkook's voice was casual, but the way his hand immediately found the small of your back wasn't. "I was wondering where you'd run off to."

You blinked at him, surprised. "I texted you, remember? Coffee shop before home."

Jungkook's eyes flicked briefly to Jungwon, who was watching the two of you with polite curiosity. "Friend of yours?"

Before you could answer, Jungwon stuck his hand out. "Yeah, we work together. Jungwon."

Jungkook took it, grip firm, smile just sharp enough to look like a challenge. "Jungkook."

The air hung tight for a second. You swore you could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his thumb pressed a little harder into your back like he was staking a claim.

Jungwon cleared his throat. "Well, I should head back in. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, trying not to notice how Jungkook's jaw flexed at the word tomorrow.

Once Jungwon was gone, Jungkook didn't say anything right away. He just handed you the bag with a raised brow. "Figured you'd need breakfast. Unless you're planning on letting nurse Jungwon handle that too."

You groaned, tugging his sleeve. "Seriously? Don't do that."

His eyes met yours then—dark, searching. "Do what?"

"The jealousy thing. You're it for me, Jungkook."

Something shifted in his expression, the storm easing just slightly. He exhaled, looking away like he didn't want you to see the relief softening his edges.

"Yeah?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," you said, tugging him down for a kiss right there on the sidewalk. The coffee nearly spilled between you, but you didn't care.

When you pulled back, Jungkook's smirk was back in place, though his ears betrayed him, pink with embarrassment. "Fine. But only because I know I'm funnier than him."

You laughed, shoving his shoulder as you walked, and behind you, you heard him mutter under his breath—like he didn't mean for you to catch it—

"Hold on to me, little nurse. I'm not going anywhere."

You had just finished a long shift, and the sky decided it was a great time to dump buckets of rain. Scrubs sticking to your skin, hair plastered to your face, you muttered under your breath and kicked at a puddle.

"Really?" Jungkook's voice came from behind you, amused but calm. You turned, and there he was, hoodie soaked, shoes squelching, grin completely unbothered by the storm.

"You follow me everywhere," you laughed, shaking your head.

"Because someone has to keep you from freezing to death, obviously," he said, shrugging off his soaked hoodie and draping it over your shoulders. "It's my duty as your boyfriend."

You pressed into the warmth of his hoodie, rolling your eyes but smiling.

He took your hand, tugging you toward the street. "Race you to the building?" he asked, eyes sparkling like he'd just offered the best idea ever.

You kicked your heels in puddles, water spraying everywhere, and he laughed beside you, soaked but grinning. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and perfect.

When you finally stumbled inside your building, both of you dripping, he leaned against the doorframe, damp hair sticking to his forehead. Without thinking, he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, and you laughed against him, tugging the hoodie tighter around yourself.

"Comfortable?" he teased, eyes darting to yours.

"Much," you said, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face.

He tugged you closer, just enough for your bodies to warm each other. "Good," he murmured. "Because you're mine, rain or shine."

You laughed, letting yourself melt into him. "You cornball."

Little moments like this—messy, chaotic, soaked to the bone—were exactly what made being together feel effortless.

You were sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up, trying to relax after a twelve-hour shift. Jungkook was perched on the armrest, fiddling with his phone, occasionally glancing at you with that smirk you couldn't help but love.

"You've been ignoring your shoulder again," you said, nodding toward the faint bruise peeking from under his sleeve.

"Fine," he shrugged, not taking your words very seriously. "It's nothing."

"Nothing? It's swollen. You're going to make it worse if you keep shrugging it off." You crossed your arms, leaning forward, tone sharper than you meant.

"I'm fine," he repeated, a little too quickly, and you caught the edge in his voice.

"It's not fine," you said softly, taking his hand. "I'm a nurse, not just your girlfriend. I know when something's wrong."

His jaw flexed, eyes avoiding yours. "I don't need you to be a nurse at home too, okay?"

You felt your chest tighten—not because of the small argument itself, but because he sounded... distant. "I care about you. Is that a crime?"

Jungkook looked at you then, really looked, his face softened into something quiet. "No... it's not. I just—don't want you to worry about these things outside of work too."

You blinked, heart tugging at his words. Slowly, you leaned into him, brushing your fingers over his hand. "You don't always have to worry about me," you said softly. "I'm strong, I'm here. Let me worry about you too."

He exhaled, tension slipping from his shoulders, and pulled you closer until your foreheads touched. "Yeah... okay."

For a moment, the argument melted into quiet warmth. You kicked your feet against his playfully, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Still a little stubborn, huh?" you teased.

"Yeah," he admitted with a grin, "but that's why you love me."

You laughed, letting the tension fade, but somewhere underneath it all, a tiny ember of worry lingered.

You sat on the counter as you patched up Jungkook's swollen shoulder. He watched you quietly, arm twitching under your careful touch, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"My nurse," he murmured, voice soft. "I only trust you with my dumb accidents."

You glanced up, catching his gaze. Your heart fluttered as he watched you. Just... waiting.

He shifted closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead, fingers lingering longer than necessary. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he admitted quietly.

The words hung between you, unsaid but understood. Your heart thumped, the room suddenly smaller, warmer.

"I don't know what i'd do without you either," you whispered back, letting your hands rest on his chest.

Jungkook's eyes softened, searching yours, and for a second, the world outside your small apartment disappeared. You could feel everything—the warmth, the quiet, the steady rhythm of his heart—and it hit you both at once.

No an "I love you" was spoken, yet the weight of it pressed against your ribs, unspoken but unmistakable.

He leaned down, pressing a brief, careful kiss to your lips, more of a promise than passion. You melted against him, understanding everything he wouldn't say, and savoring the moment for what it was—quiet, private, intimate.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes stared into yours. "You're amazing," he murmured.

"You're still stubborn," you replied softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek, smiling despite the ache in your chest.

He chuckled, tugging you into a gentle hug. "And that's why I can't get enough of you."

For a moment, there were no words. No teasing, no arguments, no responsibilities. Just the two of you, tangled in quiet intensity, hearts full of things neither dared to say aloud... yet.

You were scrolling through your phone, smiling as you received a text from Jungwon: "I can definitely switch shifts with you for Friday!"

It was innocent. Totally innocent. You'd given him your number just to switch shifts with him, wanting this Friday off.

Before you could think further, Jungkook stood behind you, expression tense, arms crossed.

"You gave him your number?" His voice was tight.

You blinked. "Yeah, to swap shifts," you chimed.

His eyes narrowed. "So you didn't think I'd mind that my girlfriend is texting another guy?"

"Jungkook, it's literally just work," you said, "I only gave it to him so I could—"

"So you could what? Talk to him? Hang out?" His tone cut sharper than you expected.

You felt your chest tighten. "I gave it to him for you! To switch shifts so I could—"

"So you could what?" He snapped.

"For your birthday! To spend it with you!" you yelled, frustration and hurt spilling out in a rush.

He blinked, caught off guard, embarrassment flickering across his features. "I... I didn't—"

"You didn't what? Hear me? Believe me? Trust me?!" you shot back, your voice trembling.

Jungkook had guilt and shame written all over his face. "... I just... I didn't know..."

"That's the problem, Jungkook!" You snapped. "You didn't listen! I did it for you! For your birthday! Okay? To spend it with you!"

His face went flush, eyes avoiding yours. He opened his mouth, started to say something, but the sting of your frustration held him silent.

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. "I can't..."

Before he could respond, you turned on your heel, the door slamming behind you. The sound echoed, heavy and final, leaving Jungkook frozen in the middle of the apartment.

His chest tightened. Realizing he might have just broken the moment—and maybe, for a heartbeat, you.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader (she/her)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15k +

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: stolen moments between spreadsheets, coffee cups, and him.

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

The office was too quiet for your liking. Rows of cubicles hummed with the soft buzz of fluorescent lights, printers clicking, and the occasional cough from someone buried in spreadsheets. You sat at your desk, staring at the same frozen screen for what felt like the fifth time today.

Great. Day three of your internship and you already looked like you couldn't handle basic technology.

You tapped the keyboard, played with the mouse, even whispered a desperate "come on, please" under your breath. Nothing. The spreadsheet you had spent the last hour building was completely locked, cursor frozen mid-cell.

"Stuck again?" a voice drawled from the desk across the aisle.

You looked up to see Jimin leaning casually against his cubicle wall, one brow arched, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had been friendly since day one, offering you coffee from the break room, giving you quick tips about the office workflow. Too friendly, maybe—he was the kind of person who made everyone feel like they were the center of his attention.

"Unfortunately," you sighed, tapping the lifeless keyboard for emphasis. "I swear I'm cursed."

Jimin chuckled, eyes crinkling. "Don't take it personally. Our systems are ancient. You'll probably have to call Jungkook over."

At that name, you felt your stomach dip. You hadn't spoken to him yet, but you'd seen him—Jeon Jungkook, the IT guy. Sharp features, quiet demeanor, the type of man who carried himself like he didn't need to say much to be heard. People whispered about him in the break room: efficient, reserved, intimidating.

"I don't want to bother him," you muttered.

"Trust me, he lives for this stuff," Jimin said with a grin. "Besides, if you don't, Jin-hyung will tell you to submit a ticket, and those never get answered."

Almost on cue, Seokjin appeared at the end of row, balancing a coffee cup in one hand and a thick folder in the other. "What's this about me?" he asked, pausing dramatically as if the whole office were waiting for his entrance.

"Y/N doesn't want to bother Jungkook," Jimin supplied.

Seokjin snorted, adjusting his tie. "Ah, rookie mistake. If you want your problem solved today, don't file a ticket. Jungkook is faster than whatever excuse Namjoon will come up with when the system crashes again."

From the nearby conference room, Namjoon's muffled voice carried out: "I heard that, hyung." Papers shuffled, followed by a soft thud that sounded suspiciously like something dropping to the floor.

Jimin stifled a laugh, but you only sighed, turning back to your frozen screen. As much as you hated to admit it, they were right—you had no choice.

Your eyes drifted to the far corner of the office, where Jungkook sat. Head bent over a laptop, black hair falling into his eyes, sleeves pushed to his forearms. He didn't look like someone you wanted to interrupt.

But you had no choice.

Clutching your notepad, you made your way across the room. The closer you got, the heavier your footsteps felt.

"Um—excuse me?"

He looked up. And just like that, the room seemed louder—the hum of the printer, the ringing of a distant phone, your own pulse in your ears.

Dark eyes flicked to you, steady and unreadable.

"My computer," you started, voice embarrassingly shaky. "It's, uh...frozen. I think. Could you maybe..." You gestured vaguely, heat rising to your cheeks. "...unfreeze it?"

His lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement ghosting across his face. Then he closed his laptop, stood, and without another word, followed you back to your desk.

You stepped aside quickly as he lowered himself into your chair. His presence filled the tiny cubicle—broad shoulders in a plain black button-up, scent of coffee and something faintly clean, like cedarwood.

He didn't ask what happened. Didn't sigh or look annoyed. He simply tapped across your keyboard with confident ease, mouse clicking a few times until the spreadsheet blinked back to life.

"There," he said finally, his voice low and even. "Try not to make it crash again."

It wasn't unkind, but there was a teasing edge buried in the flat delivery that made your stomach flip.

"I didn't do anything. It just froze," you protested quietly.

Jungkook swiveled in the chair, facing you fully. For the first time, he smiled—small, crooked, just enough to reveal the faintest dimple.

"Sure," he said softly, like he didn't believe you at all. Then he stood, brushing past you to head back to his corner.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

From across the aisle, Jimin gave you a knowing look, lips quirking. "See? Not so scary, right?"

You shot him a glare, but your ears felt hot. Because the worst part wasn't that you'd embarrassed yourself.

The worst part was that you kind of wanted it to happen again.

The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the break room like a permanent fixture, clinging to the air no matter how many times Hoseok tried to prop the tiny window open. He was perched on the counter now, feet swinging lazily as he stirred sugar into his mug, chatting animatedly with Jimin about last night's soccer game.

You slipped in quietly, reaching for a paper cup, hoping you could sneak in and out without anyone noticing.

No such luck.

"Ah, our newest star!" Hoseok greeted warmly, sliding down from the counter with the kind of energy that felt illegal at this hour. "How's the internship treating you? Still surviving?"

"Barely," you admitted, fumbling with the coffeepot and pouring yourself a sad excuse for caffeine. "My computer hates me."

Jimin's laugh was immediate, soft but sharp. He leaned against the fridge like he was settling in to enjoy a show. "Hates you, or just knows how to get Jungkook to visit your desk?"

You froze mid-pour, nearly spilling coffee over the rim. "That's not—he just—he fixes everyone's stuff, right?"

"Not everyone's," Hoseok chimed in, eyes sparkling. "Trust me. I've been here long enough to notice who he ignores."

Your cheeks warmed instantly. You waved a hand dismissively, trying to brush it off. "I think you're both reading into it."

"Maybe," Jimin said, tilting his head. "But maybe not."

Before you could come up with a retort, the door swung open.

Jungkook stepped inside, earbuds dangling around his neck, hair still damp like he'd showered that morning and rushed straight to work. He moved with a quiet, efficient confidence, heading straight for the cabinet to grab a clean mug.

The air shifted. Not drastically—but enough that you felt it in the way Jimin's smirk sharpened and Hoseok's grin widened.

You wished you could melt into the coffee machine.

Jungkook didn't say anything at first, just reached for the pot. But when his gaze flicked briefly to you—just a split second, quick enough to miss if you weren't already hyperaware of him—you nearly forgot how to breathe.

"Morning," you said, because silence felt unbearable.

He glanced at you again, this time holding your eyes for the briefest beat. "Morning." His voice was low, even, like the word didn't cost him anything—but it left a weight behind anyway.

Jimin, of course, couldn't leave it alone. He leaned toward you, stage-whispering just loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "Careful. That's how it starts. One tech rescue, one morning greeting, next thing you know—"

"Don't you have a report to finish?" Jungkook cut in, not even looking at him.

"Ouch." Jimin chuckled, unbothered. "Possessive much?"

You nearly choked on your coffee. Hoseok bit back a laugh, though the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

Jungkook didn't raise to the bait. His jaw flexed once, subtle, before he poured his coffee and turned to leave. He didn't look at you again—but the air he left behind felt charged, like static clinging to your skin.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, Hoseok exhaled dramatically. "Well," he said brightly, "someone's got a favorite."

You buried your face in your cup. "Please stop."

Jimin just grinned. "Oh, we're only getting started."

You managed to escape the break room unscathed, but the rest of the morning didn't go any smoother.

Between misfiled documents, Namjoon accidentally spilling half his notes across the floor of the conference room, and Jin loudly complaining about the coffee machine breaking again, the entire floor felt chaotic. You tried to keep your head down, double-checking every task on your list, but concentration was impossible when your brain kept replaying one very specific moment: Jungkook's eyes meeting yours.

By lunch, you'd convinced yourself you were imagining things. He wasn't paying special attention to you. He wasn't annoyed. He wasn't—

"Y/N."

You jumped at the sound of your name, nearly spilling the stacks of files you were carrying. When you looked up, Jungkook was standing in front of your desk, hands shoved casually into his pockets.

"Your ticket came through," he said simply.

"My what?"

"IT ticket." His eyes flicked to your monitor, where the screen was stubbornly refusing to connect to the server. "Network error. Again."

"Oh." You bit your lip, flustered. "I didn't...actually submit one."

One corner of his mouth tugged upward, almost like he'd expected that. "I know." He leaned down, sliding smoothly into your chair without asking, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached for the mouse. "Jimin did it for you."

Of course he did.

You hovered awkwardly at his side as Jungkook worked, fingers moving with practiced ease across the keyboard. The scent of him was subtle but disarming—coffee and cedarwood, the same as yesterday. You could hear the faint click of his tongue as he concentrated, brows furrowing slightly when the system lagged.

Finally, the screen blinked back to life. He leaned back, satisfied, spinning the chair slightly to face you.

"You should be good now," he said. "But... if it happens again, come straight to me. Don't wait around."

The directness caught you off guard. "O-okay. Thanks."

He stood, brushing past you like before, but this time, you swore his arm lingered against yours half a second longer than necessary.

As he walked away, you forced yourself to sit down, staring at the glowing monitor.

Your pulse was still racing.

That evening, you lingered in the office longer than usual, half hoping Jungkook might pass by again. Most people had left for the day—Yoongi had trudged out an hour ago, muttering something about deadlines; Jin had dramatically declared his freedom and vanished; Hoseok had waved at you on his way out with a wink.

The quiet was nice. Peaceful.

Until you noticed movement in the corner.

Jungkook was still here.

Headphones back in, he was seated at his desk, tapping quickly across his laptop. He hadn't noticed you yet. The glow of the screen reflected in his eyes, sharp and focused, and you caught yourself staring longer than you should have.

And then, as if he felt it, he looked up.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His gaze was steady, unreadable—but softer than earlier, like he wasn't hiding as much.

You looked away first, heart pounding, pretending to rearrange the files on your desk.

When you dared glance up again, he was still watching.

The hum of the office printer was constant, like white noise you couldn't escape. You rubbed your temples, willing the machine to spit out the last the expense reports before it jammed for the third time that day.

"Don't glare at it like that," Taehyung's voice drawled behind you. "It can smell fear."

You turned to find him leaning against the cubicle wall, tie loose, hair just messy enough to make him look like he'd stepped out of a glossy magazine spread. A mischievous smile tugged at his mouth as he balanced a stapler on one hand like it was a prop.

"I wasn't glaring," you argued weakly.

"Yes, you were." He pushed off the wall, lowering his voice as if sharing a state secret. "That's why it hates you."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could reply, Yoongi shuffled past, a coffee cup clutched in one hand, a stack of notes in the other.

"She's not the problem," he muttered, half to himself, half to the room. "That printer's been broken since 2019. Management just slaps a new sticker on it every year and pretends it's fine."

Taehyung lit up. "See? It's cursed. You should listen to me."

You bit back a laugh, covering it with a cough. Yoongi glanced at you briefly, one eyebrow lifting. "Good luck surviving around here. Tae's chaos and I'm the only one keeping him from blowing the place up."

"Untrue," Taehyung protested. "Mostly untrue."

Yoongi smirked, already walking away.

"Don't believe him," Taehyug said, turning his attention back to you. "He secretly likes me."

"I'm sure he does," you said diplomatically, pressing the printer button again. To your shock, it actually worked this time, spitting out papers in quick succession.

Taehyung leaned closer, voice lowering. "See? My presence calms technology."

You couldn't help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. His grin widened like he'd won a prize.

But the amusement faltered when you noticed a figure at the far end of the office, dark eyes locked in your direction.

Jungkook.

He was leaning back in his chair, headphones hanging loose around his neck, expression unreadable. Not quite glaring, but not neutral either. Just... watching.

Your laughter died in your throat.

Taehyung didn't notice, still smiling as he straightened. "Anyway. Don't let the printer eat you alive. You know where to find me if you need rescuing."

He sauntered off, leaving you with a warm flush on your cheeks and an uncomfortable awareness prickling at the back of your neck.

Because Jungkook was still watching.

By the time the office emptied out, you were dragging. Most of the staff had gone home hours ago—Jin after making a dramatic exit, Hoseok and Jimin with their usual chatter, Namjoon muttering about deadlines. Even Tae had finally disappeared, throwing you a lazy salute on his way out.

The quiet was peaceful.

At least, it would have been.

"Why were you laughing with him?"

The voice came from behind you, low and sudden enough to make you spin around.

Jungkook.

He stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket now that his blazer was gone, hair falling a little over his eyes. The sharpness of his tone didn't match the casual stance.

"What?" you asked, blinking.

"With Taehyung," he clarified. His jaw flexed, subtle but noticeable. "You were laughing."

You stared at him, caught off guard. "Are you seriously keeping track of that?"

Something flickered across his expression—something ungaurded, almost vulnerable—before his gaze dropped. "Forget it," he muttered, moving past you toward the exit.

Impulsively you stepped in his path. "Wait. What's your problem?"

He stopped, looking down at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. The office was too quiet, too empty, every hum of the lights above amplified in the silence between you.

His eyes searched yours, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "Nothing."

It wasn't convincing. Not even close.

But before you could push further, he sidestepped you smoothly, heading for the door.

The sound of it clicking shut echoed in your chest like a missed beat.

You stayed late again that night, trying to focus on your work but finding your mind drifting every few minutes. His voice kept replaying in your head—sharp, almost jealous, but cut short before he gave himself away.

When you finally packed your things and left the building, the cool night air hit your skin like a jolt. You spotted him instantly in the parking lot, leaning against his car, earbuds in.

He looked up the second you stepped outside.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world felt narrowed down to just that space between you—the flickering streetlamp above, the faint buzz of the city in the distance, and his eyes, steady on yours.

You almost said something. Almost asked what he meant. Almost admitted that your pulse had been racing since he first walked into that break room two days ago.

But the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you offered a small nod, clutching your bag tight as you walked past.

"Goodnight," he said softly, just before you reached your car.

It lingered with you all the way home.

The office was already buzzing when you arrived that morning. Jin was standing near the copier, waving a paper fan in front of his face while complaining about the thermostat.

"Too cold, too hot, too stuffy," he declared as you passed by. "This place is like a toxic relationship. And yet, here I stay. Loyal to a fault."

You barely stifled a laugh, juggling your coffee cup and the folder you'd nearly forgotten at home. "Morning, Jin."

"Morning, Y/N," he sighed, like greeting you was yet another burden in his tragic life. "You look tired. Congratulations, you're one of us now."

Before you could respond, Hoseok appeared at your side, cheerful as ever, tugging Jimin along by the sleeve. "Don't listen to him. You look fine. But speaking of being one of us—today, you're coming to lunch."

"What?" you blinked.

"Lunch!" Jimin echoed, throwing his hands up like it was an announcement worthy of confetti. "Team bonding. You can't hide behind your desk forever."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Hosoek was already shaking his head. "No excuses. Everyone's going. It's mandatory. Well, not really, but if you say no, Jimin will pout, and none of us deserve to live through that."

"I do not pout," Jimin said indignantly, then immediately pouted when Hoseok laughed.

"I really don't want to intrude—" you started, but voice trailed off as a shadow fell over the group.

Jungkook.

He wasn't part of the conversation, not really—just standing nearby, rummaging through a file drawer like he wasn't paying attention. But then he spoke, low and almost offhand.

"She should come."

It wasn't loud, but it was enough. Hoseok's grin widened like a cat who'd just found cream. Jimin's eyes went wide with delight. Jin fanned himself.

"Oh?" Jimin sing-songed. "She should come?"

Jungkook didn't look up, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Otherwise she'll get left out."

"Mmhm," Hoseok hummed knowingly, nudging Jimin. "Protective much?"

Jungkook ignored them, slamming the drawer shut a little too firmly before walking back toward his desk.

You tried not to let your cheeks burn. "Fine," you said quickly, desperate to shut the teasing down. "I'll go."

"Perfect!" Hoseok clapped his hands together. "We'll leave at noon. Don't be late."

The restaurant was loud, crowded, and immediately chaotic.

Yoongi had claimed the far end of the booth, already flipping through the menu with a kind of resigned concentration. Namjoon had knocked over his water within five minute of sitting down. Jin was complaining about the chopsticks. Taehyung was flirting shamelessly with the server, and Hoseok and Jimin were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

You sat wedged between Jin and Jimin, trying not to get swept away in the noise.

"Y/N, you have to try this dish," Jin insisted, pointing at the menu. "It's the only thing that makes this miserable existence worth living."

"Don't listen to him," Yoongi muttered without looking up. "Get whatever you want."

Taehyung leaned across the table, eyes mischievous. "Or you could just order what Jungkook gets. That way you'll match."

Jimin practically choked on his drink. Hoseok pounded his back, both of them grinning like kids at a sleepover.

You glanced instinctively down the table. Jungkook sat at the opposite end, quiet, unreadable. He didn't rise to the bait, didn't even look up from his menu—but the faintest twitch of his jaw gave him away.

You ducked your head quickly, pretending to study the specials.

The teasing didn't stop. Jimin leaned close, whispering in a stage voice loud enough for half of the table to hear. "He always hovers by your desk, you know. Like a watchdog."

"Jimin," you hissed, elbowing him.

"What? It's true." he smirked. "He never hovered by mine."

Your face burned. "That's because your desk is a disaster zone."

The table erupted with laughter, and Jimin pouted again, though this time with good humor. But even through the noise, you felt Jungkook's gaze flicker to you, sharp and brief, before darting away.

Despite the teasing, you found yourself laughing more than you expected. Hoseok took a group selfie, making everyone lean in whether they wanted to or not.

It was chaotic, yes, but warm. Like being swept into the center of a whirlwind and realizing it wasn't so bad after all.

But through it all, Jungkook stayed quiet. He ate, he listened, but he barely spoke. And every time you glanced down the table, you found his eyes somewhere near you—then gone the moment you tried to meet them.

The walk back was calmer. The afternoon sun was warm, and the group stretched across the sidewalk in easy clusters.

You ended up slightly behind everyone else, your steps slowing without realizing it. That's when you noticed Jungkook beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, gaze fixed on the pavement.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the others faded into the background.

"Are you getting used to everyone?" he asked suddenly, not looking at you.

You blinked, surprised. His voice wasn't sharp like before—just steady, softer somehow.

"Yeah," you said honestly. "They're...a lot. But in a good way."

The corners of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile. Almost. "They mean well. Even when they're annoying."

You let out a quiet laugh. "I can tell."

For a few steps, the silence between you wasn't uncomfortable. Just...there.

Then Hoseok called back for you to hurry up, and the moment slipped away.

Back at the office, everyone scattered quickly—Yoongi to his desk, Tae to bother the receptionist, Jin to complain about something else. You sank back into your chair, the warmth of lunch still lingering.

But as you turned on your monitor, movement caught your eye.

Across the room, Jungkook was watching. Not glaring. Not annoyed. Just...watching. His expression unreadable, but softer than you'd ever seen it.

Your pulse skipped.

And then, just as quickly, Taehyung leaned over your desk, smirking. "Careful," he said. "You'll get addicted to these lunches."

By the time you looked back up, Jungkook was gone.

The office was almost empty.

You stared at your monitor, eyes heavy, fingers frozen over the keyboard.

You'd stayed late to finish a report. The rest of the office had gone home hours ago.

A shadow fell across your desk.

"Still here?"

You jumped, turning to see Jungkook standing in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. His hair had gone a little messy, like he'd run his hand through it one too many times. He looked less like your intimidating coworker and more like someone who should've been home hours ago, but couldn't quite leave.

"I could ask you the same," you said softly.

He didn't answer, just stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. "The server crashed again," he said finally, gesturing toward your screen. "You need help?"

"I...think so," you admitted, dragging your chair back to make room. "I've tried everything."

He moved beside you, sliding into your chair with that effortless confidence that always made your pulse race. His presence filling the small cubicle, quiet and commanding.

"You didn't break anything," he said quietly, fingers flying across the keyboard. "The network's unstable. It's not you."

You swallowed hard, watching him work. His face was close enough that you could see the faint crease of concentration between his brows, the way his lashes caught the glow of the monitor.

"Thanks," you said softly.

His head tilted toward you slightly, eyes flicking in a glance that lasted too long. "Don't mention it."

A quiet pause settled between you. You wanted to ask something, anything, but the words refused to form.

Finally, he broke the tension—not with words, but with movement. His hand brushed against yours as he reached for the mouse, and it lingered a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Your stomach flipped.

"You're...new here," he said, voice low. "But you're...capable. Faster than I expected."

You felt your face heat up. "I...try my best," you murmured, forcing yourself to focus on the screen and not the warmth of his presence inches away.

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the room like he was making sure you were alone, like he was protecting some fragile line between the office world and the two of you.

"You don't have to stay late for this," you said finally. "I think I can manage, I'd hate to keep bothering you with this."

"You're not a bother," he said, almost abruptly, then quieter: "not to me."

The words hit harder than you expected. Your throat tightened. You looked down at your hands, wishing you could pretend nothing had changed between yesterday and now, between him hovering at the break room and this quiet, steady presence beside you.

Minutes passed, your hands clumsy on the keyboard. Every so often, you felt his gaze flick towards you. Just... watching. Curious. Maybe even drawn in.

Then, in a movement so quiet you barely noticed, his hand rose and brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. The touch was featherlight, gone before you could react.

"Be careful," he said, low enough that it felt secret. "You're making this harder than it has to be."

You swallowed again, heat rising to your ears. "Huh?"

He didn't answer. His gaze flicked down at your hands on the keyboard, then back up, lingering on your eyes for a heartbeat. And just like that, he leaned back, standing again.

"I'll check the server logs," he said finally. "Call me if it happens again."

You nodded, too flustered to speak. By the time you looked up, he was already walking toward the door.

But then he paused. One last glance. A small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, like he wanted to say more but couldn't—or wouldn't.

"Goodnight," he said softly.

Your pulse raced as he disappeared into the quiet office corridor.

You stayed at your desk a little longer, staring at the blank screen but not really seeing it. Every brush of his hand, every glance, every word replayed on a loop in your head, relentless. It was ridiculous—he hadn't even done much. But it didn't feel small. It felt like something shifting, subtle and dangerous.

The office was quiet again, but you weren't. Restlessness thrummed under your skin, keeping you wide awake. You weren't sure what you wanted from him, not exactly—but you knew it was more than this.

And you weren't sure how much longer you could pretend otherwise.

The day began like any other—noise, laughter, and the endless chatter that came with working in an office full of larger-than-life personalities.

You'd started to think you were getting used to the chaos.

Almost.

"Newbie, you're presenting that spreadsheet update today," Namjoon said casually, like he wasn't dropping a bombshell while balancing a stack of papers dangerously high in his arms.

"What?" you nearly choked on your water. "Me?"

Jungkook, who was leaning against the conference table with his arms crossed, didn't look up. "Who else? You made it."

The quiet confidence in his voice made your cheeks warm. You hated how much weight his approval carried, how it wrapped around you even in the middle of an ordinary Friday morning.

By some miracle, the presentation went smoothly. When it was over, Jin gave you a round of applause, Hoseok flashed you a proud thumbs-up, and Taehyung whispered "iconic" like you'd just won an award.

And Jungkook? He didn't say much, just the slightest curve at the corner of his lips, like he was trying not to show he was impressed. But it was enough to keep you smiling through the rest of the afternoon.

The day dragged longer than it should have, the sky outside darkening faster than anyone in the office expected. By the time you finished sending off the last report, the steady drizzle had grown into a torrential downpour. Sheets of rain hammered against the wide office windows, and the glow of streetlights blurred behind the curtain of water.

Most of the office had already cleared out, the earlier rush to beat the weather leaving the place eerily quiet. You powered down your computer, stretching your stiff shoulders. Jungkook, still at his desk, snapped his laptop shut and stood at the same time.

"You ready?" His voice was casual, but the way his eyes flicked to the storm outside betrayed his unease.

"Yeah." You slide your bag over your shoulder and followed him toward the elevators.

The lobby windows show the truth in full: the rain was relentless, pooling the sidewalks, cars splashing through ankle deep water at every turn. People who had attempted to leave earlier were now huddled under the awning, trapped by the downpour. A weather alert flashed on your phone — Flash Flood Warning: Seek Shelter.

You let out a soft laugh, equal parts nerves and disbelief. "Guess our timing sucks, I hate driving in the rain."

Jungkook glanced at you, then back the storm. "I can drive you," he offered quickly, already reaching for his keys. "But..." His eyes scanned the sheets of water crashing against the pavement. "Honestly? We'd probably just end up sitting in traffic, or worse."

You followed his gaze — the streets looked more like rivers. Even the nearest intersection was half flooded. "So we're stuck?"

"Kind of." A wry smile tugged at his mouth, but he looked almost guilty, like it was his fault you couldn't leave. Then his eyes shifted to the corner of the street. "There's a cafe across the block. We could wait it out there. Warm drinks. Better than standing here."

The thought of running through the storm made you hesitate — but then his hand lifted, palm up, as if inviting you to trust him. "Come on. It's just rain."

Your pulse jumped in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. "Fine. But if I end up soaked, I'm blaming you."

Jungkook's grin flashes, bright despite the storm. "Deal."

He pulled his jacket off and, without asking, draped it over your head before leading the way. The mad dash across the street was chaos — cold rain soaking your legs, thunder cracking above — but he was close, his hand at the small of your back as you sprinted through the flood. By the time you burst into the cafe, both of you were breathless and laughing.

The cafe was nearly empty, most people avoiding travel tonight. Warm light spilled across the wooden tables, soft music humming under the patter of rain on the windows. You both ordered quickly — his usual black coffee, your chai latte — and slid into a booth tucked away in the corner.

For a few minutes, you sat in comfortable silence, thawing out, sipping at steaming mugs while the storm raged outside.

Then Jungkook spoke, voice low. "It's weird."

You glanced up. "What is?"

"This." His fingers drummed once against his cup. "I've worked here for years, but I've never...slowed down like this with someone from the office. Usually it's just work, then home, occasional lunches. No in-between." His gaze held yours a beat too long. "But with you..." He trailed off, searching for the words.

Your stomach tightened. "With me what?"

He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table. "It feels different. Like I don't mind the storm."

The air between you thickened, heavy with the unspoken. His eyes flicked down, just briefly, toward your mouth — and your breath caught.

The cafe felt too quiet, the storm too loud. You realized in that moment how close he was, how easily you could close the gap.

Your heart raced, your body betraying you, leaning just the slightest bit forward. He mirrored you, his hand sliding across the table like he might reach for yours.

Thunder cracked, shaking the glass, and you both startled.

The moment shattering like the lightning outside.

The morning after the storm, the office felt almost normal, except for the faint electric charge in the air that made you aware of everything—especially Jungkook.

He was at his desk, across the room as always, fingers tapping quickly over his keyboard. The hum of computers, the occasional click of a mouse, and the distant chatter of your coworkers filled the office, but your eyes kept drifting to him.

He didn't look at you, not yet. He couldn't. Not after last night, not after the cafe, not after that almost moment that still made your chest ache.

You busied yourself with emails, scrolling through reports, pretending to be completely absorbed. But every now and then, you caught him glancing your way—subtle, almost imperceptible. And every time you felt your pulse jump.

Across the room, Jin was already mid-story with Taehyung, loudly recounting some mishap from the office. Jimin leaned back in his chair, smirking, clearly enjoying the morning chaos. You swore Taehyung's eyes flicked toward you and Jungkook more than once, like he already plotting something.

And maybe he was.

By lunch, the office had emptied enough that the small interactions became unavoidable. Jimin and Taehyung appeared at your desk first, grinning like they'd discovered a secret.

"So," Jimin began, leaning on the corner of your desk just slightly, "how was your night after the storm?"

Your hand froze over your fork. Jungkook's head lifted slightly across the room, just enough to catch the mention of the storm, but he looked down immediately.

"Uh...quiet," you mumbled, keeping your gaze on your food.

Jimin's grin widened. "Really? Just quiet?" He glanced toward Jungkook, who was now pretending to focus intently on his monitor, but the stiff line of his shoulders betrayed him.

"You two weren't stuck somewhere cozy, were you?" Taehyung teased, nudging your shoulder.

Heat rose to your cheeks. "We... waited out the rain. That's it."

But even as you said it, you knew everyone could tell the truth from the lie. Jungkook, still across the room, was quietly running a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

Lunch ended with the teasing unsaid, but palpable, and soon you were back at your respective desks. The day continued in a haze of reports, papers, and needed troubleshooting.

Every time you needed help with something, you debated whether to call Jungkook. Every time Jungkook walked past your desk, your heart flipped. The mere act of him moving in the same space as you kept the storm alive in your chest.

Around mid-afternoon, he finally crossed the room on some pretense — a ticket from your department that could have waited, but you knew better.

"Let me help you install a few files, so your monitor doesn't crash again." He said quietly, leaning just slightly over your cubicle wall.

"Sure, thanks." you whispered, trying to sound casual.

He downloaded the files quickly. He gave a curt nod and retreated back to his own space across the room. You could feel his gaze lingering for a second before he full returned to IT-mode.

You exhaled, barely realizing you had been holding your breath the entire time.

The rest of the afternoon passed with stolen glances, small pangs of jealousy whenever he talked to someone else, and an ache of almost-touch that no one else could see.

By the time you packed up to leave, your brain had replayed that cafe moment countless times, each iteration more vivid than the last. Jungkook stood up, gathering his laptop and cables, heading toward the exit.

"See you tomorrow," he said casually, voice steady, but you could almost feel the tension vibrating beneath it.

"See you," you replied.

And as the door clicked shut behind him, the office felt impossibly empty, the absence of his presence pressing against you. You stayed at your desk a little longer, staring at the blank screen, replaying every glance, every slight gesture, every unspoken almost.

The storm was gone, but the tension it left behind lingered, and you realized — you weren't ready to let it go.

It was rare, but today the office was empty. A city-wide holiday had given everyone the day off, and the usual hum of computers and chatter was replaced by a quiet stillness that almost felt unnatural.

You had planned a lazy morning — coffee, a walk, maybe a bookstore run — when your phone buzzed with a message from Jimin.

"Hey! Some of us are meeting at the cafe on 5th around 11. Be there of we'll tease you mercilessly."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. It was a casual invite, just a few others from the office. Nothing mandatory.

When you arrived, the cafe was bustling but still cozy. Jimin and Taehyung waved you over immediately. As you approached, your stomach did that familiar flip—and sure enough, Jungkook was already there, tucked into a corner with a laptop open.

He looked up briefly, nodded, and went back to typing. That was...so him.

You grabbed your coffee and slid into the seat across from Jimin and Taehyung, making a show of casually glancing at Jungkook. He caught your eye and then immediately looked away, fingers frozen on the keyboard. Your chest tightened.

"Day off, huh?" Taehyung said, grinning. "Yet here we are, trapped in a cafe with a certain IT guy staring at his laptop like it's work, not fun."

"Staring at his laptop, or staring at Y/N?" Jimin took a nonchalant sip from his mug.

Jungkook's voice cut softly across the table. "I'm not staring."

You blinked. A sudden surge of courage. "Oh, really?"

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours for just a second. The corner of his mouth twitched, and then he looked back at the screen.

That second was enough to make your chest pound. Why can't he just relax? you thought.

The morning passed with light conversation, coffee refills, and playful teasing from Jimin and Taehyung. Jungkook was quieter than everyone else, occasionally offering input on some work-related topic that came up—because, of course, he couldn't fully leave IT behind. But even in his calm, professional way, he kept glancing at you.

And every glance made your stomach twist.

At one point, a sudden laugh from Taehyung about some ridiculous office meme made you spill a little of your coffee. Jungkook's chair scraped back as he leaned over to hand you a napkin. Close. Too close.

You caught the faint scent of him—coffee, cedar wood, something uniquely him—and your heart lurched. He lingered a second longer than necessary, and then, just like that, he pulled back, pretending it was nothing.

You clenched the napkin in your hand, frustrated. Why is he like this? So close, then so distant?

Jimin noticed your tension and smirked. "You okay there? Jungkook looking like he's going to cry over a spilled coffee or... something else?"

You shot him a glare, but even as you tried to focus on your latte, you couldn't stop thinking about Jungkook. The way he hovered just enough to make your pulse spike, then withdrew like it was instinct.

The rest of the day was a dance of subtle interactions—shared laughs, stolen glances, near-brushes of hands, and moments where Jungkook's attention lingered just a little too long to be purely professional.

By the time the cafe started to empty, you realized you were torn: part of you wanted to confront him, demand clarity, and another part of you just wanted to curl up in a corner and pretend nothing had happened.

Jungkook stood, stretching slightly, finally packing up his laptop. "I should probably head out," he said. His eyes met yours for the briefest moment. No words, but it carried the same tension from the storm, amplified by the comfort and closeness of the cafe.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice a little too quiet.

As he walked past, brushing close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him, you thought: I don't know how much longer I can take this hot-and-cold thing...

And that, you realized, was going to be the hardest part of all.

Monday mornings were never your favorite, but this one felt different. It wasn't the endless reports, the ringing phones, or the fact that your inbox was already drowning. No—it was the decision you made the night before, lying awake in bed replaying every hot-and-cold moment with Jungkook.

Every smile, every fleeting touch, every-near-something—always followed by silence. Distance. Retreat.

You were tired of waiting.

So today, you slipped into the office with a new resolve: no lingering glances, no nervous laughter, no subtle invitations for him to come closer. Just work. Just professionalism.

When you walked past Jungkook's desk, he looked up immediately, his usual quiet acknowledgment softening his features. Normally, you'd smile back. This time, you gave a polite nod and kept walking.

You felt his stare linger as you sat down.

By mid-morning, Jimin had stopped by your desk with a coffee, leaning in conspiratorially. "So," he whispered, "our favorite IT guy hasn't said a word today, but he keeps looking over here like he lost something."

"Maybe he did," you said flatly, turning back to your screen.

Jimin blinked, surprised. "Ouch. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed?"

You forced a smile. "No. Just busy."

But busy wasn't the word for it. You could feel Jungkook's presence across the room, like static electricity in the air. Every time you resisted the urge to glance at him, your chest tightened. And every time you didn't laugh at one of Jimin's jokes or wave him over for help, Jungkook seemed to stiffen.

It was working. And it was killing you.

Around lunch, your computer froze. Normally, you'd call Jungkook—he'd appear at your side, sleeves rolled up, leaning too close as he fixed it. But today, you powered it down and restarted it yourself. When the screen blinked back to life, you caught sight of Jungkook watching you, his jaw tight.

You ignored him.

The rest of the afternoon dragged, tension thick enough to choke on. At one point, Namjoon passed through the office and muttered under his breath, "You could cut the air with a knife in here."

By the time the clock hit five, you were exhausted—not from the work, but from holding yourself back.

As you packed your bag, Jungkook finally moved. His chair scraped against the floor, and suddenly he was standing near your desk, hovering with that awkward confidence that only he could pull off.

"Hey," he said quietly.

You didn't look up. "Hi."

"You, uh... didn't need me today?" His voice was careful, like he already knew the answer.

You zipped your bag and stood, keeping your expression neutral. "Didn't have to."

For once, he was the one scrambling, his hand tightening on the strap of his backpack. "Right. That's... good."

You nodded once and brushed past him, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a second, you thought he might stop you, say something, anything. But he didn't.

Not until you were halfway to the door did you hear him exhale, soft and frustrated.

And you smiled bitterly to yourself, because for the first time, the silence wasn't yours to carry.

The second day of your silent resolve was harder than the first. You kept your tone professional, your smiles tucked away, your attention focused on anyone but Jungkook.

At first, it felt like a victory. He had been the one to drift in and out, warm one day and icy the next. Now, the tables had turned.

But Jungkook wasn't taking it quietly.

By mid-morning, you could feel the shift in the air. He wasn't just watching anymore; he was restless. Every scrape of his chair, every sigh, every subtle tap of his pen against the desk pulled at your nerves.

When Jimin wandered over to ask about lunch, Jungkook cut in before you could answer. "We should all go together," he said quickly, eyes flicking to you. "Right?"

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Do whatever you want."

Jimin raised his brows, but didn't comment. The group lunch happened, but it was painfully clear—Jungkook barely touched his food, his attention locked on you as you laughed at something Namjoon said instead.

By the time you returned to the office, the tension was unbearable.

Around three, your monitor flickered and went black. You cursed under your breath, reaching to restart it, when Jungkook was suddenly there.

"I'll fix it," he said, already leaning over your desk.

You froze. His presence was overwhelming—close enough that you caught the clean scent of him, close enough that your arm brushed against his. Normally, you'd be flustered. Today, you leaned back, folding your arms.

"I had it under control."

He stilled. Slowly, he turned his head, meeting your eyes. His gaze was sharp, almost wounded. "You're being... different."

Your chest tightened, but you forced your expression flat. "Maybe I'm just busy."

"Busy," he echoed, almost scoffing. "That's what this is?"

You shrugged, refusing to give in.

But Jungkook wasn't retreating this time. His hand gripped the edge of your desk, knuckles white. "You don't even look at me. Did I... do something?"

Your throat went dry. Yes, you wanted to scream. You did a million little things—gave me hope and then took it away. But instead, you said quietly, "Does it matter?"

Something in his expression cracked. For once, the calm, guarded IT guy wasn't in control. His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something raw and desperate.

"It matters to me." His voice was low, rough, like the words had been ripped out of him.

The office noise faded—the clicking keyboards, the phones, the hum of printers—all of it blurred as you stared at him, heart hammering.

For the first time, it wasn't you chasing him. It was him, standing too close, voice trembling with the weight of something he hadn't said yet.

And that—that felt like the real breaking point.

The office was quieter than usual after Jungkook's words. You hadn't answered him—couldn't—not when your heart was pounding so hard it drowned out every thought.

It matters to me.

Those four words kept echoing in your head as you sat frozen at your desk, pretending to focus on your screen. Jungkook lingered a moment longer, his hand still gripping the edge of your desk like he was holding himself together. Finally, with a muttered curse, he turned and walked back to his seat.

You let outa shaky breath, unsure if you were relieved or disappointed.

The day dragged. You threw yourself into emails, spreadsheets, anything to avoid looking across the room. But you could feel him—the tension strung between you like a live wire.

By the time the office emptied for the evening, your nerves were frayed. You stayed behind, partly to catch up on work, partly to avoid walking out with him.

But of course, fate had other plans.

When you finally packed your bag and headed for the elevator, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind you.

"Wait," Jungkook's voice called.

You froze, hand hovering over the button. Slowly, you turned.

He was standing there, hair slightly messy, his expression tight. "Can we walk?"

You wanted to say no. You wanted to keep walking. But the look in his eyes—raw, searching—made it impossible.

"About what?" you asked carefully.

"About this," he said, gesturing vaguely between you. "Whatever's happening. Or not happening."

You swallowed hard, keeping your tone cool. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." His voice was firmer now, almost pleading. "You've been shutting me out, and I can't... I can't stand it."

Something inside you snapped. "What do you expect, Jungkook? One minute you're sweet, the next you're cold. I never know where I stand with you. And I'm tired of feeling like an idiot for trying."

Silence stretched between you, heavy and sharp. His jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was fighting himself.

Then, before you could process it, he stepped forward. Just one step, but close enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him.

His eyes dropped to your lips. Your breath caught.

"Do you have any idea," he said softly, "how hard it is to not want more?"

Your pulse stuttered. The world shrank to space between you, the warmth radiating from his body, the faint tremor in his voice.

He leaned closer—too close. Your heart screamed yes, but your mind spun. This was the moment.

And then the elevator dinged.

You bother jerked back as the doors slid open and Namjoon stepped out, holding a stack of files. He blinked, glancing between the two of you, eyebrows raising slightly.

"Uh... am I interrupting something?"

You shook your head quickly, stepping into the elevator without looking back. "No. Not at all."

Jungkook didn't follow.

But as the doors slid shut, you caught the look on his face—frustrated, longing, almost broken.

And you knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

You thought you could outrun the weight in your chest. You left the office quickly that evening, your bag slung over your shoulder, that city air sharp against your cheeks. The elevator almost-kiss, Jungkook's words—Do you have any idea how hard it is to not want more?—they looped endlessly in your head.

You told yourself to let it go. To shove it down and keep walking.

But the sound of footsteps behind you stopped you cold.

"Wait," Jungkook's voice called again, breathless this time,

You froze on the sidewalk. Slowly, you turned, finding him there—no laptop bag, no guarded expression. Just Jungkook, raw and restless, like he'd finally run out of walls to hide behind.

"What do you want, Jungkook?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

He stopped a foot away, chest rising and falling. "l want you to stop looking at me like I'm nothing. Like I don't matter."

Your throat went dry. "You're the one who's been pulling away. Being hot and cold. You can't expect me to keep—"

"I know," he cut in, voice rough. "I know I've been a mess. I didn't want to ruin anything. I didn't want to... cross a line we can't uncross."

The streetlamps buzzed overhead. Cars hummed in the distance. But here, on this stretch of sidewalk, it was just the two of you.

"And now?" you asked, heart pounding.

His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint crease in his brow, the tremor in his hands. "Now I can't stand watching you pull away. I can't stand pretending I don't—" He broke off, exhaling hard. "I like you. Too much. More than I should."

Your breath caught. The words you'd been aching for, the ones you'd convinced yourself you'd never hear, hung between you like sparks.

For a second, you couldn't speak. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that."

Something in him cracked then. The restraint, the guarded distance—all of it fell away. He reached for you, hesitant at first, like he was giving you time to pull back. When you didn't, his hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

You didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you leaned in.

The kiss was everything and nothing like you'd imagined—soft and desperate all at once, like years of unsaid words and stifled feelings poured into one moment. His lips pressed against yours like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go.

You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, and he responded with a low, shuddering sound that made your knees weak.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

"This... complicates everything," you whispered.

"Yeah," he admitted, lips curving into the faintest smile. "But I don't care."

And for the first time, neither did you.

The office felt louder today. Or maybe it was just you.

The steady click of keyboards, the rustle of papers, the occasional ring of a phone—none of it was unusual. But everything inside you was different, buzzing with a restless energy you couldn't tamp down.

Because last night, you kissed Jungkook.

It was the kind of kiss that left your lips tingling hours later, the kind you thought about when brushing your teeth this morning, when tying your shoes, when walking through the glass doors of the building like nothing had changed. Except everything had.

You sank into your chair, praying your flushed cheeks weren't obvious.

Across the room, Jungkook looked maddeningly unaffected. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, scrolling through a program on his screen. He hadn't so much as glanced your way. Not once.

Your stomach twisted. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe it was just one of those heat-of-the-moment things. Maybe—

Then he looked up. Straight at you.

Your breath caught. His eyes softened, the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but enough to send warmth flooding through you. Just as quickly, he dropped his gaze back to his work.

Your chest ached in relief and longing all at once.

By mid-morning, a yellow sticky note appeared on your desk when you weren't looking.

Printer's acting up again. Don't worry, I'll fix it.

Underneath, the world's worst doodle of a bunny with lopsided ears.

You clamped your hand over your mouth to hide the grin threatening to break loose.

At lunch, Jimin stopped by your cubicle with a bag of chips. "You look different today," he said, squinting at you. "Glowing, almost."

Before you could reply, Jungkook's voice came from across the room. "She's always like that."

The words were casual, tossed out without thought, but your pulse spiked. Jimin arched a brow, then shrugged and wandered off.

Later, as the afternoon lull settled in, you felt a presence at your side. Jungkook leaned casually against your cubicle wall, holding a folder like he had an excuse to be there.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes darting to make sure no one was listening.

Your throat was dry. "Yeah. Just...busy."

He tiled his head, studying you for a moment. Then his lips quirked. "You're a bad liar."

You glared, but the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath before pushing away from the wall. "See you after work."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving your heart pounding and your thoughts spiraling.

Because one thing was suddenly very clear: last night hadn't been a mistake.

Not at all.

You sat in your cubicle with a stack of expense reports, pretending you weren't burning holes into his head from across the room.

He tilted his chair just slightly, mouth quirking because he knew you were looking.

You were toast.

"Hey," a low voice broke your focus. Namjoon had appeared at the side of your cubicle, files in hand. "You good on those reports?"

"Mm? Oh—yeah, just finishing them up," you said quickly, shoving the papers together like you hadn't been daydreaming.

Namjoon's sharp eyes flicked toward the IT corner—toward Jungkook—before returning to you. He didn't say anything, but there was the faintest twitch of a smirk, like he'd caught on to something you didn't want him to.

You swallowed. Play it cool. Play it cool.

That evening, long after Namjoon and the others had left, you found yourself at your desk packing up when your phone buzzed. A message from Jungkook.

"Don't go home yet."

"Meet me outside."

You slipped your bag over your shoulder and headed down.

He was waiting by his car, leaning against it like something out of a drama. Not cold, not smirking—just Jungkook, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, eyes soft when they met yours.

"Hungry?" he asked.

You blinked. "uh... yeah?"

He opened the car door.

"Good. Get in."

He didn't take you anywhere fancy. Just a late-night noodle place tucked around the corner of a quiet street, the kind where the broth clung to the air and the only soundtrack was clattering bowls and a TV playing reruns. But when he slid into the booth across from you, tugging his hoodie down and running a hand through his hair, you realized how badly you'd needed this.

Something normal. Something not lit by fluorescent office bulbs.

"I didn't want today to end without seeing you," he admitted, voice quiet under the rattle of the kitchen. "Not just... at your desk. Not with people around."

Your chest tightened. You wanted to say something clever, but all you managed was, "Me too."

He laughed softly, and the sound curled warm in your stomach.

The two of you talked over steaming bowls, conversation flowing easier than you expected—about favorite foods, weekend plans, even a ridiculous story about Tae accidentally crashing the IT server once. Every time he leaned in to say something, you caught the faintest whiff of his cologne, and it made you dizzy.

Halfway through your meal, his knee brushed yours under the table and didn't move.

He didn't say anything, didn't even look at you—just kept eating like it was the most natural thing in the world. But his knee stayed there, steady and warm against your own.

Your appetite suddenly had nothing to do with noodles.

On the drive back to your car, you sat in silence, the city lights painting Jungkook's profile in gold and shadow. He pulled up in front of your car and killed the engine, but didn't move to unlock the doors. Instead, his hand drummed nervously against the steering wheel.

"I know we have to be careful," he said finally, voice low. "At work. Around the others. But outside of that..." he glanced at you, eyes soft. "Can I have this? Just you and me?"

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah," you whispered. "You can."

He exhaled. Then he leaned over, so close you felt his breath against your cheek. For a dizzy moment, you thought he might kiss you again.

But instead, he pressed his forehead to yours, lingering there for a beat that felt like forever.

"Goodnight," he murmured.

And then he pulled back, unlocking the doors before temptation could win.

It started with a text.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Come over."

"I'll cook."

You stared at your phone for a good five minutes before replying.

"You can cook?"

"Crazy that you're doubting me."

And just like that, your Saturday plans were sealed.

His apartment was exactly what you expected: neat, modern, and deceptively simple. Black leather couch, a giant TV, shelves with rows of video games and manga. But there were softer details too—plants on the windowsill, a polaroid camera on the counter, a blanket folded with care.

You hovered in the doorway, clutching your bag. "So this is where IT magic is born?"

Jungkook grinned as he tugged you inside. "This is where I respawn after saving the company from doom, yeah."

The kitchen smelled like garlic and soy. He'd actually been cooking, sleeves shoved up, hair messy. The sight was unfair—like the universe had decided yes, this man will be good at everything.

"You weren't kidding," you muttered, leaning against the counter.

"I told you," he shot back, tossing vegetables into a pan. "Doubt me again and I'll make you eat instant ramen instead."

"I like ramen."

He glanced at you then, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fine. Next time, ramen. No vegetables. Just you and me."

Your stomach flipped at the casual "next time," but you said nothing, too busy pretending the sight of him in his kitchen wasn't doing things to your brain.

Dinner was simple, but delicious, and you found yourself more than eating—half because Jungkook kept making ridiculous commentary on his own cooking skills, half because it just felt so easy. No spreadsheets, no cubicle walls, no pretending.

Afterward, he dragged you to the couch, insisting you had to watch the latest episode of a drama he was obsessed with. Somewhere between episode one and two, your legs ended up tucked under you, leaning closer without realizing it.

By episode three, Jungkook shifted—close enough that his thigh was pressed against yours.

He didn't move away.

"Comfortable?" he asked, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Totally," you said, but your pulse was screaming otherwise.

Later, when you reached for the blanket draped on the back of the couch, Jungkook beat you to it. He leaned over, his chest brushing your shoulder as he pulled it down. For a split second, his breath fanned against your ear, and you stilled.

"You cold?" he murmured, voice too close, too low.

You swallowed. "A little."

He draped the blanket over both of you, and suddenly the world was smaller, quieter, warmer.

The show played on, but neither of you were really watching it anymore. You could feel him watching you—subtle glances, the twitch of a smile when you laughed at something dumb. Every brush of his arm against yours was a spark.

When you reached for your drink, he steadied you with a hand on your knee. You froze, but he didn't move it. Instead, his thumb brushed once—just once—over your leg.

Your breath caught. "Jungkook..."

He turned, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that made your stomach flip. "Yeah?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He leaned in before you could think, his hand sliding from your knee up to your waist, pulling you closer beneath the blanket. Suddenly you were half sprawled against him, your cheek brushing his shoulder, the heat of his body searing through your clothes.

"Too close?" he murmured, though his grip said he wasn't planning to move.

"No," you said. "Not too close."

He exhaled, shaky too, and then his hand came up, fingers brushing along your jaw. The touch was tentative at first, but when you didn't flinch, his thumb traced the corner of your mouth. He leaned closer, closer, until his lips ghosted the edge of your jaw, feather-light but enough to make you shiver.

Your heart thudded against your ribs, your body screaming yes.

But he pulled back just before your lips could meet. His breathing was rough, uneven, like it had cost him everything to stop.

"If I kiss you right now, I won't stop."

The words set fire to your skin. You could only nod, gripping the blanket like it might keep you from unraveling.

The next morning should've felt ordinary—emails, coffee, copies—but your body hadn't caught up. Every time you glanced across the office and saw Jungkook at his desk, sleeves rolled, hair falling into his eyes, your mind betrayed you.

Just his hands on your waist. The rasp of his voice when he said, if I kiss you right now, I won't stop.

You gripped your coffee tighter and forced your gaze back to your screen. Professional. Normal. Nothing to see here.

"Rough weekend?" Hoseok's voice chimed.

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink. "Huh?"

He peered around the divider, grin bright. "You look...flushed. Late night?"

You scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, before blurting, "Drama marathon."

"Ahhh," he nodded sagely. "The dangerous kind." He winked and disappeared back into his seat.

Your shoulders sagged in relief—only to tense again when you caught Jungkook watching you, biting his bottom lip as if to hide a smile.

The morning dragged, but lunchtime brought no reprieve. You'd just settled into the break room when Namjoon walked in with his tray, eyes sharp as ever.

"You're quiet today," he remarked, sitting across from you.

"I'm fine," you said quickly, stabbing at your salad.

Namjoon tilted his head, gaze flicking past toward the hallway. "And Jungkook?"

Your fork stilled. "What about him?"

"Nothing," Namjoon said smoothly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he'd seen more than you wanted. "Just asking."

Heat crept up your neck. You kept your eyes down, praying the ground would swallow you.

The rest of the day, you tried avoiding him. Tried not to remember the way his thumb had traced the corner of your mouth. Tried not to notice the way his gaze lingered whenever someone else stopped at your desk.

It worked—until you headed toward the supply closet for more printer paper.

"Hey."

Jungkook's voice was low behind you, too close. You startled, spinning to find him leaning against the doorframe, one hand shoved in his pocket. His eyes swept the empty hall before settling on you.

"You've been avoiding me."

You swallowed hard. "We're at work."

"Yeah. And you're still avoiding me."

Before you could argue, he shut the door. The click of it shutting echoed in the small room. Your pulse thundering.

"Jungkook—"

"I can't stop thinking about it," he cut in, voice rough. "The other night. You. Us. I'm going insane."

Your back hit the shelf as he stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of you. Not touching, but caging you in, his breath warm against your skin.

"You think you're the only one losing their mind?" you whispered.

His jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to your lips. For a long, suspended moment, you swore he'd kiss you right there among the sticky notes and toner cartridges.

But instead, his forehead pressed against your neck, a groan slipping from his throat. His fingers flexed against the shelf like he was holding himself back by force.

"Not here," he muttered, ragged.

Your hands twitched at your sides, aching to pull him closer, but you forced yourself still. "Then don't start," you whispered back, though your voice betrayed the tremor of wanting otherwise.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he pushed back, running a hand through his hair with a curse.

"You're killing me," he said, and then he was gone—out the door before you could breathe again.

You slumped against the shelf, knees weak, heart pounding, the smell of him lingering in the air.

There was no pretending anymore. You were already in too deep.

The office was quiet, swallowed in that in-between hour when most people had already gone home but the lights still hummed overhead. You'd lost track of time, buried in reports, until you noticed just how still everything was.

When you looked up, Jungkook was still there. Across the room, his desk lamp glowed, casting shadows along his jaw as he typed.

He's still here.

He caught your eyes, and he gave you a small smile. "You're still working?"

You shrugged, pretending to be casual. "Deadlines."

He leaned back in his chair, stretching, the faintest groan escaping him. It pulled your gaze to the curve of his neck, the way his shirt stretched across his chest. God, you shouldn't be looking.

But then Jungkook was standing, slow steps carrying him across the office until he was beside your cubicle. He rested one hand on the partition wall, peering down at you.

"You work too hard," he said softly.

Something in his tone—low, warm, almost dangerous—sent a shiver racing through you. "Says the guy who hasn't left either."

A laugh escaped him, quiet and husky. His fingers brushed the edge of your desk, close enough that you swore you could feel the heat radiating from him.

It happened fast after that. The silence. The tension. His hand sliding from the desk to your chair, tugging you closer to him, then to stand.

You were face to face now, so close his breath ghosted your lips.

"Jungkook..." Your voice cracked, unsure if it was warning or plea.

"You drive me insane," he whispered. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn't stop himself.

And then he kissed you.

It was desperate, heated. You gasped against his mouth, fingers clutching his shirt as he pressed you back against the cubicle wall. His tongue brushed yours, pulling a soft whimper from your throat, and he swallowed it like he'd been starving for it.

His hands were everywhere—sliding down your waist, gripping your hips, tugging you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel every hard line of him, and it made your head spin.

"God, we shouldn't be—" you whispered, but his lips cut you off, another kiss silencing the protest you didn't really mean.

One of his hands slid lower, fingertips grazing the edge of your thigh through your skirt, making your breath hitch. He groaned at the sound, deep and raw. He hiked up your thigh against his hip, groaning into your mouth when you instinctively pressed closer.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, voice ragged. "You're driving me insane."

His hips rolled into yours, the hard press of him making you whimper, heat sparking in your belly. He swallowed the sound greedily, deepening the kiss until you were dizzy.

Your hands roamed on their own—fisting his tie, sliding up his chest, brushing the back of his neck. Every muscle under your touch was taught.

"Jungkook, we can't—" You tried, but your voice broke when his lips left yours only to trail down your jaw, your throat, finding the spot just below your ear that made you shiver.

"We can," he whispered hotly against your skin. His teeth grazed lightly, just enough to make your breath stutter. "We shouldn't. But we can."

Your back arched against him when his hand slipped beneath the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting along your skin. Not quite daring. Not quite innocent. The promise of more.

You stared at him, lips swollen, pulse racing. You didn't trust yourself to speak, so you kissed him again instead—soft, desperate.

It was enough to break him. His grip on your thigh tightened, dragging you closer, his body pinning you. The kiss turned frantic, messy, his restraint slipping with every second.

And just as the line was about to snap.

You pulled away.

"We should go," you said, even though neither of you moved.

He nodded, though his eyes screamed in protest.

The taste of him lingered on your tongue.

You didn't sleep much. Not after last night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt him again—his mouth on yours, the weight of his hand on your thigh.

And now you were here, back at your desk, trying not to look like someone whose world had tilted overnight.

The sounds of footsteps drew your attention. You glance up—and froze. Jungkook was walking toward you, two paper cups in his hands.

He set one on your desk without a word, his mouth curving into that small, devastating smile that made your stomach flip.

"Morning," he said softly, as if it was a secret just for you.

You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, hiding the stupid grin threatening to take over your face. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." His haze lingered, warm and unguarded in a way you weren't used to. It made your pulse skip.

He didn't move right away, either. Instead, he leaned casually against the edge of your cubicle, sipping his own drink like it was the most natural thing in the world. But his eyes—his eyes kept coming back to you, softening.

When the phone at his desk rang, he finally pushed off the wall with a reluctant sigh. "Guess I should take that." Then, with a flash of his dimple: "Save me a smile for later, yeah?"

Your cheeks heated. "You're ridiculous."

He winked before heading back to his desk.

When you ducked your head to hide a smile, you heard the quiet huff of his laugh across the room.

By lunch, your nerves were frayed in the best possible way. You'd barely opened your container when Jungkook appeared again, leaning a little too casually against the wall.

"Eat with me?" His voice was lower this time, careful, like the question held more weight than it should.

You hesitated, glancing around at the handful of coworkers still at their desks. "Here?

His eyes gleamed. "No. Upstairs. Rooftop's empty this time of day."

The rooftop air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain. You sat side by side on the ledge, lunch forgotten as conversation flowed easier than you expected.

He told you about his first disastrous week in IT—locking himself out of the very own system he was supposed to be fixing—and you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You told him about your strict professor in college, the once who once ripped up your paper in front of the class, and he shook his head, indignant on your behalf.

Somewhere in the middle of it, your knees brushed. Neither of you moved away.

Jungkook turned slightly, watching you.

"You know," he said after a moment, "I thought you hated me when we first met."

You laughed softly. "I didn't hate you. You just... made me nervous."

His brow quirked, intrigued. "Nervous?"

"Yeah." Your voice dropped without meaning to. "You're... a lot."

A slow grin spread across his face, but his eyes softened too. "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged, full of things you weren't saying but both of you felt.

When the wind picked up, you shivered. Jungkook noticed instantly, tugging his blazer off and holding it out.

"Here," he said.

You hesitated. "You'll be cold."

"Not as cold as you," he replied simply, his eyes steady on yours.

And when you finally slipped it on, the fabric warm from his body, he smiled like he'd just won something.

Jungkook had a look that was undeniably more than curiosity.

It was interest.

It was want.

And it was growing.

The next day, your phone buzzed.

"Have you eaten yet?"

You hadn't really expected to hear from him tonight.

"Not yet. You?"

The reply was instant.

"No. Wanna grab something? Nothing fancy. Just food."

"Okay. Where?"

You ended up at the same ramen shop. You stepped inside and the rich scent of broth wrapped around you like a hug.

Jungkook was already there, waving you over with a boyish grin. No tie, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy—off-duty Jungkook was a whole different kind of dangerous.

The food came quickly—two steaming bowls set between you, the broth bubbling hot. You picked up your chopsticks, but Jungkook leaned forward first, grabbing the soy sauce bottle and pouring some into your dish without asking.

"You make faces when it's too plain," he explained with a shrug.

You blinked. "You... noticed that?"

He gave you a look that made your cheeks warm. "I notice a lot."

The words hung there, heavy with meaning. You ducked your head, pretending to focus on your noodles, though your lips curves into an involuntary smile.

Dinner was easy. You talked about nothing and everything—the worst office snacks, his childhood obsession with arcade games, your guilty love for terrible reality TV. He laughed so hard he nearly choked when you admitted crying over a dating show finale.

And somewhere in the middle of it, you realized: you weren't nervous anymore. Not with him.

When the bill came, you reached for your wallet, but Jungkook's hand shot out, covering yours. His touch was warm.

"I've got it," he said firmly.

You tried to protest, but he shook his head, lips quirking.

Outside, the night air was cooler than you expected, a soft breeze carrying the faint buzz of the city. You lingered on the sidewalk, neither of you making the move to leave.

Jungkook shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked at you. Really looked.

"You know," he said slowly, "I wasn't sure you'd say yes."

Your brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't I?"

His smile was a little shy. "Because this doesn't feel... casual."

Your heart stumbled. The honesty in his tone knocked the air from your lungs.

"It doesn't," you admitted softly.

For a moment, you just stood there, the air charged between you. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for yours, but he stopped himself at the last second, shoving it deeper into his pocket.

"Come on," he said finally, his smile returning. "Let me walk you to your car."

It didn't take long for it to become routine.

Not officially, not something either of you ever talked about. But suddenly, Jungkook was there—slipping into your mornings, your evenings, your weekends—in all the little ways that mattered.

Monday: He was waiting outside the coffee shop across from the office, holding two cups. He handed one to you without a word, his grin bright against the gray morning.

"You remembered," you said, blinking down at your usual order.

"Of course I did," he teased. "How else am I supposed to stay your favorite IT guy?"

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered the whole elevator ride up.

Wednesday: Lunch break. You tried to pull out your phone, but Jungkook was already standing by your cubicle.

"Lets go," he said simply, a spark in his eyes that made your pulse skip.

"To where?"

"You'll see."

You ended up at a small bookstore a few blocks away. He wandered the aisles with you, pulling random titles just to make you laugh at his commentary. At one point, he caught you crouched in the romance section, cheeks pink as you tried to shove a book back.

He leaned close, murmuring low in your ear, "Didn't know you were into that kinda story."

You shoved his arm, flustered. "Shut up."

But his smirk lingered, along with the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Friday: You were curled up on your couch when your phone buzzed.

"Can't sleep. You up?"

"Yeah."

Two minutes later, your phone lit up with his name.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard. Sleepy, unguarded.

You talked for nearly an hour. About nothing—your favorite childhood cartoons, his old pet dog, the stupid little things you never thought you'd share someone at work.

At one point, the line went quiet, and you thought he'd fallen asleep.

But then he said quietly, almost to himself, "I like this. Talking to you."

Your chest squeezed, and you hugged a pillow closer, whispering back, "Me too."

Sunday: He asked if you wanted to "just hang out." He ended up at your house, shoulders brushing as you shared bites from each other's ramen bowls. He had broth on the corner of his lip, and without thinking, you reached to wipe it away with your thumb.

The air stilled. His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable.

He caught your hand, pressed it gently back to your lap, and whisper, "Careful. You're making it hard to behave."

Your heart didn't stop racing for the rest of the night.

By the time the new week began, it was undeniable.

It wasn't just sneaking glances across the office anymore. It wasn't just after-hours kisses and almost.

It was something real. Something growing.

And both of you were past the point of no return.

After a dinner date with Jungkook, the night had ended way too quickly. The way Jungkook leaned in close just to hear you better even when he didn't need to. It was simple, casual, yet so charged.

He pulled up outside your apartment, the street was quiet, washed in the glow of street lamps. Neither of you moved to unbuckle your seatbelts right away.

"Thanks for tonight," you said softly, turning to look at him.

His hand rested on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing. "You don't have to thank me. I... wanted to be here with you."

The words hung in the air.

You could feel the thrum of your pulse as you turned. His eyes flicked to your lips before darting away, as though he'd been caught doing something dangerous.

"Jungkook," you whispered.

That was all it took.

His hand came up to your cheek, warm. He leaned across the console, closing the space between you in one decisive motion.

The kiss was instant heat—soft at first, almost hesitant, then deepening when you parted your lips for him. He groaned quietly against your mouth, and the sound went straight through you.

Your fingers curled into the collar of his jacket, tugging him closer even though there wasn't much room to begin with. His other hand slipped to your thigh, firm but not pushing too far, grounding you while still making your stomach flip.

When you finally broke apart, breaths uneven, he rested his forehead against yours.

"God," he murmured, voice low and wrecked. "I want to kiss you everyday."

Your chest swelled, every nerve alive. "Then don't stop."

His lips curved into a smile before he kissed you again—slower this time, lingering, like he had every intention of making good on your words.

Most of the staff had gone home, leaving only a handful of latecomers. You and Jungkook had lingered longer than you intended, both of you buried in minor IT issues and paperwork—but neither of you were in a rush to leave.

He was across the room, focused on his monitor, but you could feel his presence even from a distance. The warmth that lingered from the car kiss the other night made your chest ache in the best way.

"Hey," Namjoon's voice broke through your thoughts, making you jump. He was passing by, smirking as he glanced at the two of you. "Working late with IT again? Sounds... cozy."

Your cheeks heated instantly. You glanced at Jungkook, who gave a brief, casual shrug—like it was nothing. But something in the way he didn't even glance at Namjoon's teasing made your stomach twist.

"You okay?" Jungkook's voice was low when he came up beside you. His hand brushed yours lightly as he slid a file across your desk,

"Yeah," you muttered, trying to shake off the small sting. But the teasing had planted a tiny seed of frustration. He seemed so calm—so in control—while you were still tumbling over the other night.

Jungkook noticed. He always noticed.

Instead of brushing it off, he leaned closer, his shoulder just barely brushing yours. His warm presence pressed against you in the quiet office, grounding you. "You don't have to pretend," he murmured.

Your breath hitched. "Pretend what?"

"That this isn't... us," he said softly, letting his fingers graze yours under the edge of the desk. The contact was subtle.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. There was no teasing, no restraint. Only that quiet intensity that always made it impossible to think clearly.

"I don't want to hide," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, enough to make you melt. "Good," he said. "Because neither do I."

The tension between you shifted in an instant. That tiny sting from Namjoon's joke dissolved, replaced by something heavier, hotter, and much harder to ignore.

For a moment, you simply stayed like that—shoulder to shoulder, fingers brushing, hearts racing—both of you acutely aware of how close you were to crossing a line.

"Let's finish up," he whispered, voice low and husky. "Then... maybe we don't wait until the car this time."

Your stomach flipped. That was a promise—and one you had no intention of questioning.

As the two of you wrapped up the last of the evening's work, you could feel the anticipation building, each glance, each accidental touch, each quiet brush of fingers. Whatever came next, it wouldn't be small.

It wouldn't be subtle.

And you didn't want it to be.

The walk from your car to his apartment felt impossibly short and impossibly long all at once. Your stomach fluttered in a way that made you nervous and excited, and the moment he opened the door, that familiar smile hit you like a spark.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside. The apartment smelled like him—something you could never forget.

You kicked off your shoes, and he closed the door behind you. There was no awkwardness, just the quiet hum of the city outside and the small distance between the two of you. His hand brushed yours as you stepped past him into the living room, and the electricity was immediate.

"Hey," he said, eyes roaming over you slowly. "You're early."

"I just... wanted to see you," you said, trying to sound casual. Your voice betrayed you.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, like he could hear your heart racing. "That's... a good enough reason," he murmured, taking a step closer. His fingers brushed against yours as he reached for a folder on the counter. The touch lingered just long enough to send shivers up your arm.

"Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?" he asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sure," you said, following him to the small kitchen. He poured two mugs, handing one to you."

You carried the mugs to the couch, sitting down carefully—but not enough to avoid brushing thighs. You felt the heat spike instantly. He glanced at you, and that smirk told you he felt it too.

"Careful," he whispered, leaning closer so that your shoulders touched. "You're dangerously close to distracting me."

You laughed, heart hammering. "Distracting... how?"

He tilted his head, just enough that your foreheads nearly touched. "Like this," he murmured, his hands ghosting over yours on the armrest, fingers twining with yours. "Like... wanting to do this forever, but having to wait."

Your breath hitched. Every nerve in your body was alive. He leaned back slightly, just to tease, but his knee stayed pressed against yours, brushing every so often. The tension built with every tiny touch, every lingering gaze.

You leaned in, catching his jaw with your hand, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palm. He mirrored you, tilting his face closer, lips brushing your temple, teasing your ear with a soft whisper: "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your heart raced. You shifted slightly, pressing your thigh just a little closer to his. He responded immediately, the friction making you both tense.

"Do I want to?" You asked.

"Yes," he answered softly, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss. Heat spread through you instantly. His hands roamed over your waist, tracing the curve of your hips, reverent but demanding.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, teeth grazing your lower lip just enough to make you gasp. Every brush, every touch, every press of his body against yours made your heart pound faster.

You felt his fingers slip beneath your shirt, tracing the line of your spine, worshipping every inch of you. You tugged at his shirt in return, hands roaming over his chest, memorizing the muscle and warmth beneath your fingers.

He shifted closer, hands sliding along your sides, your stomach, over your chest. Every touch was deliberate, reverent, making you arch into him.

He helped you out of your jacket, then your top, each piece discarded slowly, as if savoring it. He placed gentle kisses along your shoulders, your neck, whispering your name with a voice thick with desire. You mirrored him, exploring him reverently, hands gliding over skin, muscle, hair.

You worshipped each other—lips, hands, bodies intertwined, gasping and moaning together, tangled and dripping with need as you feel every inch of him. Every whisper, every bite, every single hold he had on you was full of unrelenting desire.

When the intensity finally ebbed, you both collapsed into each other, panting and trembling. Foreheads pressed together, fingers intertwined, every inch of you still humming with fire. Jungkook brushed your hair back, lips brushing your temple.

"I've wanted this... wanted you... for so long," he murmured, low and raw."

"Me too," you whispered back. "So long."

You lay there together, spent, wrapped in the heat of each other's bodies, knowing this was only the beginning of something far deeper than desire.

Sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, painting Jungkook's apartment in warm gold. You stirred half-buried under his arm, his chest warm beneath your cheek. The night before lingered in your mind like a wild fire—every kiss, every touch, every whispered word of need.

He shifted slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. "Morning," he murmured, voice still husky from sleep and... everything else.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Morning," you whispered back, nuzzling closer. Your fingers traced patterns on his arm, memorizing his tattoos.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and full of contentment. "I think you should officially be mine forever," he said, voice gentle but firm. "I don't want to hide this anymore."

Your heart fluttered. "Neither do I," you replied. Tangling your fingers with his.

The two of you lingered in quiet comfort, the kind of silence that didn't need words. Every brush of skin, every squeeze of fingers, every soft kiss felt like confirmation—this was real.

Eventually, he sat up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Coffee?" he asked, playful, though there was still that lingering intimacy in his gaze.

You laughed softly. "Definitely. But you're making it," you teased.

He leaned down, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips before heading to the kitchen in nothing but boxers. You stayed wrapped in the warmth of the bed, watching him, feeling that easy happiness you hadn't realized you'd been craving,

It was simple. It was tender. It was you and him.

Just the two of you, finally together, finally whole.

pairings: jungkook x reader (she/her)

[part 1.] next>

she's a nurse running on exhaustion. He's the neighbor who drives her crazy.

The apartment hallway smelled faintly of old carpet and takeout, but to you it smelled like freedom—freedom from twelve straight hours under harsh fluorescent lights, alarms blaring, patients crying, and a manager who couldn't take a hint that you were running on fumes. You wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed, scrubs and all.

But the bass hit you before you even made it to your door. Typical.

It wasn't just noise—it was deliberate, pulsing through the walls like it had a vendetta. Of course. You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly, summoning the patience you were supposed to have as a nurse. Unfortunately, you were off the clock.

Dropping your bag you marched across the hall, pounding on the door with the flat of your fist. The music cut off mid-beat. A second later, the door swung open.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook. Black hair messy, a damp t-shirt clinging to his chest like he'd just come from the gym, tattoos inked up his forearm. He leaned lazily against the doorframe, as if you'd interrupted him at his own party.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite neighbor." His voice dripped with amusement.

Your glare could have burned holes. "It's one in the morning."

"So?" He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"So some of us work twelve-hour shifts and don't want to come home to—" You waved vaguely at his apartment, where the faint smell of beer and cologne spilled out. "Chase Atlantic blasting through the walls and—gosh did you bathe in cologne before coming out here?" You tried waving the smell away.

He tilted his head, studying you. Not the words, but you. The circles under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders. His smirk softened—barely.

"Rough night, Florence Nightingale?"

You scoffed, turning away from him to grab your bag off the floor. "Do you ever stop being insufferable?"

"Not really." His grin widened. "It's kind of my thing."

You turned your key sharply in your lock, desperate to shut him out, but just as you slipped inside, you heard him call across the hall, voice lower this time.

"Try to sleep. I'll keep it down."

The door shut between you, but the words lingered in the dark—soft, unexpected, and annoyingly impossible to shake.

The next evening, the hallway was quiet. No bass vibrating through the walls, no laughter spilling from his door. Just silence—the kind you'd prayed for the night before.

You should have been relieved. Instead, you found yourself listening for it.

Your keys jingled as you unlocked your door, mind already on the shower you desperately needed, when his door swung open. As if the building conspired to make you cross paths.

He stepped out, hoodie pulled over his messy hair, a water bottle swinging loosely from his hand. He paused when he saw you, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth like it was instinct.

"Look who survived another shift."

You sighed, pushing the door open. "Barely."

He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face. Noticing the way your shoulders sagged, the way you leaned against the frame as if the weight of the day hadn't let go yet.

Something in his gaze made heat crawl up your neck.

"Rough night?" he asked.

"Funny, I didn't think you noticed things like that."

His lips twitched, but his voice came lower. "Maybe I do."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't decide if it was irritation or something dangerously close to...wanting to believe him.

You turned away, fumbling with your bag. "You've got a funny way of showing it—keeping half the building awake at night." Looking back at him with a tight smile and raised brows.

"Not tonight," He said simply.

That stilled you. No smirk, no edge. Just the truth of it hanging between you, quiet and heavy.

For a moment, the hallway felt too small. You could feel his eyes on you, burning against your skin.

You forced yourself inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

It almost felt like you had crossed a line that you couldn't name.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn't wake up to an alarm. No shrill beeping, no urgent texts begging you to cover. Just quiet sunlight slipping between the blinds and the realization that you had the whole day to yourself.

You brewed coffee, curled up on the couch with a blanket, and swore you'd get a head start on the day even though it was a little past 12 p.m.

That lasted all of ten minutes.

Because the knock on your door came sharp and unexpected. You set down your mug and crossed the living room. When you opened the door, there he was—hoodie unzipped, hair damp, a bag of takeout hanging from his hand.

He blinked, as surprised to see you upright as you were to see him standing there. "You're...home?"

"It's my apartment," You shot back. "Where else would I be?"

"Work," he said simply, like the idea of you not in scrubs didn't compute. His eyes flicked over your loose sweater, your bare legs tucked into socks, lingering a beat too long. Something unreadable crossed his face before he cleared his throat.

"Day off," You said, more defensive than you meant.

A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. "So the mysterious nurse actually does normal human things."

You crossed your arms. "Do you need something, or are you just here to state the obvious?"

He held up the bag. "Extra food. They messed up my order." A shrug. "Figured you might want it?"

The gesture caught you off guard. You stared at him, waiting for a punchline, the sarcasm, the smug grin. But for once, it didn't come.

Against your better judgement, you reached for the bag. Your fingers brushed his, and heat shot straight up your arm. He didn't pull away, didn't look away, just held your gaze like he knew exactly what it did to you.

You swallowed hard. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said softly, stepping back. But the weight of his stare lingered long after his door closed behind him.

You shut your own door slowly, bag in hand, and heart hammering.

The walls felt too close, his stare still pressed into your skin long after you'd shut the door. You ate a little of the takeout he'd given you, but the food barely registered. Restless, you pulled on some clothes and your headphones, deciding you needed some sun and fresh air.

The city felt different when you weren't racing to or from the hospital. You let yourself slow down, watching leaves scatter across the sidewalk, hands stuffed in your pockets. Just a quiet, ordinary afternoon.

You pushed open the door to your favorite cafe, already picturing the warmth of a latte between your palms. But as soon as you stepped inside, the warmth in your chest collided with something sharper.

Him.

He was already there, leaned against the counter, waiting for his order. Hoodie again, cap pulled low, but unmistakable. He turned, eyes catching yours like he'd known you were coming.

Of course. Because the city wasn't big enough to keep him out of your orbit.

His mouth curved. Not a grin, not quite a smirk. Something subtler, something dangerous. "You following me now?"

Your jaw tightened. "Please. I'd pick a better disguise if I was."

He chuckled low, and it was unfair how good it sounded in a room full of soft cafe noises. You moved past him, trying to focus on the chalkboard menu instead of the heat of his gaze tracking you.

The barista called his name. He reached for his cup, then lingered instead of leaving, like gravity had shifted and tethered him to your space.

"Didn't picture you here," he said finally. "Thought the hospital swallowed you whole."

"It didn't" You kept your tone sharp, but you couldn't stop the corner of your mouth from twitching upward.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

For a heartbeat, the air stretched thin between you, humming with unspoken things. Then someone brushed past, breaking the spell. He exhaled, straightened, and tipped his cup toward you in a mock solute.

"See you around, neighbor."

And just like that, he was gone, door swinging shut behind him, leaving you with caffeine you suddenly didn't need and a pulse that refused to settle.

A day off felt foreign, like you were stealing borrowed time. No alarms, no pagers, no sterile air pressing down on your lungs. Just a hoodie, leggings, and the grocery store on a Tuesday afternoon.

It felt relieving to have more than one day off.

But your basket was a mistake.

By the time you made it through the grocery store, it was overflowing—produce, frozen meals, snacks for your next night shift. The cashier gave you a look that said, Should've grabbed a cart, and you could only mumble something about being "just here for milk."

Now you were outside your building, juggling two heavy bags that dug into your arms, keys threatening to slip between your fingers.

"Need a hand?"

The voice came from behind, low and unmistakably amused.

You turned, and of course—it was him. Hoodie zipped halfway, hair messy, a grocery bag dangling effortlessly from his hand like it weighed nothing.

"I'm fine," you said too quickly, shifting your grip before a can of soup could tumble out.

"Sure." His eyes dropped to the way your bags were cutting into your skin. "Because that looks comfortable."

You bit down on a retort, fumbling with your keys. One bag slid lower, almost spilling, but before you could curse, Jungkook stepped forward. His hand brushed yours as he caught the strap, steadying the weight.

"Relax, Y/N," he said, already sliding the bag onto his own arm. "I'll carry it before you break both wrists."

You glared, but the relief in your arms betrayed you.

The walk down the hallway was strangely quiet. The carpet muffled your steps, and for once, he didn't fill the silence with teasing. You caught him glancing sideways, as if cataloging the way you chewed your lip in concentration, or how you kept your head down when you were tired.

At your door, you reached for the bag he carried. "Thanks. I've got it from here."

But Jungkook didn't hand it over right away. He lingered, eyes searching yours. For what—you didn't know.

Finally, he set the bag gently on the floor, stepping back. "Don't work yourself into the ground, ok?"

Something in his tone made you pause, keys cold in your hand. It wasn't mocking. You knew that he meant it.

You nodded, "Thank you." You slipped into your apartment quickly, shutting the door before you could think too hard about it.

But later, when you unpacked your groceries, you noticed one detail you couldn't ignore: he'd carried the heavier bag. The one with the milk and cans and frozen boxes.

And you hated that it made your chest ache.

You hadn't expected to see him again.

The sun was low, painting the city streets in warm gold, and you were walking home from the library with a book tucked under your arm. Just you, the quiet hum of the city, and the rare luxury of yet another day without work.

Then you spotted him.

He was leaning against a lamppost across the street, sneakers scrubbed, hoodie half-zipped, scrolling through his phone. For a moment, you considered turning down another street. But your feet betrayed you, carrying you straight toward him.

"You're everywhere," you muttered, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk.

His head snapped up, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You must love running into me."

You groaned softly, shaking your head. "Why do I even bother leaving my apartment?"

He shrugged, eyes glinting. "Maybe it's fate. Or bad luck. You decide."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but something in the warmth of the low sun, the way he leaned lazily against the post, made your chest tighten.

"Coffee break?" he asked suddenly, gesturing to the small coffee shop across the street.

You hesitated. "I don't have time—"

"Time enough," he interrupted, grinning. "For a cup. Five minutes."

And somehow, despite yourself, you said yes.

Inside, the air smelled of roasted beans and sugar, soft music playing low in the background. He sat across from you, hands wrapped around a mug.

You didn't talk much. You didn't have to. The silence was thick, electric, pulling at something neither of you were ready to name.

When you finally left, it was with the soft ache of knowing this wouldn't be your last unexpected meeting.

And as you both walked back toward your building, you felt it—the slow, steady burn of something that had been simmering under the walls, the hallway, and every encounter since.

The ER was humming with its usual chaos—monitors beeping, alarms blaring, orders shouted across the room. You moved efficiently, gloved hands snapping into action, eyes scanning every patient, every chart. This was your world. You thrived here.

The doors burst open.

Paramedics came in, gurney in tow. The voice over the radio crackled through:

"Male, mid-twenties, motorcycle collision, multiple lacerations, possible head trauma."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat before your brain caught up.

And then you saw him.

Jungkook.

His helmet was cracked, blood streaking across his damp hair and forehead. Arms bruised and bleeding, eyes wide and searching. Your stomach dropped.

"Jungkook..." you whispered, racing to intercept the gurney.

"Clear a path!" a paramedic barked. "Trauma code, we need space!"

You snapped into action, but your hands shook just slightly as you adjusted the oxygen mask, checked vitals, and assessed his injuries. The world narrowed to him—every shallow breath, every pulse, every small flicker of his dark eyes looking for you.

"Stay with me," you urged, your voice firm but tight. "You're going to be okay. I've got you."

His lips tried to curve into a teasing smirk, but it faltered. "I knew...you'd be here..." he rasped.

You pressed his hand, steadying him, swallowing hard. "No talking. Just stay awake for me."

The trauma team worked around you, voices loud, hands moving quickly, but your focus never wavered. You were tethered to him, ensuring he didn't slip away while everything else blurred.

When he was finally stabilized enough for a room, you guided him inside, adjusting his pillows, running through checks, murmuring to yourself, "Safe now. Just safe."

You placed a damp cloth to his head, wiping away some of the dry blood still left.

His gaze locked on yours, faintly amused, faintly terrified. "Guess...walls...don't meany anything anymore, huh?"

You swallowed, voice low, steady. "Not tonight."

The fluorescent lights above felt harsher than usual, and as you hovered at his bedside, gloves still on, heart hammering, you realized the truth you'd been dodging:

The walls had been holding back more than noise. They'd been holding back this—him, and the fire between you.

And now? There were no walls left.

The hospital room was quiet now, except for the soft beep of the monitors. Jungkook lay propped on the bed, bruised and bandaged, but alive—and more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him.

He lifted his head the moment you stepped inside, dark eyes searching for yours. "You came back," he murmured, voice hoarse, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "On your day off?"

"Of course," You said, trying to keep your tone light, but your chest was tight. "Who else would make sure that you could make it home?"

He tilted his head, gaze softening as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed.

"You know...all I could think about was you." He looked into your eyes as he pushed a stray hair away from your face.

"Me too, I...was so scared" you admitted, voice trembling.

He studied you, his gaze intense, dark, and raw. Then, slowly, he leaned in, lips brushing yours with a tentative, desperate tenderness that made your breath catch.

The kiss deepened, soft at first, then edged with the fire you'd been holding back for months—anger, longing, frustration, and something undeniably hot. Hands tangled in hair and shirt, heart hammering, the last of the walls finally crumbling between you.

When you finally pulled back, just slightly, he rested his forehead against yours, voice low and rough. "I've wanted this...for so long."

You pulled him back down to you for another short, but sweet kiss.

The room felt smaller, warmer, charged with everything you'd denied for months. Outside, the city hummed, indifferent, but inside this little space, everything had changed.

No more walls. No more distance. Just him. Just you.

And for the first time, the fire between you burned without restraint.