🧸

In a private booth of a nightclub, a group of long-legged, broad-shouldered alphas huddle around the table, drinks in hands. The air is layered with pheromones and adrenaline, occasionally flashing with neon lights and blurred with thin smoke. 

In the middle of the couch, Heeseung sits leisurely, manspreading with ease. On either side of him, Jay and Riki lean back in a similar posture, each of them engaged in the conversation bouncing between the team.

The team has just won a friendly match against their long-sworn rival, a university from the east, after a frustrating streak of loss for two consecutive tournaments. It wasn’t really a landslide win, considering their competitive skills, but a win is a win. A satisfied smirk curls around Heeseung’s bow-shaped lips, his alpha purring with pride.

Friendly or not, the whiskey surely tastes extra sweet tonight.

“Did you see K’s face just now?” Riki pipes up from his left, still buzzing with adrenaline. Being the last man to score and secure the win for them, it’s obviously hard for Riki to contain his enthusiasm. He’s beaming wide. “I did that. I wiped that smirk off his face, gentlemen!”

The rest of the team roars in reply, infected by Riki’s contagious excitement. Heeseung and Jay wear a fond smile on their lips, clearly delighted to see the younger alpha’s happiness. Glasses clink again as they toast to their win, and to their future wins, and to the sexy, beautiful cheerleading omegas that played a part in keeping their spirits up just now—to which Jay grimaces and Riki rolls his eyes at. Heeseung snorts.

He forgets that he’s friends with a prude and a loyal, claimed alpha.

“Speaking of omegas,” Heeseung tilts his head at Riki when the chatters break into small groups of conversations among the team, leaving him to talk to two of his closest friends. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Ki. Like seeing a four-leaf clover.”

Jay joins in, his signature lopsided grin on display. “I half-expected you to run home to your girlfriend. It’s hard to see you hang out with us at the club now, pup.”

Riki crosses his arms with a dramatic huff. His bottom lip juts out in a pout. In this light, when Riki shows this side of him, free from fake nonchalance and his cool persona, Heeseung sees him ten years younger than his actual age. Riki is so cute.

“I fully expected to run home to her too, hyung. But she forced me to come here. Said something like I should celebrate my win with y’all,” Riki sighs, messing with his newly-dyed hair and tipping his head back. “So here I am. Drinking with you idiots when I could’ve cuddled with my sweet, sweet omega at home.”

Jay feigns offence while Heeseung laughs. The both of them know too well of Riki’s devotion to his girlfriend. Maybe it’s the alpha-omega bond, or just the fact that they’ve known each other practically their whole lives, but Riki is never at ease whenever she’s not around. 

But tonight, the alpha seems more relaxed than usual. He’s not playing with his fingers or toying with the hem of his shirt like he always did when his girlfriend is absent. Heeseung wonders why the sudden change until he catches a glimpse of something at the back of Riki’s neck.

His brows furrow. His movement falters mid-air.

“Riki? Is that…” Heeseung squints his eyes, trying to see better while the tips of Riki’s ears slowly redden. From his right, Heeseung can hear a soft gasp from Jay.

“Holy shit. Is that your mating mark, Ki?”

It is. It is a mating mark, Heeseung realises, when a purple neon light flashes on Riki’s wounded skin. The alpha is rubbing his neck sheepishly now, heat sweeping across his cheeks. Despite his sudden shy demeanour, Heeseung can smell the pride in his sandalwood scent, and in that moment he finally notices the subtle layer of sweet vanilla—Riki’s girlfriend’s scent—in Riki’s pheromones.

“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still red like a tomato. “I mated with her last night.”

“Wow,” Jay breathes out in amazement, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “About time, man! You’re finally mated!”

Jay’s exclamation attracts attention and soon, the whole group is congratulating Riki on the milestone. The said alpha is red down to his neck now, clearly not expecting the sudden shift of focus on him but still relishing in the pride of having his mating mark, if the musky lilt to his pheromones is anything to go by. 

Heeseung remains a quiet observer, watching as Riki pulls down the collar of his shirt to proudly show the mark. Two other alphas join him as they speak fondly of their omegas, relishing in their identical mating mark on their napes. Beside him, Jay listens with an adoring smile. There’s a certain longing in his gaze when he stares at the mated alphas that doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung. 

Heeseung averts his eyes away, trying to forget that familiar look on Jay’s face. He almost scoffs at the image.

He knows that look like the back of his hand. 

Jay, too, yearns for a mate. Like Riki. Unlike Heeseung.

Mate. It’s the word that is so common in omegaverse but so foreign in Heeseung’s little world.

If Jay is a walking green flag that effortlessly attracts omegas with his gentleman charms, Heeseung is a running red flag that chases after willing omegas. If Jay stays away from wild sex life, Heeseung lives by it. If Jay dates to marry, Heeseung fucks to breathe. He’s everything Jay’s not that Riki was so bewildered when the two first met him.

Don’t get him wrong—he’s not the creepy kind of chaser. Rather, he likes to call himself the sexy one. It’s not hard for him to pull; just a few flirty comments here and a couple of filthy whispers there and the next hour he’ll have an omega to bring home and under him. 

He doesn’t know if he’s the only one wired this way, but where territorial instincts stream in his alpha blood, his sexual desires run even harder and faster. It’s like an itch that just won’t get away if he doesn’t scratch at it. He’s an attractive alpha with a high sex drive, he admits it, but is he really wrong to accept any omegas with his long, eager arms?

He thinks not.

Plus, they’re omegas. Heeseung tries not to objectify them, but gosh, the scent wafting from them is always so sweet and inviting. They’re curved softly, meant to hold and love the right, physical way that he’s known how to. He’s a weak man, and an even weaker alpha; Heeseung can’t resist a good fuck between two consenting adults and he always, always consents to being sucked off dry and scratched to bleed. 

Fuck, just thinking about it is already making him excited.

Heeseung’s eyes wander, tuning out the conversation about mate as he scans for any attractive omega. It’s starting to bore him—the talk about mate and having a mate and being mated—so he’s entertaining himself with the exposed skin and swaying hips of dancing omegas on the dance floor.

For someone like him that gets off on having sex with omegas and being drunk on their sweet pheromones, mating culture is a big no for him. The idea of being tied to only one omega makes him laugh; it sounds ridiculous to him. He’s an alpha capable of giving and his knot is not limited to only one hole, so why should he settle?

Only hopeless-romantic alphas believe in the belief of fated mates. And unfortunately, two of his friends do. Heeseung mentally rolls his eyes.

He decides that he’s had enough when the mated alphas start talking about having pups; another commitment that makes goosebumps rise in his skin. Wordlessly, he places his shot glass on the table, having sipped only half of it throughout the night. 

“Leaving already?” Jay asks, craning his neck when Heeseung stands. The latter only cocks his head to the dance floor with a knowing look. The corner of his mouth curves into a playful smirk when Jay makes a face.

“The usual.”

Jay shakes his head. “Whatever. Just don’t do it raw.”

“I’m always clean and safe, Jongseong.” Heeseung retorts, already taking his leave. “Call me when you’re leaving.”

Whatever Jay replies is muffled by the loud bass and Heeseung couldn’t care less to know what the alpha has said. Probably throwing him insults for using him as his personal chauffeur again. Heeseung only shrugs. Jay’s not his concern tonight. He has a bigger fish, or rather, a pretty wolf, to catch.

His eyes sweep across the space. From where he’s standing, his nose can pick up different scents of alphas and omegas. Even the faint scent of betas are visible, usually amplified by alcohol and adrenaline. He’s still deciding between two male omegas throwing asses back on the dance floor and a group of female omegas giggling at a table not far from him when a spiked scent stabs at his senses.

His nose instantly scrunches, frowning as he tries to detect that smell. An omega in distress. It’s faint, coming from the direction of the exit door, but he can’t see anyone crying or visibly uncomfortable in his line of sight.

Heeseung looks around, momentarily distracted from his initial mission. Nobody seems to notice the scent, however, and Heeseung blames his dominant traits for this. He sometimes forgets that he’s a dominant alpha. Unlike Jay and Riki, his senses are more sensitive and developed, which is a blessing when he’s looking for a hookup and a curse when he’s inside the locker room after a game when the air is drenched in his teammates’ pheromones. Heeseung shudders at the memories. He’s always the first to shower and leave the room because only Riki smells good when sweating.

His thoughts are brought back when the scent intensifies. Heeseung keeps sniffing and blindly follows the trail of wilting daisies and burnt honey, his shoulders braced and jaw tense. He doesn’t know why, but the scent has awakened his senses to a new degree. His alpha is on full alert now. 

He passes by dancing bodies and tables to get to the exit door but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. Heeseung looks down.

A soft, seductive voice reaches his ears. “Heeseung-ssi?”

Heeseung blinks at the smiling omega. After a second of stunned silence, he finally recognises the logo on her varsity jacket and the makeup on her face. Realisation dawns upon him.

She’s part of his college’s cheerleader squad.

The omega is running a hand up and down his arm now, arching her back to flaunt the soft swell of her chest. Behind her, her fellow cheerleaders watch closely, hiding eager smiles behind their palms. Heeseung looks down at her hand, gulping despite himself. 

“Spare me a few minutes, will you, my precious, capable alpha?”

Her voice is so enticing, dripping with the kind of allure Heeseung’s so much familiar with. There is a strong wave of her sweet scent—bubblegum and cotton candy, Heeseung notes—coming from her in full force. She’s fluttering her lashes now, hoping he’ll get the message. 

Heeseung does; oh does he get the message so well. He knows what she’s hinting on and on any other nights he’ll succumb to the temptation without putting any efforts to think, melting into a puddle of juices at the slightest touch of seductive omegas. It’s a no-brainer decision for him, usually, because he’s always ready to fuck and he always brings a pack of condom with him for this sole reason.

But tonight his wolf is restless. And the reason is none other than the bitter scent still clinging to his nose.

Heeseung gives a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and removes her hand from his arm. The omega frowns, brows almost uniting at the center when the alpha takes a step back.

“Next time, yeah?”

Without waiting for her reply, Heeseung slips away from the crowd, ignoring the sour turn of her pheromones. He can feel their eyes boring into his back, but that’s not his concern now. Following the haunting scent and the sudden flaring instincts to get closer to the owner of it, Heeseung lets his legs bring him closer to the exit door. 

Heeseung hates to admit it, but right now, his wolf is thrashing at the bitter scent and his chest feels like caving in. He can feel the itch in his nails; his claws are threatening to sharpen. He frowns.

He’s never reacted this way to any omegas in distress. So why now? Why this particular scent?

When he reaches the door, Heeseung doesn’t waste a second to push it open and steps outside. As he does so, a weight suddenly crashes into his chest, pushing him slightly backwards from the force.

“Oof—” 

Heeseung reaches up to steady the figure by the arms. At this sudden proximity, the scent is thicker, the wilting daisies are more prominent it's making his heart constrict. Heeseung lets out a deep exhale and looks down to the person practically in his arms. 

A female omega. Clearly in distress, judging by the unshed tears and the tremble in her lips. A familiar varsity jacket drapes across her frame and Heeseung feels his breath stop when he recognises that face.

It’s you. One of the cheerleaders. Heeseung knows many cheerleaders, having been in bed with most of them; but even the most forgetful alpha will remember an omega like you.

A sweet face with a sweeter scent to match, but you are always detached from alphas and their advances. You’re the shy cheerleader his teammates always talk about. The untouchable one. The politely-smile-and-then-reject omega. Heeseung remembers you too well, being one of those rejected alphas himself.

He still remembers how disappointed his wolf was, whining and pouting when a pretty omega he had his eyes on rejected him. But Heeseung is a respectful alpha. He’ll take a no as a no. And you were also so kind when doing so that he moved on from it pretty fast and well.

That was one year ago.

Now you’re crying in his arms, for whatever reasons he doesn’t know and is determined to find out. He can feel your hold on his arms tighten, the spike in your scent when you recognise him, and the hitch in your breath that follows. The bitter scent is definitely coming from you.

“H-Heeseung?” Your voice is so small, like you’re not sure if you can call his name. It’s shaky and breathless. “Please help me.”

Behind you, Heeseung can see three shadows entering the alleyway. Even from the distance, his nose immediately picks up the pheromones of aroused alphas; thick and unpleasant. Your scent lingers amidst the stench, wavering in fear, so heavy he can practically taste it on his tongue. Heeseung instinctively pulls you closer.

“Are they bothering you?”

You nod frantically, the tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. When you speak, your voice is wet from tears and fear.

Nothing can ever prepare Heeseung for the words that are about to leave your mouth.

“P-Please…Please scent me.” You sob, clutching the sleeves of his T-shirt tighter. Heeseung’s breath stutters. “Please, Heeseung.”

Scent-mark. A low rumble sounds from his chest.

You’re asking him to mark you. To…claim you. It’s basically you asking him to bond with you, to shower you with his pheromones and make you smell like him. Smell like you’re his.

This is not what Heeseung’s looking forward to tonight. The fantasy of saving an omega in distress and scent-marking belongs to Jay, an alpha that was even willing to help an omega in heat out of the goodness of his heart. But not Heeseung. That’s never Heeseung. Heeseung doesn’t play the hero; he’s the one stealing the female lead from them.

Scent-marking is way…too intimate to share between two complete strangers with no interaction—that is, if you consider being rejected to having sex together as zero interaction.

Heeseung looks between you and the shadows closing in, then licks his lips. “I can’t,” he tries, and the broken look on your face damn near makes his heart take the same fate. Heeseung schools his expression, forcing himself to push you slightly away from him.

“I—This is not right. You don’t want this.”

He can’t take advantage of you. This is just your scared omega speaking. Outside of this situation, he’s damn sure you’d refuse any kind of bonds with him. Heeseung might be a sex addict, but he’s not an asshole.

But you pull him with you, shaking your head as you keep taking a glance at the approaching alphas. “I do! Please,” you choke, failing to keep your voice steady as you plead at the alpha in front of you. Heeseung forces restraint to his instincts. “Please just scent-mark me, Heeseung. I-I can’t—They will—” You heave a deep breath, your scent taking a sourer lilt at his refusal.

“They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.”

Something sharp stabs at his chest, rendering him speechless and frozen for a moment. Heeseung stares at your trembling figure, at your shrinking body as if to make yourself disappear, and it suddenly hits him how disgusting the whole situation is.

They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.

Alphas only take a no when it comes from another alpha.

Heeseung feels nauseous. His throat closes in and there’s a quiet ringing in his ears. In that heavy, stilled silence, everything is muffled to his senses. Only the echoes of your words ripple in his mind.

Unless it’s another alpha.

It’s a hard pill to swallow; one that Heeseung finds it bitter to believe—because it’s so, so easy to walk away from omegas than force yourself on them. It’s so, so easy to shoot your pride down than dwell on it and go feral over a rejection. It’s so, so easy to respect an omega, even for a fuckboy like him, so why is it hard for other alphas to do so?

And the result of this harsh world, of this fucked up power imbalance is sobbing in his arms, shaking and forcing herself to be okay with an unwanted bond just to save herself. Heeseung’s heart breaks for you, for the fate that follows a beautiful being like you just because of secondary genders and because the world says so.

“Please, I-I don’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Heeseung whispers, rubbing a soothing circle on your arms. Your crying subsides a fraction. “I’ll scent you if that makes you feel better. Is that…okay?”

You blink at him tearily, streaks of salty tears tainting your unblemished cheeks. Even with a swollen face, you still look as pretty as he remembers.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a hold of your wrist when he senses those alphas getting near. “Or we can just get inside and call the cops on them if you change your mind. You can find—”

“No,” you grip him tighter, your previously-calmed scent spiking again. “Cops are useless. T-They won’t—please, Heeseung. You know how they are.”

You know how unfair the system is.

Heeseung swallows hard before he nods, the burnt honey in your pheromones starting to get really thick and sticky. He rubs the inside of your wrists, slow and deliberate, before bringing the scent gland to his nose. It’s the most appropriate point to scent, less intimate than scenting at your neck, which he guesses the last thing you want from him right now.

The tip of his nose caresses the delicate skin tentatively, testing and tasting before he takes a deep inhale. Immediately, the scent of daisies and honey fill up his senses and Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling. There is a rush of energy bursting through his veins, his senses tingling and his wolf purring at the sweet combination of your pheromones. Heeseung feels his wolf hum, almost singing and sighing, like his muscles are unknotting in a hot spring. 

It’s strange. It’s new. But Heeseung pushes the thoughts aside.

He runs his nose over your wrist over and over again, blanketing you in his pheromones and starting to feel you relax in his arms.

The tension in your shoulders visibly disappears as you let yourself melt into Heeseung. You sigh. Heeseung’s pheromones are just like him; warm spice of cinnamon carried by cool air of sea breeze. It symbolises his fierce persona on the court and his calm demeanour when he’s out of his jersey perfectly. You lean into him further, your squirming wolf unknowingly calms down when being washed by his pheromones.

If Heeseung notices the change in your demeanour, he doesn’t say anything about it, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. His singular focus is entirely on your pulse, nosing at your wrist and pumping out his calming pheromones. When he opens his eyes, they mirror the look in yours: dazed and slightly glassy. The air is now loaded with daisies and cinnamon, intertwining with each other in a perfect, balanced mix of scent. 

Heeseung tries to ignore the loud pounding of his heart, but it’s all he can hear. He tries to ignore the stars in your eyes, but it’s all he can see. He tries to ignore how perfectly balanced the mix of your scent is with his. His grip on your wrist tightens, breath caught in his throat. His wolf refuses to let you go, wanting to keep you here, tucked safely in his embrace for as long as he can.

And that thought is so foreign and scary. He really hopes that’s just his wolf and not him.

“Hey, little bunny.” A sick, twisted voice interrupts. 

Oh, right. 

Those fucking, disgusting alphas.

Heeseung is always slouching, making him appear shorter than he actually is. But in that moment, he’s standing so tall, dominating the space around him like the air is making room for him itself. 

He instinctively pulls you behind him, shielding you from the hungry eyes of the approaching alphas. His shoulders are braced like they’re ready for an impact and Heeseung has to force a snarl down his throat when his eyes land on the wolves.

When the shadows step under the light, it takes less than a second for Heeseung to see the jerseys clinging to their bodies before he realises who he’s looking at. 

They’re the players from the opposing team that his team just beat tonight. 

K, EJ, and Nicholas.

Heeseung grinds his jaw so hard he might pop a vessel.

“If it’s not the mighty Lee Heeseung,” K taunts, wearing a smug smirk like a badge at the sight in front of him. He cocks his head, trying to see you over Heeseung’s shoulders. You cower. “Mind sharing your pretty little cheerleader? She’s exactly my type, shy but slutty.”

Shame spreads across your skin and you screw your eyes shut. Shy and slutty, you bite your lips. You’re nothing but a kinky fantasy for alphas like them.

As if sensing your turmoil, Heeseung stands taller, his eyes narrowing thin.

“Get lost.” Heeseung tries to hold back, but the rage he feels seeps through anyway. “And cover your gland, for fuck’s sake. You stink.”

K’s eyebrows shoot up, his grin turning cheshire. “Come on, man. Are you gatekeeping your cheerleaders?” K tries to take a peek at you, but Heeseung moves and covers you with his whole body. His frown deepens. “You had fucked her already. Don’t be greedy, captain.”

His alpha minions laugh, and Heeseung is now seeing red. Something hot spreads in his chest, burning in his vein like wildfire at the insult. Was it a hit to his ego and his shameless sexual routine? Definitely, but Heeseung never takes it to heart. Rather, it’s the way you gasp and sob into his back, shaken by the disgusting assumption of your dignity and your virginity. The storm of the ocean spikes in the air, taking his pheromones to a dangerous peak, gathering a tide to a new height.

Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever released pheromones this bad. But something about seeing the same pattern of omegas falling victim to empty-headed alphas makes his blood boil.

Behind him, you whimper, your omega reacting to the agitated alpha in front of you. But Heeseung is now relentless. He holds out an arm around your waist, protecting you from their sight in a tight, almost-possessive grip.

“Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t you get it?” Heeseung seethes, pupils thinning as the laughter dies down. “She doesn’t want you. In what fucking language must she say no for your stupid brain to understand? She’s—”

Mine. She’s mine, his wolf howls. My omega. 

Heeseung grits his teeth.

No, she’s not. Get a fucking grip, Lee Heeseung. You don’t have a mate.

“...not a toy.”

The sea-salt bite of his pheromones thickens in the alley. K scoffs, stepping forward in offense but is stopped by Nicholas. The latter has his arm shot out against K’s chest, preventing him from approaching the couple.

“No, K,” Nicholas murmurs, nose sniffing at the heavy pheromones in the air. Underneath the eye-watering spice of cinnamon and the raging storm of Heeseung’ sea breeze scent, there is a tangled sweetness of daisies and honey clinging to it. He visibly gulps. “They’re together. And Heeseung…”

Nicholas throws him a side eye, giving him a once-over briefly. He takes in the sharp glare directed his way, the downturned curl of his mouth, the tense shoulders ready to pounce. Nicholas shudders imperceptibly and shakes his head.

“…He’s a dominant alpha.”

His statement, though meant to deescalate the situation, only rages Heeseung on further. The alpha takes a menacing step forward, eyes narrowing thin at the trio. They falter back.

“Get this in your empty brains you freaks,” Heeseung grits, fuming beyond reason. Nicholas swears he sees something red flickering in his irises. 

“When someone says no, you back the fuck off. Dominant alpha or not. Omega or not.” He spits out the word, the venom in his voice nearly poisons the air. “Do you fucking get it?”

His raging pheromones are turning physical, pressing on each pair of lungs like lead on a mattress. Nicholas fights the urge to cover his nose and pulls his two friends backwards with him.

“We get it. Sorry, captain.”

“Not me,” Heeseung hisses. A low growl rumbles in warning. “Her.”

Nicholas licks his lips and nods. He bows down quickly, forcing the other alphas to bend despite it hurting his pride. K reluctantly follows, though his eyes return the glare Heeseung gives him in a similar intensity. 

“We’re sorry, omega. Shit, I don’t know your name, but—we’re sorry.”

In the next moment, the three alphas are already retreating. Nicholas aggressively whispers something among them while K visibly restrains himself from running back to Heeseung. He clearly doesn’t mind taking up a challenge with the dominant alpha and Heeseung finds himself not minding to dirty his hands too.

A beat of heavy silence falls upon you. You stay rooted in place, pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung is still facing away from you, ragged breathing slowing down. The air of dense pheromones is thinning out, leaving behind trails of spicy cinnamon and soft daisies.

You let out a breath and your knees buckle. 

Heeseung is by your side in a flash, the same, now-familiar arms caging you against his tall frame. You put your hands on his chest, trying to steady the wobble in your legs.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay now. They’re gone.”

They really are. You cry. They’re actually gone.

An ugly sob racks through your chest and soon, the wilting daisies are back, staining the air with crumpled petals and sad flowers. Heeseung tightens his hold. He doesn’t like seeing people cry, but his alpha apparently despises it the most when he sees you in this state.

His calming pheromones pour out in waves, hands carding through your hair gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

You’re safe with me.

Your crying slows down. For a few seconds, you let yourself savour the warmth of Heeseung’s  embrace. Closer, his pheromones, layered with a faint trail of his body wash, are stronger, filling up the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you. Strangely, the spice and the salt work wonders on calming you down.

Your wolf—previously anxious and distressed—is now quiet. 

Heeseung adjusts his hold on you, and in that moment do you only realise in horror how long you’ve been shamelessly hugging him. Like a reflex, you pull away from his embrace, cheeks now flaming red when his shirt is now stained with two big spots of your tears.

“I’m sorry!” Your palms instinctively rub at the stains, as if they can dry out the tears out of the fabric. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”

Heeseung looks down, silently watching the small of your palms against his broad chest. There’s a strange flutter that follows, quiet and unfamiliar. He hopes that you can’t feel it through the fabric.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Heeseung murmurs, eyes finding their ways back to your face. Red nose, swollen eyes, blotched cheeks. You really went through it, still sniffling as you still try to fix the stains on his shirt. A small part of him twists uncomfortably.

Heeseung catches your wrists, his thumbs moving almost instinctively against the soft skin.Your breath catches as you lift your gaze to look at him.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks, voice soft and gentle. You immediately nod, admittedly feeling better after being bathed in his calming pheromones.

“I’m okay. Just a bit thirsty.”

He searches your face, as if trying to detect any kind of discomfort or distress. But in the end, he ends up staring into your eyes, counting the lashes that guard your beautiful eyes.

It should end there. He really should just escort you back into the safety of your friend group and leave you be. Perhaps, he can go find the previous omega, seduce his way back and bring her home. The normal. The usual.

But something inside stirs in protest to that idea, and so instead he finds himself saying: “Let’s get you something to drink.”

The convenience store is bright under the dark sky, located just two blocks away from the nightclub. It’s already past one in the morning, but to the people of the night, it’s only the beginning of fun. From a distance, the queue line is only getting longer.

Beside you, Heeseung is walking on the edge of the pavement, looking out for cars despite the slow traffic. He’s been quiet since the alleyway, seemingly lost in thought. Occasionally, his hand will brush yours, a quiet graze that sends electricity in your system. You try not to react.

The convenience store is empty, save for a group of partygoers sobering up around the round table outside, leaving only a long bench beside the door empty. You stop when Heeseung does, his hand already tapping on the sensory handle.

“Wait here. I’ll buy you something to drink.”

You nod, obediently sitting down. Heeseung takes one last look at you before he enters the store, the harsh lights greeting his tired eyes. He grabs the coldest mineral water and stops in front of the necessities shelves.

Without thinking, his hand moves like it has a mind of its own, grabbing whatever his eyes land on—a heat pack, chocolate, a pack of wet tissues. It’s only when the cashier scans the items that he pauses, staring at the items with wide eyes.

Since when does he…do this?

“Anything to add, sir?”

Heeseung gulps, looks past the cashier’s head, and lands on the rows of pills behind him.

She cried too much, she might have a headache.

And so, as if on instinct, Heeseung adds paracetamol to his receipt.

Outside, the air is cooler, biting at exposed skin like a bug. Heeseung wordlessly sits beside you, placing the plastic bag on his lap. You curiously peek into the bag.

“That’s a lot. Are you hungry?”

Heeseung pauses, realisation dawns upon him. His instincts flare again. “No. Are you? Do you want ramyeon? Or packed rice? I can—”

“No! It’s fine, Heeseung,” you laugh softly, the sound like a melodious chime of a bell to his ears. “I had dinner.”

Heeseung visibly relaxes and nods. He hands you the bottle first, twisting the cap open before passing it over without a word. He watches you drink, takes the bottle from you, and gives you the heat pack next.

You blink at him. “It’s cold,” Heeseung shrugs, pulling your hand towards him and placing the heat pack on your palm. He closes your fingers over it. “This will warm you up a bit.”

For a second, you just stare at him. The warmth in your hand spreads from your fingers up to your chest, where your heart is thumping wildly at his gentle act.

You bring the heat pack to your neck, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you stare at him, cheeks blooming red. They put him in a trance, your eyes, as Heeseung finds himself unable to look away. His gaze then drops to your lips when they move, already clinging to every syllable without even knowing it.

“Thank you, Heeseung.”

The flutter comes back, now more frantic and aggressive than before, like a caged bird trying to escape. This time, Heeseung forces himself to look away, the plastic bag wrinkles under his tightening grip. 

“Don’t mention it.”

“I mean it, though.” You counter back, gazing at the passing cars as you feel a gust of chilling wind breezing through. You scoot closer to the heat beside you. “It was really scary. Thank you for helping me out.”

There’s a bitter tone, faint and subtle, to your scent, as if you’re recalling the ugly incident that just happened almost half an hour ago. Heeseung clenches his jaw. 

Before he can stop it, his pheromones spill out like soft waves, calming and comforting, cocooning you again like a safety blanket. His wolf hums in quiet satisfaction, watching the way your shoulders loosen, the tension melting off you bit by bit.

Heeseung doesn’t know when or how it happened, but there’s no gap between you now. But he doesn’t hate it like he thought he would. Here, you’re so close to him, your shoulder practically glued to his, seeking warmth from his body heat.

It’s a foreign feeling. A comfortable, foreign feeling.

You stay in that position, slowly getting drunk on his pheromones. Your eyes droop, fighting sleep, but the exhaustion from running away from scary alphas has finally caught up to you. Before you know it, your head dips against his shoulder, breath evening out as your fingers lose their grip on the heat pack. 

Heeseung swallows. He doesn’t dare move. From the proximity, he can smell your fruity hair wash, blending smoothly with your scent. 

It’s so unfair. Every inch of you smells really good, whether it’s your natural scent or the products that you use. It’s like every inch of your skin decides that you only deserve to smell the best, and Heeseung himself can’t help but agree too. It’s so unfair.

Heeseung finds his hands hover awkwardly in the air, hesitating for a second before settling carefully on your head. His fingers thread through your hair, slower this time.

“Don’t feel scared anymore,” he mumbles, gently caressing the dark strands of your hair. 

It’s me who should feel scared.

His fingers freeze in your hair. 

Scared. He is scared.

This is not him. If Riki or Jay were to walk in to see him in this state, they’d drag him to the nearest police station and demand they find the real Heeseung. The normal Heeseung. The usual Heeseung.

The Heeseung that doesn’t stay, or spend his time watching people breathe in their sleep. The Heeseung who’s out the door before the sheets even cool down. The Heeseung that dislikes small touches like these; like caressing the hair of the girl he just saved, because the only physical touch he brands himself with is sex.

Not this. Not whatever this is.

He wants to move, but his body doesn’t listen—he stays despite himself. His wolf, like it’s found something it’s been looking for all along, settles deeper instead, quiet and satisfied. You nuzzle closer into his body and Heeseung feels his chest tighten.

Something uneasy creeps up his spine.

This should feel suffocating. It should itch under his skin, make him want to pull away, shake you off, leave. 

But it doesn’t. It feels easy. Too easy, in fact.

And it scares the shit out of him.

When your senses return to you, the first thing that greets you is someone’s scent.

Warm, spicy cinnamon and calm, salty sea air.

The memory follows not long after; of angry frowns and disgusting smirks that make your skin crawl. Amidst it all, a familiar face flashes in your mind and you feel your heart stutter.

Heeseung.

The pulse in your wrist thuds violently, as if not letting you forget the owner of the pheromones now wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You faintly remember, in your subconscious, being carried to a car and your roommate, Yujin, hugging you in panic. Unconsciously, you pull your blanket closer to your chest.

Did Heeseung send you home? Did he really…scent-mark you to help you?

You bite your lips between your teeth. The clarity is palpable now that the haziness of pheromones and distress are no longer around. There’s no way an alpha—a dominant one, at that—is willing to scent-mark an omega he has no connections to. The implications are more than the action itself. Heeseung surely knows about that, right? 

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream.

What a capable alpha, your wolf preens. Shut up, you hiss.

Then, as if the universe was insistent to prove you wrong, your eyes land on a plastic bag placed neatly on top of your vanity, a damning evidence of last night’s incident.

No way.

Your brain swirls with possibilities and your own made-up theories that it has started to throb faintly. Before you could lose your sanity, thread by unraveling thread, you rush to the bathroom to, hopefully, get rid of his scent, even when your omega begs you not to.

Unfortunately for the human-you, the cinnamon trails after you even post-showers. It clings to your clothes when you change and it doesn’t let you go even as you sit for breakfast prepared by your doting roommate. It’s strange, really. No one’s scent ever clung to you so stubbornly like this, like a chewing gum latching on shoe soles. You always cuddle with Yujin and even her green tea pheromones never stay with you after washing up.

“It’s a bit odd, yes,” Yujin munches through a mouthful of her own signature pancake. “But it’s not totally out-of-this-world. His scent will fade by this evening, I promise.”

You chew painfully slowly, eyes going wide at another possibility. “You don’t think that I conjured some kind of bond with him, right?”

It’s common knowledge that a thin, fragile bond can be easily formed when an alpha and an omega scent each other, mated or not. After all, context and intention are greatly considered, whether it’s meant for familiarity, protection, or possessiveness—each one will determine how long it’ll last.

You pull at the sleeves of your cardigan, a telltale sign of your anxiousness. The same wilting daisies accent of your scent from the night before comes back, signalling your impending distress. Yujin drops her fork and reaches a hand to yours.

“Hey, hey. Calm down for a sec, Y/N.”

“It’s just,” you swallow harshly, your traitorous mind replaying the scene from last night. Your heart thumps at the base of your throat. “I don’t know—fuck. I forced him to do this. And—and despite the circumstances, he still helped me and now…now I think…”

Your eyes turn glassy, reminded of the wolf residing deep inside you.

“I think my omega might like him.”

Yujin is silent for a moment, assessing the right words to say. It’s obvious to everyone on campus of the nature of Lee Heeseung. He’s not exactly the alpha you’d seek for companionship or commitment; he seems to be allergic to those things. 

And to get your wolf to like him…well, let’s say that you’re already set for thousand-words of angst and a life of yearning. Yujin isn’t exactly fond of the idea of dishing out what you already knew. You already seem restless enough with your own thoughts.

“Okay. That’s valid.” Yujin starts slowly, treading through every syllable like a mother to her kindergartener son. “He’s super attractive. It’s understandable. But you can, you know—unlike him.”

You perk up at that, though the doubt clouding your face is more prominent now. “How?”

“Find a better alpha,” Yujin shrugs, as if explaining the world’s simplest equation. “For the record, I do think Heeseung’s a good guy, just not in the romantic department. I don’t know why your wolf is picking a fuckboy out of all alphas, but taste is subjective.”

“It’s because he stepped up and protected me!” You deflect and pause, realising how defensive of him you have become. Yujin raises a brow and you sigh, defeated, slumping in your seat.

“Fuck. Now my omega hates you for badmouthing him.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Just kill me.”

Yujin shoots you a small smile, pushing your now-cold plate closer to you. You reluctantly take a bite. “Why not someone else, though? You could ask literally any other alpha, like—” Yujin pauses and it takes her less than a second to pick a name. “Jay. Like Jay. He’s like, the safest option, the greenest flag. But why Heeseung? And don’t tell me it’s because he was the only one there—you could’ve just barged in and found someone else. It’s a freaking nightclub.”

You freeze, unmoving for a slow second. There is, of course, an answer to that. One that you admittedly avoid to admit, because admitting it will admit that there is something underneath that only you know, and you admit that it’s scary to admit that. Fuck this admission! Yujin wouldn’t make fun of you, right?

“I…” You trail off, second-guessing your decision. Should you really tell your roommate? Seeing the eager look on her face, with her sweet, cute dimples showing up, you decide that people with dimples should be banned from this world. Promptly, you’re reminded of your junior—an alpha with Jungwon or something as his name. The both of them possessed dimples that could make any alpha (or omega) drop down to their knees.

Alas, you force yourself to tell the truth.

“I smelled him for afar.” You watch carefully for Yujin’s reaction. “Like, from outside. While I was running from those scary alphas.”

Yujin contemplates. “Did you feel some kind of a pull towards him?”

You don’t even contemplate. “Yes.” 

“Holy shit,” Yujin laughs, her grin turning giddy. “This shit is actually real?!”

“What is?!” You frown, not liking being kept in the dark. A playful punch lands on Yujin’s shoulder, who’s now throwing her head back in laughter. Unconsciously, a pout is formed on your lips.

“What is it? Tell me!”

“It’s just, there’s this joke going around,” Yujin hiccups between every inhale, “that an omega will eventually crave for his knot. I can’t believe it’s happening to you!”

The lines in your forehead deepen. You regard your roommate with a look of contempt, thinking of the best spot to hide a body.

“That’s not true. I don’t crave his knot, or whatever it is.” You sigh, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know what? I’m just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen.”

Resigned and defeated, you rise and bring your plate to the sink. Your class doesn’t start until the next three hours, and then the evening is reserved for your new routine practice for the upcoming tournament. The ninety-two unread messages from the group chat are still left unopened; you haven’t had time to review the routine video yet.

You put on your apron and reach for the cabinet. When in distress or deep thoughts, other than nesting in your bedroom, you often opt to stress-bake instead. The scent of baked goods always puts you at ease, and it blends sweetly with your daisies and honey pheromones. Everyone who knows you knows to empty their stomach and be ready for a mass sweet-feeding whenever you’re in your stressed baker mode.

Behind you, Yujin’s laughter dies in her throat. Then, a question that stops you in your tracks comes.

“Hey, you don’t think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates, right?”

Fated mates. The words settle like a heavy blanket, pressing you down with its weight and keeping you warm altogether. 

It’s sacred. It’s ancient. It’s something that you never speak of lightly, afraid that a slip of a tongue would taint the purity of such a bond. Against all odds and critiques on the concept of fated mates, you’re part of the minority who believed in it, no matter how foolish or ridiculous it may sound.

You believe in fated mates. You believe in the name written in the stars, in the love that has been shaped and created just to cherish you. You believe in spending the rest of your life looking for a face that your heart would recognise in a heartbeat, feeling that inevitable pull like you’re each other’s missing half.

But after last night, do you think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates?

Heeseung, who’s always made it clear to everyone about his relationship with commitments?

Heeseung, who never shies away when the boys tease him about the girls he sleeps with?

You’re never one to judge someone’s sex life, but you might be a little too concerned about how they view a long-term, committed relationship. Because that’s what you’ve been looking for. 

An alpha who’s not afraid to love you loudly. An alpha whose instincts are to love and protect you. 

Sometimes, you really envy mated couples. You envy how loyal Riki is of his girlfriend, craving the same kind of devotion to be directed to you. You envy how proud Taesan is to show off his mating mark, like it’s a badge of honour and love that promises forever.

Eventually, your mind drifts to Heeseung. The captain of the basketball team. Someone who deceives people with how approachable he seems, but is actually the most detached.

Heeseung is a perfect and capable alpha. You’ve seen it.

He leads his team with the kind of leadership that becomes a glue, keeping the team together no matter what challenges they’re going through. You know that he’s from the music department, and there are a few songs with his name being credited as the producer, composer, lyricist—you name it. Heeseung is a dominant alpha and uses his authority well, and he knows how to fend for himself.

You admire him, you really do. 

But will he devote himself to you? Will he look only for you in a crowd of beautiful omegas, and beautiful omegas who have spent the night with him? Does he share the same sentiment as you when it comes to fated mates?

The churn in your stomach provides an answer clearer than any of your exams had ever done.

You let Yujin’s question fade in the background, letting yourself lose in your element—baking and baking and baking until it feels like you could feed a whole team of athletes. Which is what Yujin has suggested before she leaves for her lab session, after saving a big jar of cookies for herself.

Fated mates.

What a scary thought.

For the first time in his life, Heeseung is actively avoiding omegas.

It’s not any omegas, though. It’s only you. But since it’s you, it’s actually a pretty big deal to him. 

Heeseung doesn’t play favourites. He doesn’t believe in fated mates, remember? But last night left a lasting impact in the form of your scent still clinging to him this morning, even after showering.  Not to mention how excited his wolf has been when realising that it’s you. 

It’s you, for fuck’s sake! The one who rejected him one year ago, and, admittedly, one of the prettiest omegas on campus. You might as well be every alpha’s ideal type. Well, maybe not Riki, that man is proudly claimed and fiercely loyal to his mate. But it’s definitely the case for him and Jay. 

Knowing his best friend, Heeseung’s sure you’re just Jay’s type. And his. No. He didn’t say that. He doesn’t have a type, remember?

As if to make it worse, you also have a scent that might just be his favourite one yet. The same scent that is currently invading his senses, dampening other pheromones in the court despite being on opposite ends from you. The same scent that his wolf decides to pick up and single out the moment he steps foot in the campus, recognising you before his eyes can even see you first. The same scent that still lingers in his lungs, mingling with his cinnamon and sea breeze notes like dancing partners. 

Yeah, Heeseung is starting to think that he’s slowly going insane. 

“Dude, stop staring. You’re scaring them.”

Heeseung blinks, Jay’s voice successfully snapping him out of whatever omega-spell that you have casted on him. Yeap, he nods. It’s definitely that. You’re actually a witch. There’s no other explanation to this other than that.

A blob of freshly-dyed blonde hair pops up beside Jay. “Hyung showed up smelling like daisies and honey and suddenly he’s staring at the cheerleaders like they owe him money.” Riki teases, then grins when he realises something. “Wait, that kinda rhymes—”

“I’m not staring!” Heeseung almost shouts, belatedly realising that he, indeed, has been staring at the group of cheerleaders stretching across the court. Or, to be more precise, he’s been staring at you. He glares at Riki.

“Okay. So why do you smell like one of them then? What’s her name again, Jay hyung?”

Heeseung grumbles. “It’s no one—”

“Y/N.” 

“Yes, that one. The shy one.” 

Heeseung groans. He kicks Riki’s shins and makes a show of turning his back facing the cheerleaders. But for some reasons he refuses to admit, as if he has eyes on the back of his head, he still can point where you’re standing just from his senses alone.

These stupid, useless alpha senses.

At least Jay takes pity on him. “Your Heeseung hyung saved her from perverts last night. He scented her to calm her down because she was reacting pretty badly.”

Heeseung mentally thanks Jay and continues warming up. He opts to just watch his teammates dribble and stretch just like him. The faint hum of scent neutraliser—a new, advanced one, thanks to that incident with Riki’s girlfriend—rumbles slowly. Somewhere behind him, he can hear you laugh and taste the sweet spike in your scent on his tongue. Heeseung grits his teeth. 

What is wrong with his wolf? Please get your tail together.

Riki, on the other hand, is intrigued. “Really? Did it happen after I left? Who were those alphas?”

“Some idiots from that team we beat last night.”

Riki frowns, clearly displeased with the news he just heard. “Well, I’ll keep my eyes on them. How did Heeseung hyung find her?”

Jay shrugs and shoots him a look. Heeseung really hopes he can slap that annoying smirk off his face one day. “Dunno. Ask him. His alpha probably recognised her from miles away.”

Heeseung doesn’t like what that sentence implies. “Shut up. It’s just instinct. Normal alpha-omega reaction.”

“Keep lying to yourself. I can practically see your tail wagging when you smelled your pheromones on her just now.”

“I didn’t—” Heeseung closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down despite the sudden flare of defensiveness exploding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s so reactive and not in his usual calm composure, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with you. Jay and Riki snicker. 

“The only people that believe in fated mates are you two idiots. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Riki snorts and looks at him, amused. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I have a fated mate. That shit is rare. It’s like finding my size in Calvin Klein.”

Jay frowns. “I don’t see the correlation.”

“There is. My dick is just too big, hyung. There’s no size for me—”

“I don’t need to know that!” Jay slaps at Riki’s shoulders while the younger alpha only lets out a full-body laugh. “Save that information for your girlfriend, Riki. I didn’t raise you like this.”

“She already knows that.”

“Nishimura Riki!” 

Heeseung is back to zoning out, his energy is suddenly drained out of his soul. That’s usually the case when you have to deal with a Nishimura Riki and a Park Jongseong on a daily basis. His mind, choosing to move at the pace of a snail today, is replaying Riki’s words back like a broken loop.

The realisation hits him five seconds late. “Wait. Did you mean that you and your girlfriend are not…fated mates? I thought you were!”

Riki is trapping Jay in a headlock when he answers. “Nope. We only imprinted on each other from early on because we’re childhood friends.”

“So like…what’s the difference?” Heeseung pauses and hesitates for a moment. He glances at you and then thinks, fuck it. If curiosity didn’t kill the cat then it’ll definitely kill him. “Can you smell your girlfriend in a sea of people?”

Riki scrunches his nose, his hands busy play-fighting with Jay. Heeseung ignores them like it’s a daily occurrence to see them act this way. Which is probably not far from the truth. “Not really? If they’re too many people, like right now, with your stench and too many omega scents—it’s difficult to find her.” Jay tackles his side and Riki yelps. “B-But it’s getting better after the mating bite, though—Jay hyung! I just got my tattoo there!”

“So…you can’t like…” Heeseung licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like the answer Riki’s going to give him once he finishes his sentence. Jay is now on the floor while Riki is pulling him by the legs and dragging him around like a used rug.

“You can’t single her out from her scent alone?”

There. He said it. His two idiotic friends will catch on it and grill him for the problem he partially caused. The other part is, no doubt, his wolf’s fault for deciding to like one single scent. You’re not at fault at all. Never. Wait, who said that?

Riki is breathless from the laughter and play-fight, but he still manages to listen and answer, thanks to his alpha senses. If he finds Heeseung’s questions strange, he only shares his suspicion through a knowing look with Jay.

“Sometimes. Like I said, it’s only when the crowd isn’t too big and when she’s in the same room as me.” Riki finally spares Heeseung a glance, tilting his head in a feigned curiosity. “Why are you asking, hyung? Did you smell Y/N from miles away or something?”

How the fuck did that idiot know?

Heeseung looks away from the teasing grin thrown his way. He really doesn’t like this. “No,” he grumbles. “I’m just afraid if I might be Jay’s fated mate because his pheromones are fucking everywhere.”

“Hey! What the fuck did I do to you?!” 

Riki bursts out laughing and high-fives Heeseung with a cheeky smile. On the floor, Jay is already huffing and sulking, mumbling something about ‘always catching strays’ and ‘citrusy pheromones aren’t smelly’. Heeseung sighs quietly when the topic takes a turn into a debate about who has the best smelling pheromones, which is an easy win for Riki, if Heeseung’s going to be honest. 

Don’t tell Jay though. Heeseung doesn’t want to lose his passenger princess privilege so soon.

Much to his relief, it’s already time for practice. Heeseung tries to ignore the prickle in his neck coming from your direction as you and your fellow cheerleaders leave the gym to go to your own practice room. He fights the urge to look back, to stride forward and ask you to stay—which is insane, by the way, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Before he slips into his captain mode, however, Jay approaches him with a more serious look on his face. “Calm your flat tits, Hee. It’s normal for her scent to linger; you kinda scented her aggressively to protect her last night.”

Heeseung weakly nods. Jay pats his shoulder. “A deep bond can’t be conjured just from scenting alone, unless you’re fated mates.”

This time, Heeseung doesn’t move, his tension visible in the rigid lines of his posture, the frantic movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Yeah,” he croaks, his pulse louder than his own voice. “Hope not.”

Practice goes on for the next two hours. Heeseung eventually falls into routine, finding himself lost in adrenaline and competitiveness. The thoughts of you cease for a moment, replaced by his quick-thinking strategy and sharp reflexes. He keeps dribbling, scoring, and making passes, not even aware of the ticking clock or when the cheerleader squad comes back in to take a break.

The last whistle finally blows before the players dramatically fall in a heap of sweaty, breathless alphas. The practice was particularly grueling, which made his body ache and his shirt clung to his skin. The coach is on fire today, all because his wife has been giving him a silent treatment. Apparently, he forgot to buy diapers on his way home last night.

Source: Nishimura Nosy.

“I think I might die,” Jay huffs, claiming a bench all to himself. His chest rises and falls in a rapid motion. “But even as a ghost, I bet the coach would still unearth my grave to force me to practice.”

“I’ll be Ghost Number Two.” Heeseung deadpans, lying down on the bench next to Jay. The latter continues to talk about something else, which Heeseung would know and remember if he didn’t get distracted by daisies and honey.

Fuck. You’re in the court again.

The urge to corner you, to grab your wrist and ask if you were okay, crawls under his skin again—restless, unrelenting.

Heeseung isn’t stupid. He knows last night, ugly as it was, doesn’t just fade by morning. His alpha has been clawing at him since then, sharp and impatient, demanding he go to you.

But Heeseung doesn’t move.

For once, he’s a coward.

He shoves it down, buries it deep, treating his own wolf like a disease he refuses to catch.

Heeseung blinks at the ceiling in an active effort to not start looking for you and staring at you like a creep. This time, he wonders quietly why your scent smells stronger than before. Perhaps the adrenaline from your routine. But even so, you don’t only smell strong, but you also smell closer—

“Free cookies!”

Heeseung jolts in surprise and whips his head in the direction of that voice. Or, precisely, your voice. His heart, as if trying to shorten his life span, decides not to take a break from the session just now and continues beating even faster.

There, just a few paces away from him, is you, standing in the middle of the court with one of your cheerleader friends. In her hold, there’s a purple Tupperware, its lid nowhere to be found. You stand slightly behind your friend, shyly looking over her shoulders as she talks to his teammates.

“Oh my God, they brought us cookies?!” Jay is already standing up, stretching lazily like a cat. “C’mon, Hee. It’s free cookies.”

Heeseung’s quick to refuse, despite his wolf begging him to go. “Nah—”

But before he can spit out any excuses, Jay is already dragging him, his weeks spent in the gym working out with Riki are finally paying off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Take your portion and give it to me.”

Heeseung groans. He really should start joining their workout session. He can’t be manhandled by his two best friends easily like this.

Distracted, Heeseung fails to register the decreasing distance between you and him. It’s only when your scent spikes sweetly, which hits him in the face like a fucking tidal wave, does he catch your eyes and realises that, fuckfuckfuck she’s here ohmyGod—

“Hi, Jay. Hi, Heeseung.”

Wait hold on, why does his name sound even more beautiful coming from your voice?

He stands like a flag pole beside Jay, actively avoiding your eyes while being fully aware of that pretty pair staring at his face. The floor suddenly looks very interesting, with skid marks from their shoes and some sweat trails. Okay. Ew. That’s gross.

“Hey, pretty ladies.” Jay greets, flashing his attractive smile as he gestures at the container. “Heard there’s free cookies for the taking? Mind if we have some?” 

Smooth as ever, Jay doesn’t even realise how easily he has charmed your friend with his simple greeting. Poor omega is already blinking rapidly, almost bouncing on her toes as she practically shoves the Tupperware into Jay’s chest. 

“Yes! Yes, of course you can, Jay. There’s only little left! Take them all!”

Your eyes, fixated on Heeseung since he arrived, tries to search his face as you shyly interrupt, whispering into your friend’s ear. 

“Offer some to Heeseung too…”

Heeseung doesn’t know whether to curse or thank the Goddess for his advanced dominant-alpha senses, because overhearing those words…it makes his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

But your friend doesn’t pay you any mind, urging Jay to take the Tupperware from her. Jay, ever the gentleman but still a little shameless shit when it comes to food, takes it from her eager hands. He takes one bite and immediately lights up.

“This is so good! I love that it’s not too sweet.”

Like a mirror reflecting light, you beam widely, returning Jay’s enthusiasm. Heeseung tries to ignore the ugly twist in his chest. “Really? That’s…good to hear.”

“She made these, by the way!” Your friend proudly announces, which makes red blooms across your cheeks, ducking your head down slightly. You’re so shy, so pretty, Heeseung can’t stop staring.

And so good at baking. Such a perfect omega, his wolf continues. Shut the fuck up, Heeseung hisses.

“You’re really good at this, Y/N,” Jay interrupts his internal war, his voice sounding wrong in his ears. “Care to share the recipe?”

Now, is Jay flirting with you? Since when does his voice sound like that?

Heeseung tries to inhale, attempting to calm his fucking irrational wolf down, but all he can smell is the sugary scent of yours, tangling delicately and blending seamlessly with his spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze. Somewhere in his chest, his heartstrings soften, drunk in the perfect mix of your pheromones, a ghost of a mark from last night. 

Maybe that’s what possessed him to snatch the Tupperware from Jay.

Heeseung wastes no time and starts munching two cookies at once, ignoring the gasps from you and your friend and the bombastic side-eye from his fellow alpha friend. The flavour of buttery vanilla and sweet chocolate chips melt on his tongue and Heeseung almost purrs at the taste.

Outside, he makes an effort to look calm.

“These are good,” he comments coolly, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a compliment (he’s failing). This time, he dares himself to meet your eyes, and has to force down another purr when he sees the sparkles in your eyes. “Thank you, Y/N.”

There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest when the blush in your cheeks deepen. You quickly look down to the floor, mumbling softly that could’ve been missed had it not been for his senses.

What kind of pull is this? Why is every sense of his attuned to you? Heeseung swears he can smell the subtle spike of your scent, the sound of your heartbeat and your soft breathing. It’s like his whole body has decided that it wants to worship you.

And Heeseung doesn’t worship. Fuck. This is terrifying.

“Thank you, Heeseung…”

There. Your voice again. Heeseung swallows. His grip on the Tupperware tightens. Seeing you under this light, flushed and softly smiling to the ground while sneaking glances at him—it undoes him in ways he never dared imagine. 

The question is already at the tip of his tongue without his realisation. ‘Are you okay? Does what happened last night still bother you?’ The urge to comfort and soothe, now growing like a rolling snowball, threatening to spill from his mouth.

And the scary part is: Heeseung isn’t sure if that desire comes from his wolf or himself.

However, he never gets the chance to, because Jay with his perfect, universe-timing is already pulling him backwards. “Thank you for the cookies! We’ll eat them well!”

Heeseung reluctantly nods, the grip he has on the Tupperware turning knuckle-white.

“What the fuck was that?” Jay whisper-yells when they’re out of earshot, walking back to their previous spot. “And those are not only for you. Give them back to me!”

Heeseung dodges his grabby hand. “Why the fuck are you eating more?” He asks, failing to mask the bitterness in his voice.

“Didn’t they give all ten of them to us?”

“You’ve had two.”

“And you’ve had five!”

“I don’t care. These are mine.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

That’s what it takes for Heeseung to freeze in his tracks. Seeing an opening, Jay quickly snatches the Tupperware from his grasp and runs back to his spot on the bench, not forgetting to flip off the burgundy-haired alpha as he does so.

Heeseung is losing his fucking mind.

Sighing, Heeseung closes his eyes, a faint trail of daisies and honey still clinging to his senses. Even across the room, among the murmur of the gossiping cheerleaders, it’s your voice, the only one clear and crisp to his ears. 

I’m being ridiculous.

This isn’t me.

Slowly, his human side starts taking over, all flowery images of you vanish within seconds.

Fuck, he curses. He wishes this scent-marking will be gone by tomorrow morning.

Three mornings later, much to his dismay, your scent still clings to him. On the bright side, it has been notably fading, now only the remnants of daisies and honey underneath cinnamon and sea air; like crunched petals along the shoreline, waiting to be washed away.

Against his own judgment, however, his wolf is fucking devastated.

He’s been whining like a kicked puppy ever since he walked to practice this morning and couldn’t smell his scent on you instantly. He still can spot you from two buildings away, which is still strange, but the lack of spice and salt in your scent is what does it. Heeseung has to fight the urge to march towards you and start scenting you.

His wolf has been restless. And, inevitably, it puts Heeseung in a terrible mood, too. He never knew his wolf was that desperate. 

Practice ends late that night. With the tournament just around the corner, everyone is being a little shit at managing their emotions and competitiveness on the court—the downside of having an all-alpha team that people rarely talk about. 

Heeseung is not excluded from the equation, though. He almost threw the ball to Taesan’s knot and made his omega pups-less and pregnancy-free when he accidentally made a bad pass. The court had smelled like tension and a barely held-together brotherhood when he left before a cheerleader came up to him to flirt and he wasted no time to drag her to an empty classroom.

Now, Heeseung finds himself making out with that omega, tongue licking up into her mouth while she breathlessly moans into his. It’s been five days since his last fuck, and while he usually can go on without sex for weeks (one month was his best record), he’s been at his wit’s end today. Add the confusion and silent wars he’s been having about you into the mix, and Heeseung is nothing more than a stressed body waiting to be relieved.

Weirdly enough, the frustration he hopes to get rid of stays as frustration. The old sparks he usually feels when having this intimate moment with an omega seems to disappear tonight. In the back of his mind, like a looming cloud carrying a storm, is a hazy image of teary eyes and red, trembling lips.

Something stirs uneasily in his chest.

His huge, veiny hands slip under her skirt and find purchase on her cunt, gathering the slick leaking from her arousal. Her scent spikes as she bucks up her hips and, to Heeseung’s own surprise, he recoils from the smell of it and breaks the kiss. The girl doesn’t stop her advances, switching to kiss down his long neck instead.

He subconsciously scrunches up his nose, his finger halting its movement for a second. 

“What perfume are you wearing?” He asks, voice hoarse from the makeout session. He tilts his head back, allowing access and finding stimulation, but the usual thrill is a bit dull tonight.

“My pheromones,” she manages between kisses, “you like it?”

It’s quite the opposite, to be honest. Heeseung finds himself hating it. It’s too sweet. Too sharp. It sits wrong in his nose, burns at the back of his throat, like inhaling smoke for the first time. His eyes water.

There’s something wrong. He’s not enjoying this. 

And to make things worse and more confusing, his chest hurts. It constricts, like his lungs decide to shrink into a ball of unexplained pain. Heeseung’s breath stutters, almost doubling over. His mind is a frantic buzz of noise, chanting something that he can’t seem to fully register yet.

Not my omega. Not daisies. Not honey.

Heeseung feels something twist in his gut.

The nameless omega—he forgot to ask for her name—doesn’t notice the shift yet, the way Heeseung is already a frozen statue of confusion and frustration in her embrace. She continues, trailing down hot, wet kisses along the prominent line of his collarbone and sucks the tender skin. 

“Ow!” Heeseung yelps, instinctively pushing her away. The spot stings like a pulsing heartbeat, void of any pleasure that it usually would give. He staggers backwards once.

The girl frowns, clearly not happy being pushed like that. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”

“I—” Heeseung hisses, his shirt sitting wrong on his skin, her scent smelling wrong in his nose. He shakes his head. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—I have somewhere to be.” 

The girl scoffs, disbelieving. “What?! Heeseung, you can’t just—”

But Heeseung can, and he already does. The alpha is out of the room in the next minute, deliberately the calls of his name and the strings of insults that come from behind him. He makes a run for it.

What the fuck did just happen? Heeseung is never one to refuse a good time with omega, but his wolf is quiet tonight. Too quiet, like it’s being silent on purpose in solidarity for something he’s yet to know—or yet to realise. 

The hazy image comes back to his mind, slowly becoming sharp and clear. Heeseung thinks his lungs have turned into bricks when he realises that he’s been imagining you. That his head has been loud with the thoughts of you, even when he’s with someone else.

Why? Why is this happening? Why you?

Heeseung makes a turn to where the locker room is, planning to grab his duffel and leave, when he bumps into Riki and Jay, freshly out of the shower.

“Heeseung hyung?” A shirtless Riki calls his name, then raises a brow when he sees his condition. “Was wondering where you were. But those lipstick stains told me enough.”

Heeseung wipes his neck harshly. Wordlessly, he yanks his locker open and checks himself out in a mirror. He turns his face left and right, yanking down his under eyes, then sighs. Riki and Jay exchange looks. The air is slowly thickening with the pheromones of a distressed alpha, coming from none other than Heeseung.

“You good, mate?” Jay decides to ask him. Heeseung doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he’s as good as he wants himself to be. The alpha lets out another sigh and slams the door closed.

“I think something is definitely wrong with me.”

“Is it practice?” Jay softens his voice, already switching on his therapist-friend mode. “Hee, today’s just that day. Everybody was losing their shits, it’s not just you.”

Heeseung leans his back on the locker and tilts his head upwards. “It’s not that. I mean it biologically. Ever since—” Heeseung pauses, suddenly unsure if saying out loud would make things right. But Riki and Jay have already caught onto it.

“Ever since what?”

Heeseung chooses to deflect. “Look, I was trying to make out with this one pretty omega just now. But no matter how much kissing we did, I just couldn’t enjoy it.” Heeseung points to his sweatpants. Riki and Jay curiously follow with their eyes. “She was practically sucking my tongue and I’m not even bricked up, man!”

Riki furrows his eyebrows. “Not even a spark?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “I couldn’t feel anything. At all. Only,” he swallows harshly. “I only felt disgusted. By her.”

Silence hangs in the room at his revelation. Riki’s expression morphs into something akin to genuine surprise, while Jay only stares at him with a gaping mouth before he starts typing on his phone.

“This is dead serious. You can’t have sex without your dick. That's like a banana cake without bananas.”

Heeseung and Riki grimace. “Please don’t ever compare my dick to a banana again.”

“Or a banana cake.” Riki slaps his shoulder. “That’s my favourite, hyung. Don’t be gross.”

Jay waves a dismissive hand, eyes still glued on his phone. “Right, right. Anyway, I texted Sunoo.”

Heeseung’s eyes go wide like saucer plates at the name and groans. “Sunoo?! Jay, you know he’s still mad at me.”

“I know, but he’s the only one who probably knows the answer to this.” Jay smacks his lips when he reads a new text from Sunoo. “He’s staying back for a lab session. Let’s go to the medicine building.”

And that’s how Heeseung finds himself cramped into a tiny booth of a ramyeon stall, located by the road near the faculty of medicine. A pouty Sunoo is sitting across from him, shooting him his foxy side-eyes as he whines at Jay.

“Jay hyung, why did you bring this traitor with you?” Sunoo pulls at the sleeves of Jay’s hoodie, sulking away from Heeseung. It’s only the three of them since Riki had gone home with his girlfriend just now. “I thought the three of us would include you, me, and Riki.”

Jay sighs exasperatedly. “I had to, Sunoo. That traitor is having a critical dick malfunction and he needs your help.”

The waitress arrives with three bowls of steaming ramyeon. Jay and Sunoo pause their not-so-quiet argument and help her place the bowls on their table. She clears her throat awkwardly, and takes a quick glance at Heeseung before leaving. Heeseung groans internally.

Great. Now words about him and his dick problem will spread around the campus.

“Is STD finally catching up with you?” 

Heeseung should know that it was never that easy to get Sunoo off his back. That boy is a professional pouty sulk-er, he’ll never let Heeseung go easily. Not after harassing him with his sass, at least. Heeseung holds back a sigh, already resigned and defeated.

With a grim voice, he apologises to the brown-haired alpha. For the fifth time. 

“Sunoo, I am so sorry. I know it was my fault, but for the record, I didn’t know you were serious about pretending to be an omega. Why would you even do that, anyway?”

“Because I like the attention!” Sunoo is fast to defend himself, his pout only deepening. “And because alphas will only spoil me if I was their pretty little soft omega—which I am not! And you exposing my secondary gender to that alpha just ruined my chance to be with him. Who would even call their friend, ‘my cutie little fake omega’, anyway?!”

“I was drunk!”

“A drunk traitor is still a traitor!”

Heeseung turns to Jay, sending him signals to help him out. But his best friend deliberately ignores him, too engrossed in his own bowl, pretending to be a wall. Heeseung rolls his eyes and looks back at Sunoo.

It might not be that easy to console the sulky boy, but Heeseung is labelled a sweet talker for a reason.

“You’re already a pretty alpha, Sunoo. Prettier than any omega I know. Anyone would drop everything for you even if they knew you weren’t an omega.”

Like a switch being flipped, the frown on Sunoo’s melts away, replaced by a beam so wide it shows off his perfect teeth.

“Aw, Heeseungie hyung. You’re now forgiven. Now tell me about this dick problem of yours.”

Jay and Heeseung look at each other and relax into their chairs in relief. Heeseung sends him a look of, ‘That was easy,’ to which Jay raises his eyebrow, ‘Why hadn’t you done it sooner?’

Now, with Sunoo not threatening to kill the burgundy-haired alpha anymore, Heeseung can finally enjoy a few bites of his untouched ramyeon. It’s already a bit cold and soggy, but the broth makes up for it. He retells the story to Sunoo between bites, watching the ever expressive boy react to it with various expressions.

“It’s not uncommon, though. But since it’s you, it must have felt very concerning.” Sunoo hums in thought, tapping his full lips with the thinnest tips of his chopsticks. “Well, Heeseungie hyung, did you imprint on any omegas?”

Heeseung hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head, feeling Jay’s eyes on him.

“No.”

“Hm, okay. Even if it’s due to imprints, it has to come from both sides,” Sunoo rubs his chin, now looking every bit a live action of Detective Conan, minus the glasses. “Did you conjure a bond with anyone? Maybe accidentally?”

Heeseung’s lips part. “I…would’ve known, right?”

“Right.” Sunoo nods firmly, then tilts his head. “Did you scent one of your hookups, then?”

“An almost-hookup,” Jay cuts in, clearly enjoying this interrogation. Heeseung shoots him a look. Jay is always out to rat him out and he’s actually so close to disowning him.

He grunts. “Just…someone.”

Sunoo smiles in amusement. “So you did scent someone. Was it someone you like?”

“Define like.”

“Like them enough to want to kiss them. Like them enough to want to fuck them. Like them enough to even want to scent them to begin with.” Sunoo shrugs. “Pick one.”

Heeseung closes his eyes. Does he like you? Wanting to kiss and fuck someone don’t equal to liking them. Because if that was true, then there’s no other explanation to Heeseung ‘liking’ every omega he has fucked other than him having an insanely big heart—which he doesn’t. He liked the sex and their company; that was all there was to it.

Which leaves him option number three. 

Heeseung’s never the guy to sit with his feelings—at least not the romantic kind. You’re an unfamiliar territory; something that he deliberately avoids his entire life, simply because he never sees settling down with a mate as a desirable goal or accomplishment. And, perfectly hidden under his fuckboy persona is also a thin layer of fear.

Fear of getting hurt by the thing that’s supposed to be love.

But does he like you?

Maybe he does. He’s always liked the way you laugh; you always cover your mouth with one hand when you do, like your smile is only visible in the privacy of those who really know you. He’s always noticed the way you touch the tip of your nose when people’s eyes are on you. He’s always thought the natural blush that you have when you’re shy is adorable.

In that one single minute, Heeseung realises that he’s been paying attention to you more than he thought he did.

Fuck. He does like you.

But does liking have to lead to being mated?

That responsibility is way taller and heavier than him and Heeseung is beyond freaked out.

“Earth to Heeseungie hyung?”

“Why does it even matter? What does it even have to do with me not getting a boner during a makeout session?” Heeseung demands, frustration bleeding into his voice. Is Sunoo punishing him for being the reason he fumbled that tall, hot alpha two weeks ago? Will Sunoo truly ever forgive him? He already apologised five times!

Sunoo, seeing enough of his hyung’s suffering, finally relents. “Geez, relax. I wasn’t playing with you. I asked because most of the time this happens,” he gestures at Heeseung and his crotch. Heeseung instinctively closes his long legs. “It’s because the wolf has already liked one omega. An omega they recognise as their mate. It’s the only explanation why you felt disgusted just now.”

Mate. That cursed word again. Beside Sunoo, Jay is whistling.

“Sorry. You mean my wolf, my alpha, likes one omega and decides I shouldn’t fuck around anymore?”

Sunoo nods. “Basically, yeah. But it usually isn’t that easy, hyung. A bond has to have been conjured between your wolf and their wolf by any kind of markings.”

“Like?”

“Like biting. Or scenting.”

Scenting. Heeseung didn’t just do scenting with you, he was scent-marking you.

“But that’s impossible,” Jay interrupts, confusion etching onto his handsome features. His leaning forward now, his empty bowl pushed to the center of the table, which reminds Heeseung of his own bowl. The alpha quickly finishes his noodles. “Scenting between unmated alpha and unmated omega will only conjure a temporary, fragile bond. It should’ve been gone by now—the scenting happened five days ago.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I can detect some floral scent in Heeseungie hyung’s pheromones.”

Heeseung almost chokes on his noodles. “You do?”

Sunoo leans forward, squinting his eyes at him like he’s some kind of lab specimen. “Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. Sweet. Floral. Clingy.” He tilts his head again. “It’s weird.”

Across from him, Heeseung is frozen. His grip on the chopsticks tightens. He swallows harshly.

“That’s not supposed to happen…right?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo points at him. “That’s why I’m saying it’s weird.”

Jay leans back, arms crossed. “But if it’s still there after five days—”

“It doesn’t automatically mean fated mates,” Sunoo cuts in quickly, tone sharper this time. He shoots Jay a look before turning back to Heeseung. “Don’t jump to that conclusion. That’s, like, extremely rare. And also very dramatic.”

Heeseung exhales, shoulders dropping just a little.

Right. Dramatic. His alpha begs to differ.

“It could just be a stronger-than-usual temporary bond,” Sunoo continues, more thoughtful now. “Maybe your alpha overdid it when you scented them. Or the omega was in a heightened emotional state, so the bond lasted longer.”

Jay hums, not entirely convinced.

“But the whole not getting turned on thing?” He gestures vaguely. “That still doesn’t explain it fully.”

Sunoo taps his chin again. “Mhm. That part’s interesting.” He levels Heeseung with a curious look. “Who is this girl, anyway? You seem pretty fucked over her.”

Heeseung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not say it like that? Like I’m some kind of a broken alpha?”

“You kinda are right now,” Sunoo says bluntly.

“Sunoo.”

“I’m serious!” He leans forward again, eyes lighting up. “Your body is rejecting other omegas. That’s not normal for you. Like, at all.”

Heeseung slumps deeper into his seat. As if it’s not already obvious enough, Sunoo just had to spell it out loud.

“I noticed,” he mutters, defeated.

Sunoo softens slightly at that, sighing as he rests his chin on his palm. “Okay. Look. Don’t panic yet.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’re literally here because your dick stopped working.”

“…Okay, I’m a little panicked.”

Sunoo waves his chopsticks dismissively. “It’s probably not fated mates. If it were, you’d be way worse right now.”

Heeseung stills. “Worse?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo shrugs. “You’d be obsessing. Unable to stay away. Your senses would go crazy. You’d feel everything they feel, more or less.”

Jay slowly turns to look at Heeseung. Heeseung immediately avoids his gaze. That fucker is always eager to catch his ‘Gotcha!’ moment, it irritates him to the core.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he says a bit too quickly, the lie tasting acidic on his tongue.

Sunoo mustn't know about the knot of uneasiness in his chest. Sunoo mustn’t know about the face that comes to his mind when he’s kissing someone else. None of his friends must know that he’s obsessing right now, itching to flee and find you in the middle of the night.

“Exactly,” Sunoo nods, unaware of his friend’s turmoil. “So relax. I’ll look into it more, yeah? Might be some weird hormonal response or delayed imprint reaction.”

Heeseung lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, okay.”

“Or you can do a try-and-error,” Sunoo suggests, reaching over to pat Heeseung’s shoulder. “Just do what you always do—try hooking up with different omegas. Maybe the one you made out with tonight was just a bad compatibility for you.”

Heeseung perks up at that. Sunoo and Jay, not noticing the shift in the air, are already moving forward with a different topic, completely oblivious to the newly-lit determination now burning up his body.

Just do what you always do.

Right. Heeseung has a high body count for a reason. He decides, with a final resolution, that he should solve this his own way.

If Heeseung spends every night for the next two weeks trying to bed different omegas, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung fails each time, unable to enjoy every kiss and friction, Sunoo and Jay don't have to know.

If the pain in his chest worsens every time he leaves the barely-warm beds, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.

If Heeseung avoids looking at you, avoids bumping into you, avoids speaking to you—he hopes you don’t know about it.

A quiet voice from his wolf whispers something that he refuses to acknowledge: He hopes you’ll forgive him for being unfaithful.

You’ve been sick for two weeks. 

At first it was subtle, like a faint throb in your heart that makes you stop whatever you’re doing. The first time it happened, you were in the middle of a group discussion for an elective subject. 

A quiet alpha, or a wolf hybrid named Sunghoon, to be exact, had noticed the way you winced from the pain. He didn’t say anything, but you guessed he told an omega about what he saw because right before you exited the library, one of the girls had passed you a free menstrual pad.

He thought you were experiencing period cramps. You wished it was just period cramps.

Then, it gradually grew to something worse. A sudden stabbing pain in your chest. A twist in your gut, like you were expecting something bad to happen. Sometimes it was random palpitations, where your heart was skipping huge beats, as if you were about to go down on a roller coaster.

Each time it happened, you only placed your palm over your heart, hoping it’d go away. You never understood why, but those pains only came at night, preventing you from getting any good sleep and rest. And each time you tried to close your eyes, there was only one face flashing behind your eyelids.

Heeseung.

Yujin had dragged you to the clinic, but the doctor came to a conclusion that you were just having pre-heat symptoms—which couldn’t be further from the truth, because you just had your cycle one month ago. You’re not supposed to go on your quarterly-cycle of torture for another two months.

“Oh my Goddess, you’re burning up.” Yujin’s palm is cold against your forehead. Her face is pulled into a tight expression. “Let’s just skip today’s classes, okay? I’ll stay with you.”

You weakly nod, barely registering Yujin’s movement around the room. Your body feels like a furnace, the heat simmering in your veins almost rivaling a volcano’s lava. You discard the blanket to get some sort of relief, only to shiver in the cold when the air touches your skin.

After a few minutes of exiting and entering your room, Yujin finally sits by your bed. She helps you with a glass of water and a dosage of paracetamol, careful to wipe any loose drops like a concerned mother. It doesn’t get better, but at least your throat doesn’t feel like it’s being scrubbed with sandpaper anymore.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Dying, but a bit less dramatic.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to give Suho from True Beauty a run for his money, would we?”

You chuckle softly, though it sounds more like a seal with a sore throat.

“But seriously, though. It’s been two weeks.” Yujin purses her lips, the worriness still marring her beautiful face. “I’m so worried, Y/N. What’s happening to you?”

You don’t answer right away. “It’s my omega.”

Yujin’s eyebrow jumps. “What about her?”

You also wonder the same thing. Swallowing, you finally let your friend in on the torturous days you have been going through. “One night, after our practice ran quite late two weeks ago, she went a bit hysteric. I couldn’t stop vomiting.” You recalled, eyes distant in memory. “She kept yelling something about a traitor, about rejection. I don’t know, really. But that’s how it started.”

“Two weeks ago, at night, you say?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Yujin is quiet for a few extended minutes, caressing her thumb over your knuckles. The motion puts you at ease, and slowly, you feel the pills begin working their chemicals.

“Did you, perhaps, hear about anything that happened that night?” You shake your head, unsure if your cheerleader squad had mentioned anything. Yujin hums. “Because I think I did.”

“What?”

“So I’m friends with this one omega named Sunoo from my faculty. A pretty boy and a petty gossiper.” Yujin starts, now treading her words slowly as if walking on eggshells. “He knows everyone on this campus. Especially the hot stuff, you know—student body, athletes, cheerleaders.” Yujin eyes you but not unkindly. “He knows you too. Just the basic stuff.”

“Like?”

“Your name, your major, your Instagram account.”

You let out a breath, a bit unsure where this is heading, but listen anyway. “Okay.”

“And because of his impeccable knowledge of gossip, I heard from him about a cheerleader breaking down in the group chat after a certain alpha left her mid-making out, all slicked and horny while he didn’t even pop a borner.”

You hold onto her every word, but for some reason, a dread has settled deep in your bones, like your body is already anticipating some bad news. Your heart, previously beating fast, is now sprinting like it might escape your rib now.

“And that alpha was Heeseung.”

It hits before you can even think.

A sharp, twisting pain lances through your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs like you’ve been struck. Your fingers curl into the sheets, clutching at nothing.

Your omega whines—hurt, betrayed. And suddenly, you understand why. The cries about betrayal. His face haunts you every night, like a painful reminder of the destiny you're subjected to.

You try to swallow once, then twice, before you find your voice back.

“Heeseung?” You try. His name now tastes bitter on your tongue.

Yujin, ever the empathetic, senses it, and tightens her hold on your hand. “Yeah,” she nods. She lets a moment of quiet pass, fidgeting and swallowing like you. Like the news has more stories that she’s yet to tell; an extended part to a nightmare that’s been keeping you up at night. You brace yourself.

“And two nights ago I saw him at Jake’s frat party with a girl. Doing sexy stuff. The usual.” Yujin can’t look at your face, choosing to stare at your intertwined hands instead. “The frat boys told me that he’s been at it almost every night. For two weeks.”

Is it possible to hurt someone this much in a span of five minutes? Getting shot multiple times would’ve hurt less than this.

There’s a heavy silence, then there’s your small, quiet voice, laced with unfiltered hurt.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m saying, Y/N, that you might be facing bond rejection symptoms right now.” Yujin licks her lips. “I’m saying that you and Heeseung just might be fated mates. That night he scented you? You guys conjured a half-bond. And him fucking around with other omegas like this hurts your wolf because she knows—only this kind of bond can do that.”

Is having a fated mate supposed to hurt like this? Like your chest is caving in, collapsing under the torment of unwanted love. Can you even call it love? Whatever it is that you and Heeseung unknowingly have been sharing—Is it even love?

It’s not. It’s just…fate.

You shake your head. There’s hot pain behind your eyes, a sign of an impending doom. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”

A drop of tears rolls down your face and in the next blink, everything is already blurry. “I—I think I already knew it.” Your voice is wet from despair, the pain almost feels tangible.  “He never meets my eyes anymore and—and every time I see him, I feel like I might die.”

A warm pair of arms pulls you close, and instantly the scent of green tea fills up your senses. Your roommate holds you tight, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as you sob into her chest. 

Your wolf, the contradict that she is, hopes that it was Heeseung embracing you. Still hoping it was the alpha comforting you, soothing you with his voice and that calming pheromones of his. Still foolishly longing for him despite everything.

You feel pathetic.

Your crying subsides after a while, still curling up against Yujin like a hurt puppy. You’re already losing track of time, if it’s still proper to have breakfast or if it’s already time for lunch. It is Yujin who finally speaks first.

“Do you hate it?”

You let the question linger in the air, turning it over in your thoughts like what you’ve been doing the past hour since you woke up. “I don’t hate the bond. Nor him.”

You pause, gnawing at your lower lip. Then you exhale.

“I just hate that I was never given a chance to do this properly.”

Yujin pulls away and makes you face her. She wipes your tears using her sleeves, murmuring sweet words as you feel your chest slightly loosening at her kind gesture. “You might still have it. Go and talk to him, Y/N. If he’s avoiding you like this, he might’ve felt something too, right?”

“If he’s avoiding me like this, he might just not want anything to do with me.” A humourless chuckle escapes your lips. “And to think that I thought I had a chance.”

“Wait, I never asked you this. Do you like Heeseung? Both of you; your wolf and you.”

You don’t answer right away. The question sits between the two of you, heavy and fragile; like a mark refusing to be looked over. 

Do you like Heeseung?

Your wolf stirs immediately. Yes, I like him.

The answer is quick. Certain. Definite. 

But you purse your lips, forcing yourself to think harder, deeper. Forcing yourself to think about you, not her. You can only come to one conclusion.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, honest. It sounds weak even to your ears. Beside you, Yujin keeps rubbing small, grounding circles over your hand.

“I already know my omega likes him,” you admit softly. “She decided that the moment he stayed and took care of me that night.”

Oh, how pathetic is it to fall for someone for doing something as mundane as staying and taking care of you?

It’s laughable. But it makes your chest ache even more, like your heart was an empty can and fate was crushing it with its tight grip.

“But me…” you continue, voice quieter now, “I don’t even know him like that.”

You shake your head, frustration flickering through your expression.

“I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not surrounded by people, or when he’s not—” you gesture vaguely, like you can scoop up every rumour tied to his name. “That version of him everyone talks about.”

You stare at your hands. “But I wanted to.”

Yujin follows, voice soft. “Wanted to?”

“I wanted to get to know him,” you continue, voice trembling. “When I first found out how my wolf feels for him, I thought it could be like how I’ve always imagined having a fated mate would be: slowly falling in love with them. With him.”

A wistful smile graces your beautiful features, soft and vulnerable. “I wanted to know which game he remembers the most. I wanted to know if the number on his jersey means anything. Silly things like that. Not this.”

Your hand moves to your chest unconsciously, rubbing the surface softly.

“Not like this. Not when it hurts every time I—” you cut yourself off, breath shaking. “Not when it hurts every time I look at him.”

You still remember, after one grueling routine, when the pain was still kind enough to let you come to practice. The players had just finished their practice too, slicked with sweat and looking exhausted as ever. Among the tired alphas, your eyes locked onto Heeseung’s.

You had the instincts to go to him and pass him the cold mineral you’d unknowingly saved for him. But the look in his eyes—it was unreadable. Cold. An abyss that was enough to make you stay rooted in your place.

Then, without even a graze of a smile, he looked away, taking a bottle from Riki’s hand.

It had hurt more than you’d like to admit.

“I think…” you try again, more carefully this time. “If things were different, I would’ve liked him.”

Your throat tightens. This time, you’re reminded of that night before everything turned cruel like this. The warmth of his embrace that lingered. The spice of his scent that clung. The safety of his company that comforted you. 

Was any of it real?

“And if things were the same…I think I would've still liked him anyway.”

That’s the truth. A quiet, terrifying truth that settles deep in your chest like an unshakeable ground. The kind of truth that makes even your most grounding friend sit still in your bed.

“And that’s what makes it worse,” you whisper.

Because now it’s not just your omega.

It’s you, too.

The one-week intervarsity basketball tournament has finally begun. Around seven universities have sent their representatives, leading to a flood of humans in different-coloured jerseys wandering around on your campus, its official host. 

You’re excused from the whole week’s classes, seeing your cheerleaders and bunches of alphas more than you have ever seen your classmates since the tournament started. It was exciting at first, to participate in such a prestigious tournament that is always the talk of town. But the tight schedules between games is becoming more taxing and demanding.

It doesn’t help that the bond rejection symptoms have only gotten worse, hindering you from giving your best potential at each routine. Which, of course, catches the attention of your captain, and she’s not very amused with it.

“Y/N. If you’re not telling me what is wrong with you, then don’t make me find excuses to put you on the bleachers.” Narin once whispered to you on the third day of the tournament. You merely nodded, trying hard not to scrunch your noise at the sour smell of bubblegum and burnt cotton candy. She eyed you up and down, before she scoffed.

“Don’t get too butt-hurt that Heeseung’s fucking other cheerleaders,” she grunted. You froze. “At least you got your round that night. He fucking rejected me.”

What? The confusion must be clear on your face, because then Narin rolled her eyes, fixing the blue ribbon in her hair before she turned to face you.

“You smelled like him for weeks, Y/N. Don’t think people didn’t know that you two fucked after they won against that eastern university that night.” And then she left, leaving a dumbfounded you in the hallway, standing still like a lifeless statue.

Realisation starts settling in. Did people think you and Heeseung—fuck. You should’ve known.

No wonder many eyes were on you during those days when you still smelled like Heeseung.  You thought it was just because Heeseung was one of the most sought after alphas on campus. Not this. Not whatever allegation this is.

Still, the bomb Narin had dropped wasn’t enough to stop yourself from pushing yourself past your limits. You don’t even know what your limits are anymore. They seem to keep expanding with every new pain that blooms in your chest. 

You’re still a bit sluggish, but at least Narin is off your back. Whatever bitterness she harbours for you, though not forgotten, is at least tamed on the last day of the tournament.

You knew she wouldn’t understand, but you couldn’t help it if the pain worsens. You wish, for once, that Heeseung would take it slow with the cheerleaders from the opposing teams. Because the pain has become unbearable; cracks turning into holes of emptiness in your heart, faint pulsing turning into straight-up invisible stabbing in your gut. You’re actually surprised that you’re not already bleeding from how real it has felt.

However, deep down, there’s a small, barely-there gratitude for Heeseung for not doing it in front of you. At least you can spare yourself from whatever possible torment this fate has destined for you to face if you had to watch Heeseung fucking another omega in the empty locker room.

But you guess it’s time you finally, actually reach your limit, and your body can’t seem to be more dramatic to choose the last game as its last straw. As Heeseung hoops in the last score for the team, sealing their title as the champion, the audience erupts into the loudest cheer you’ve ever heard. You quickly get to your feet to perform the celebratory routine, but the world is spinning and your head is light when you stand up. You stagger backwards.

“Oh my Goddess, are you alright?” One of your cheerleader friends catches you in her arms, shaking you out of your pained daze. 

“I…” you cough, your voice only scratching at your throat. “I just need to. Sit. Yeah. I need to sit down and talk to Heeseung.”

“Heeseung?” The girl, who you finally recognise as Rei, looks over at the center of the court, where almost the whole school is hooting and hollering in joy. “Wait—let me sit you down first. You’re pale as hell, damn.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you’re finally seated. Rei has passed you a bottle of mineral water and fans you with her pink hand-fan. She stays by your side, looking after you as the rest of the world celebrates the first champion of your university team. You’re painfully grateful to her for it.

“Hey. Can I call one of your friends? Or maybe, do you have an alpha I can contact?” Rei starts when you’re not speaking, too focused on not focusing on the pain to remember to talk. “You asked for Heeseung just now. Is he your alpha?”

Is he?

You wish you knew the answer to that too.

Instead, you shake your head. “He’s not my alpha. I just…need to have a few words with him.”

Rei purses her lips, clearly not pleased with your priority at the moment but obliges anyway. “Alright. Let me text my cousin real quick.” She says, already rummaging inside her bag for her phone.

Her statement intrigues you. “Cousin?”

“Nishimura Riki. And he’s not replying. Gimme a sec.” You watch as Rei presses the call button on her phone and puts the device over her ear. You follow her line of sight as she turns to look at the court again. The crowd hasn’t calmed down from the high of the win yet.

“Hello, adopted fuck. I need you to read my text ASAP—Nobody’s stealing your girlfriend, Riki! You can go back to kissing her face after you read my text—Okay, okay! My friend, Y/N, needs to talk to Heeseung. President-level urgent.” Rei pauses, taking a quick look at you before she continues. “Yes. It seems very important. Just get his ass here fast. Yeah—Congrats, by the way. I’m not buying you that Chrome Hearts chain. Bye.”

Rei sighs as she pockets her phone. “Heeseung will be here in five minutes. You good? Do you still need anything? I feel like I should call someone else. You’re friends with Ahn Yujin, aren’t you?” She rambles on. For someone who barely speaks to you, Rei sure is a caring omega.

You give her a small smile.”I’m alright, Rei. I’ll rest after seeing him.”

Rei hums, checking her phone when it vibrates. “Aight, if you say so. I’ll be around here until they move to celebrate at Jake’s frat tonight.” She gathers her stuff and stands up, brushing her pleated skirt with practiced elegance that you know is instilled in every cheerleader’s demeanour.

“You take care of yourself. And I better not see you at the party.”

“Thank you, Rei.” You wave at her and watch as the lines of her frame get smaller, disappearing into the crowd. 

Now alone, the weight of reality is finally hitting you square in the chest. You curse, pulling your hair when you realise your stupid, impulsive decision, made in the whim of desperation to get the pain go away.

“This is stupid,” you whisper. Without thinking further, you grab your bag and stand to leave. But before you can flee the scene, a heavy presence with the familiar scent of spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze drifts into your senses.

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name leaving his lips has locked you in place. The haunting familiarity of his voice, one that follows you into your restless sleeps and every waking hour, engulfs you almost like the night he held you in his arms.

Except this time, there’s a piercing pain in your heart that comes with his presence. A dull, throbbing ache that’s been a constant company to you, manifested into the shape of the man that your wolf yearns for.

Lee Heeseung.

“Y/N?” He repeats, but you don’t dare to face him just yet. “Riki said you wanted to, uh, talk to me.”

Licking your dry lips, you turn to Heeseung, and the sight has almost rendered you breathless.

Heeseung’s still wearing his jersey, standing tall to his height like he’s dominating the air around him. His burgundy hair looks softer under the light, some small strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. His shoulders are squared up, still lined with pride and the high from winning the tournament. He looks at you calmly, but the edges of his eyes are somewhat gentler; if the lights weren’t tricking your eyes.

You gulp, already losing the battle before it has even started. Why does he have to look so handsome?

You force yourself to say something. “Yeah. I did. I mean, I do. It’s important. I think.”

Heeseung is patient. If your nervousness is something unusual to him, he doesn’t comment on it. After all, you’re indeed known as a shy girl among the cheerleaders.

“I’m…I’m going straight to the point and be honest with you.” Is this really happening? You’re scared that if you were to speak more, your heart might leap out of your mouth from how hard it is pumping behind your ribs. You hold your bag tighter, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m listening,” he hums.

The words are simple. His voice is calm. Too calm, like he’s unaffected, like he doesn’t have a clue about what you’re about to say. It almost makes you falter.

For a second, you just stare at him. At the same face your mind has been haunted for weeks, at the same eyes you’ve been avoiding because they make everything feel too real.

Except everything is actually real. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.

Your fingers curl tighter around your bag.

“Did you…feel anything?” you ask, voice smaller than you intended. “That night.”

Heeseung’s brows pull together, confused. “What do you mean?”

Your throat burns. Stop. Turn around. Leave. 

“When you helped me,” you stubbornly continue, ignoring the self-preservation act your wolf’s pulling. “When you scented me. Did you feel something? Anything?”

There’s a shift in the air. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Heeseung’s shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flash of something that leaves your heart hopeful crosses his face, but it leaves as soon as it comes.

“I was just helping you,” he finally says, almost too quickly. “You were in a bad state.”

The ache in your chest pulses, turning alive with each passing second.

“I know that,” you nod, almost too fast, the throbbing in your head comes back. The headache is well-guaranteed after this, you’re sure of it. “I know. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I just—I just need to know if you felt it too.”

“Felt what?”

You stare at him. God, he’s really making you say it. Is he truly clueless or is he playing with you? Whatever he is trying to do, he’s succeeding at making you feel smaller and…desperate.

“The pull,” you whisper after a while, “the connection.”

Silent stretches between the two of you. Heeseung returns your gaze, but his black eyes reveal nothing about his thoughts. 

You try again. “You felt it too…right?”

There it is. For a fleeting second, you think you see it. That flicker in his eyes. The subtle hesitation. The twitch in his jaw. It almost makes you feel hopeful.

Heeseung exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“Y/N,” he starts slower this time, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “There’s no such thing as that.”

If your heart was made of lead, you’re sure it’d clang to the floor so loud for how fast it drops.

“What?”

“Fated mates. Bond. Whatever you’re thinking.” He shakes his head, like he’s making a show of how ridiculous you sound. “That’s not real.”

The cracks finally shatter, allowing a big, gaping hole filled with utter anguish to take place in where your heart used to reside. Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens. 

“But—” you try, voice undeniably trembling now. “Then, what is this?”

Your hand presses weakly against your chest.

“Why does it hurt like this? Why does,” your voice cracks, your omega thrashing wildly inside you, “why does it hurt so much?”

For a split second, panic flashes across his face. There’s a change in his scent. A sharp, biting spice that’s stinging your nose and thick, briny salt that leaves your throat itchy. 

Because he knows. He knows this isn’t normal. He knows how he almost went psychosis the moment it happened to him three weeks ago. 

But Heeseung’s always been good at leaving—it’s the one thing that’s been keeping his heart in a safe chest without any chances of getting hurt. It’s almost cruel that he never really cares if leaving right after sex would hurt any of the omegas, but he’s never felt bad enough to stop.

And you feel like someone who will make him stay.

So he does what he knows best.

“It’s in your head,” he says, firmer now. “Probably just your heat cycle messing with you. Or stress.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, your chest feels hollow. Your omega, previously hysterical and angry, is now awfully quiet and wounded.

Right. It’s just stress, he said.

You wish it was just stress.

“Oh,” is the only word you can utter. Heeseung nods, as if convincing himself too, and takes a step back.

But for you, it feels too much like a line being drawn.

“Maybe you should get some rest. You look kind of pale,” he suggests, though his voice is slowly getting small the longer he watches the changes in your expression. You’re not looking at him now, just staring at your feet with trembling fists.

The wilting flowers are back in his senses, filling up his nose and beating at his heart like a bat. Heeseung bites his lips, swallowing down the guilt. 

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

The sight of his retreating back…why is it so blurry?

“You are so fucking stupid, Heeseung.”

Heeseung’s always wondered how his best friend’s citrusy pheromones are going to smell like when he’s mad. Because Jay never gets mad at him. His friend has so much patience that every playful banter always stays as just a playful banter.

But tonight, Heeseung finally senses it. Jay smells bitter, like overripe lemon left too long in hot water. There’s a sharp, metallic tang to it too, representing the control that he’s trying so hard to keep in check. In response to the alpha’s irritated scent, Heeseung’s dominant wolf is itching to draw his claws out, sensing it as a threat.

They’re standing at the backyard of the frat house, where the pool is glowing blue and the night sky is blinking stars. It’s quieter here, with less people hanging around. Many guests have preferred to dance inside, still in celebration mode post-winning.

“What the fuck were you thinking, trying to get into someone else’s pants right after her—her confession?” Jay scoffs in disbelief. He has his back facing Heeseung, the tense muscle of his shoulders visible through the outline of his Polo shirt. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, looks more disheveled. The collar of his shirt is misplaced, and there are faint lipstick marks staining his neck and the corner of his mouth. Jay had heard from Riki about what happened between Heeseung and you and the alpha was determined to drag Heeseung out of the bedroom, not before muttering a small apology to the omega he was with. It was all shouts and aggressive whispers between the two alphas until Riki managed to shoo them out.

Which brings them to this moment, where Jay is a ticking bomb and Heeseung is trying his best to calm down.  Jay didn’t exactly know who she was, just that he’d seen her face among the cheerleaders. While Heeseung, well, he’s too worked up to explain.

“Confession? What made you think—”

“You guys are fated mates, Heeseung. Can’t you fucking see it?” Jay whips his head around. “This pull you’re feeling is because you guys are fated mates. There’s no other explanation to it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw. “Those things don’t exist, Jongseong. Not to me.”

“Oh, come on. Then explain your sex problem.” Jay hisses, his eyes turning sharper. “You think I don’t know that you still can’t get your dick wet with other omegas?”

The burgundy-haired alpha doesn’t blink. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when she could’ve died!” Jay snaps, his scent flaring with his nose. Heeseung grits his teeth, feeling challenged. 

Then, softer, like vulnerability leaking through his anger, Jay continues: “You could’ve died, Heeseung.”

Heeseung stills. “What?”

Jay lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think so little of this matter, don’t you?” His voice drops, tight and furious. “A half-bond between fated mates when left too long can cause death. And with the speed you’re going with all these nameless omegas, I bet it’ll be her turn to die first.”

Heeseung scoffs, but it’s weaker now. There’s a new fear settling in his chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” Jay cuts in sharply. “You’re being stupid. I saw her just now. She’s pale as fuck.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a moment, staring into his friend’s eyes with almost the same amount of resentment. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Like a punishment to his lie, something twists sharply in his chest. But Heeseung is quick to mask his pain under a calm facade, gritting his teeth so hard he might break his jaw. Jay scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re doing this again.” Jay steps closer, not backing away. “You’re running away again, like the coward that you are. You’ll just run and run, deflect and disappear. Typical Heeseung.”

Jay knows he’ll hit a spot if he says it, but he couldn’t care less. He watches as the expression on Heeseung hardens, giving away the emotions he kept locked in his chest.

“Don’t.”

But Jay doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t.

“You think I don’t see it?” Jay presses, voice rising. “Every time something starts to mean something, you bolt. New omega, new bed, new distraction—anything to avoid actually feeling something real.”

“That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what this is!” Jay gestures wildly, frustration spilling over. “You found your mate, and instead of dealing with it, you’re out there fucking anything that moves just to prove you’re still in control.”

Silence slams between them, heavy and ugly. Both alphas are holding back from spiraling, neck straining from self-control and simmering anger.

Heeseung’s laugh this time is cold. “Mate?” he repeats, like the word tastes disgusting. “You really believe in that shit?”

Jay stares at him, disbelief flickering across his face. “I believe in what’s right in front of me.”

“There’s nothing in front of you,” Heeseung shoots back. “She’s just an omega I helped. That’s it.”

“Then why her?” Jay fires immediately. “Why can you find her in a crowd? Why does your scent stick to her for days—for weeks? Why can’t you even touch another omega without looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Heeseung falters, his words failing him as Jay hits him with those facts. His shaky stance doesn’t go unnoticed by the alpha, though. He’s quick to seize the chance.

Jay inhales sharply. “You know I’m right, Heeseung. You and Y/N share a bond.”

“So what?!” Heeseung snaps, frustration finally cracking through. “So what if there’s a bond? You want me to just—what? Drop everything? Play house? Act like I’m suddenly someone I’m not?”

Heeseung meets Jay’s fiery gaze head-on and shoves his friend harshly. “Stay out of it, Jay. I swear to fucking God.”

“And what? Watch you let her die because you couldn’t care less to acknowledge the bond?” Jay lets out a hollow laugh, pushing Heeseung back just as hard. “And then I watch you die?”

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about this.”

Their scents clash; sharp citrus and aggressive spice filling up the space like a warning siren. It almost turns physical, Riki almost bursts through the door when he sees their chests almost touching. But it is Jay who stops first.

Not because he wants to. But because he’s thinking of you.

“My parents are fated mates, Heeseung.” Jay starts, quieter, his voice losing its harsh edges. “Doesn’t mean you don’t believe in it, it isn’t real to other people.”

Heeseung remains quiet, his chest still moving rapidly.

Jay’s eyes turn glassy. He retreats one more step away from Heeseung. “If you don’t want her, reject the bond properly,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re letting someone know that you don’t want her as your mate. At least have the decency to be kind about it.”

Jay unclenches his fists.

“Don’t drag her through this half-assed bullshit where you keep hurting her just because you can’t make a decision.”

Heeseung freezes. Out of all words being shouted tonight, it is this quiet resignation from Jay that hits his heart the hardest.

Am I being cruel? Heeseung lowers his gaze. Am I a coward?

Heeseung doesn’t wait too long for an answer.

“Stop being a coward, Heeseung. I beg you.”

The words hang between them, like unwanted vines curling around a trunk of a tree. Heeseung’s gaze stays rooted to the ground, trying to find his voice.

But he doesn’t get the chance to.

“...Heeseung?”

Your voice, soft as it is, cuts through the air like a blade. Both alphas turn to where you’re standing by the door. The faint light spilling from the moon only highlights how pale your face is, void of any warmth and colour.

You stand there, one hand gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, your other pressed weakly against your chest. Your eyes, God, your eyes. They’re glassy, unfocused, yet locked onto him like you’ve found something you’ve been searching for your entire life.

Beside him, Heeseung can sense the way Jay’s body tenses the way his does.

“Heeseung…” you call for him again and move to get closer.

But then you flinch. Your entire body recoils, your nose scrunches. 

There, lingering around Heeseung like an unwanted mark, is a scent you know too well. Fruity bubblegum and cloying cotton candy; a scent that flashes pink in your head, turning into a female rage that hits too close to home. Your gaze catches the shape of someone’s mouth staining his golden skin, and something inside you breaks.

Narin.

Heeseung smells like Narin.

Your hand instinctively goes to cover your nose, eyes slowly going wide. The room goes silent, holding its breath as Heeseung feels it. 

The fleeting second where something inside you shatters.

Heeseung steps forward. “Y/N—”

But you retreat faster, away from him like he’s a disease that could kill you. 

“No,” your voice cracks, shaking your head as if trying to physically deny what your body is already registering. “No, no, no…”

Your breath comes out in shallow bursts, your fingers clawing at your shirt. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. 

It’s like every system in your body is collapsing, failing to cope with the ultimate rejection that comes in the scent of another woman. Your fist hits your chest, forcing the air to flow in because it suddenly feels almost impossible to breathe.

Heeseung feels it now—really, really feels it. The bond is thrashing, frantic, like it’s holding onto something that’s slipping through its grasp. The pained scent of withering daisies starts filling up the air, suffocating both alphas instantly. Jay shifts uncomfortably, looking back and forth from Heeseung to you in alert.

“Hey, hey—Y/N,” Heeseung tries again, softer this time, reaching out instinctively. “Look at me. Y/N—”

“Don’t!” Your voice spikes, sharp with fear. Heeseung freezes, his throat closing up when he sees something you’re yet to realise.

That’s when you feel it—something warm trickling down your nose. You instinctively wipe it and stare at the red liquid smearing your fingers.

Blood. Then another drop falls on your palm. Before you can react properly, it already spills down your chin, past your fingers, dripping onto the floor, tainting the white tiles like a crime scene.

“Fuck.” Jay curses under his breath, his wolf perking up in alarm.

Beside him, Heeseung is beyond agitated. “Y/N!”

He doesn’t think. Heeseung lunges forward, longing to be close to you at that moment. But you’re already shaking your head rapidly, tears spilling uncontrollably now.

“Stop!” you gasp, pale lips trembling like dying petals. “I can’t do this—I can’t—”

Inside you, your omega is screaming in pain. In betrayal. In self-preservation. Her voice, raw and jagged, torn by pain, echoes in your head. 

An instinct, primal and desperate, takes over your being.

Cut it off.

Cut it off before it kills you.

You clutch at your chest, lungs burning up like a wildfire. Tears spill out freely, drenching your face in anguish and agony.

Cut it off!

And finally, you let go.

Across from you, just a few paces away, Heeseung feels it like a force, stopping him in his tracks.

It doesn’t come gradually, or slowly. It rips through his body. A violent, invisible force tearing straight through his chest like something sacred being forcibly severed. His breath is knocked out of him.

“Fuck!” Somewhere behind him, Jay is also spiraling, realising what’s going down.

But Heeseung doesn’t know. He staggers, his knees almost giving up as excruciating pain spreads from the scent gland in his neck down to his chest. Something inside him—something he never fully acknowledges—finally snaps. He almost screams.

A thick veil of tears wells up instantly, blurring his vision faster than he could process it.

“Y/N,” his voice breaks, the cracks showing up like poison in daggers. Across from him, you’re already sobbing.

It’s loud and raw, a wailing that stops even the loud music from inside. Your scent, bitter and beyond distressed, is now flooding the space like a broken dam. Your body folds in on itself as if trying to contain something that’s already shattered beyond repair.

Inside of you, your omega goes silent completely.

And it terrifies him. A lot. 

Heeseung clutches his neck, where his scent gland is pulsing violently, throbbing in an indescribable pain that feels like it could kill him. And when his eyes find yours, he realises with dread that the pull is no longer there. 

He can’t feel you. His wolf can’t feel your wolf.

The constant, aching thread that’s been tying him to you; it’s gone.

You cut the bond from your side.

The half-bond, already fragile with doubt and cowardice, is hanging by its loose thread. If it was a red string like many people had said, Heeseung’s sure it’d waver pathetically by his finger, trembling like a thread losing its kite.

“What…What did you do?” he whispers, voice hollow and shaky.

Heeseung takes a step forward again, ignoring Jay’s warning voice from behind him. His focus becomes singular on you, not minding the many pairs of eyes watching from the other side of the door.

This time, his step is slower and careful, like approaching something fragile. Something that is already broken.

Someone wounded.

You don’t move toward him. You don’t even spare him a look. You just cry, quietly, as now it feels empty where the bond used to be. You can’t feel him. 

You can only feel pain.

“Y/N…”

“...I want to leave.”

You wipe your nose, the blood still fresh and wet. You lean on the door for support, still trying to hold yourself up despite the urge to just collapse. Heeseung has to force restraint on himself, holding himself back from running to you. He searches your face, trying to catch your eyes, terrified beyond reason.

The silence is deafening.

At last, you lift your gaze, misty eyes meeting misty eyes.

“I ended it.” Your voice, used to be soft and warm, is now cold. Heeseung feels his lungs stop functioning.

“There’s nothing between us anymore.”

And that’s when it hits him brutally.

Heeseung didn’t just push you away.

He’s lost you.

sorry for the cliffhanger! part 2 coming soon 🔜

dividers from: @cursed-carmine 🤎

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @seungiesdoll

You sleep restlessly, plagued by nightmares about punishment. But it’s worse than ever before, now sevenfold. You feel seven sets of hands on you, cold, emotionless eyes, and being left black and blue by unfeeling, hating alphas. You whimper in your sleep, biting at your lip to fight to hold onto the secrets they try to get out of you. No, please. Please.

Unbeknownst to you, two figures slip into Jimin’s bedroom at night, where they find you and Jimin both asleep facing in opposite directions. Someone shoves Jimin, waking him and forcing him out of bed. A warm body slides in behind you, strong arms wrapping around your trembling body. Gentle lips press to your neck, kissing along your bite and the column of your neck until you settle. Asleep, you roll onto your back and are promptly turned by the strong arms into a protective, soothing hold. On your other side, another warm body slips under the duvet, tucking the sheets in around you.

You wake several hours later, clutching a sweater that smells like roses like a lifeline.

You make a small noise, waking the alphas on either side of you. 

“You’re up, sweetheart?” Seokjin says in a low, deep voice that gives you butterflies. 

Nodding, you sniffle, rubbing at your runny nose. You look down at the alpha’s sweater, surprised to find wet patches on it. The alpha spooning from you behind wakes, too, and immediately reaches for a tissue on the nightstand closest to him. “Here, baby.” Hoseok says in a gravelly voice, passing you a few tissues.

“Thanks.” You mumble, blushing. You wiggle a bit, and the alphas move back immediately. You lay on your back now, looking up at the ceiling. You clear your throat, nervous. “Um, why are you two here? Where did Jimin go?”

Both alphas’ expressions darken immediately at the mention of Jimin. “We sent him to make breakfast.” Hoseok says in a strained voice, like he’s trying his best to hide his anger. Then, he gives you a small smile. “Do you want to get up now? We can all eat together.”

The two alphas sit up, yawning and stretching. You sit at the edge of the bed, legs dangling for a moment. You blow your nose, making Seokjin smile faintly like he thinks it’s cute. After a long moment, you muster the courage to ask the burning question in your mind. “Am I in trouble?” Both alphas’ faces fall. You avert your eyes, fear beginning to creep in again. Are they just being nice to me for now? “A-Am I going to be punished after breakfast?”

Fresh tears sting your eyes at the thought of the alphas who have been the kindest to you lately being the ones to punish you. It feels particularly cruel.

“The only one being punished today is Jimin. And that is Namjoon’s concern, not yours.” Hoseok says in that same tight voice. He cups your face with one hand, brushing tears away. “Your only job is to spend lots of time with us today. Now, go brush your teeth and come meet us for breakfast, okay?”

You wipe your tears, nodding. You don’t know why, but the firm, simple instructions Hoseok gives you feel so right. Obeying, you leave Jimin’s bedroom and head downstairs to your own room. You brush your teeth and wash your face, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are swollen like you’ve been crying all night even though you don’t remember it, and your lips are red from biting at them. 

You walk into the kitchen, surprised to find Jimin at the stove. He wears a pink frilly apron—Seokjin’s, no doubt—and carefully measures pancake mix to pour onto the already-hot pan. A small mountain of pancakes sits on a plate beside him, still steaming hot.

Picking up on your sour lavender scent, Jimin turns around. His eyes are also swollen like he’s been crying and his expression is defeated. “Good morning. Come have breakfast.” He says quietly, then turns back to the stove.

“Good morning…” You mumble, taking a seat at the island. Jimin prepares a plate of pancakes for you, then places a large platter of cut fruit and a bottle of syrup in front of you. “Thank you.” You say. Jimin just nods, leaning over to hand you a fork and knife. As he does, you pick up on how sour his caramel scent is. 

You begin to eat, watching Jimin’s drooped shoulders as he continues cooking. Despite the alpha’s hate for you, you feel bad for him. It must hurt to be punished by the family he loves so much, and at that for a stranger’s sake. You want to apologize, but at the same time, you don’t. You’re still many times more distressed and hurt than he is, after all.

A few minutes into your meal, Hoseok and Seokjin enter the kitchen together. They approach Jimin quietly together. Hoseok caresses Jimin’s hair and Seokjin rubs his upper back soothingly. 

“These look so good, thanks for cooking for us.” Seokjin says gently. Jimin lowers his head, focusing on flipping a pancake. “Where’s Namjoon, baby?”

“Alpha’s upstairs.” Jimin answers, sniffing. He’s crying. Hoseok noses at his scent gland for a moment, giving the younger alpha his gentle care.

“Took your punishment?” Hoseok asks. Jimin nods. Both alphas look satisfied. “Good boy. Have breakfast with Y/N now. We’ll go speak to Namjoon and Yoongi-hyung. When we get back, we’ll make the rest of the pancakes.”

The younger alpha accepts their orders easily, turning off the stove and taking off his apron. But he hesitates when it’s time to come sit beside you. Then, Jimin seems to get over it and sits in the barstool beside you. 

“Don’t fight while we’re gone!” Seokjin jokes, ruffling your hair as he leaves. You know he’s not joking.

The two of you sit elbow-to-elbow, eating in silence. The pancakes are as good as a ready-made mix could be, but they feel like sandpaper in your throat as you try to eat quickly. After a few minutes, Jimin pours himself a glass of water. Then, he places it in front of you. “Slow down, you’ll choke.”

You whisper a quiet thanks, slowing your pace slightly as you eat. After another stretch of silence: “You’re not nauseated or in pain today?” 

You freeze. For the first time today, you meet Jimin’s dark eyes. They’re defeated, but not cruel. Your eyes must ask how he knows, because Jimin sighs. “You hold your belly, drink lots of water, and eat little when you’re nauseated. You forget about your meals altogether and space out when you’re in pain. Am I wrong?”

You’re surprised at how observant Jimin is. “...No one has noticed that. Not even Jungkook.” You mumble.

Jimin rolls his eyes and takes another bite. He chews for a while, making you think the conversation is over. Then: “Jungkook is as observant as I am, he’s just too nervous around you to notice.”

You blink twice. “Nervous?”

Jimin chuckles darkly. “He’s got a crush on you, you know.”

Butterflies rumble in your stomach, and your heartbeat kicks up. You say nothing, focusing on eating. Being as close as he is, Jimin picks up on your sweetening scent. A pause. “Do you like them?” You startle, looking at the alpha. This time, Jimin avoids your eyes. His eyes dart around the kitchen. You notice his cheeks are now tinged pink. “Y’know. Jungkook, Hobi-hyung, Seokjin-hyung. Them.”

“Is it wrong if I say yes?” You ask quietly. You chew your lip. Jimin clears his throat, focusing on his breakfast. Feeling a bit brave at the alpha’s discomfort, you press him a bit. “They’re…kind of clumsy. Kinda hot and cold and confusing. But when they’re nice to me, it gives me butterflies and feels good to my wolf. A-Am I wrong to like them? W-Will I s-split your pack if I do?”

Jimin puts down his utensils, and a far-away look enters his eyes. “We’ve been a pack for well over a decade now. They’re closer than my own family, but it wasn’t always that way. Getting here was hard for us. We’re alphas, but we also used to be immature boys. We fought and cried again and again until we established the trust and mutual respect that made this pack what it is. When Jungkook told us about you, it was like all of those years just…disappeared. Some of us wanted you, some of us didn’t. And suddenly, we weren’t a pack at all. We were just seven alphas fighting. The level of stress and anger in this home at that time was so bad I thought your existence alone would break us.”

Your heart sinks at his confession. Jimin sucks in a shaky breath. “It was always our dream to become successful, then to have one omega between the seven of us to love and pamper. But this was too abrupt. I accepted you as Pack Omega because it’s inherently wrong to abandon a marked omega. You belong to Jungkook and therefore he belongs to you. And because Jungkook belongs to us, you do, too. That’s the natural sequence of events. I understand all of that, but I can’t get rid of my feelings. Am I wrong?” He asks you.

“What about my feelings?” You breathe. Jimin looks embarrassed. “This was abrupt for me, too. It was upsetting and hard for me, too. I can’t get rid of my feelings either, yet I’ve accommodated all of yours. None of your pack members have treated me as poorly as you have. Am I really the problem then? Tell me, am I wrong?”

You stand up, putting away your dirty dishes. You return to Jimin, who watches you with sad eyes. “I told you already. You don’t have to love me or even want me. I won’t take away anything that belongs to you.  I’ll never challenge your place. So just tolerate me. If not for my sake, then for your pack.”

You turn to leave, flinching when you see Namjoon in the doorway of the kitchen. The alpha looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him, jaw clenched tightly. His glare settles on Jimin. Behind him, Seokjin walks in. “I thought I told you two not to fight.” He sounds exhausted.

Jimin opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “We’re not fighting, just talking.” You say, stepping in front of Jimin to shield him from the four eldest alphas entering the kitchen. Yoongi folds his arms over his chest, unimpressed as he stands at Namjoon’s side. Seokjin and Hoseok just look disappointed, exchanging a look as they enter the room.

“I heard your conversation. You don’t need to defend him.” Namjoon says coldly. “Jimin—”

“I’m telling you we’re not fighting.” You cut Namjoon off. The head alpha looks stunned at your response. You purse your lips, shaking slightly. “I’m Pack Omega, isn’t it my job to keep the peace between us?”

Namjoon’s eyebrows raise. “Well…technically. But—”

“Jimin has been crying all morning, he doesn’t need you to get mad at him again. And I’m tired of fights.” You tell Namjoon, then turn to Jimin. “Go spend some time with Jungkook and Taehyung while I speak to Head Alpha.” You order, echoing Hoseok’s order from earlier. In the corner, Hoseok’s lips twitch into a brief smile before he smothers it by pressing his lips into a thin line.

All five alphas look confused and somewhat amazed as you order Jimin around. Jimin himself looks amazed as he puts his dirty dishes away and actually listens to you, leaving the kitchen. 

“He actually went?” Yoongi mumbles to himself, but you hear it anyway.

“Was I wrong to send him out, Head Alpha?” You ask Namjoon with a pout. The head alpha stares at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

Namjoon laughs in disbelief. “No. You were right to do so, Pack Omega.”

Behind you, Seokjin puts on the apron Jimin left behind, tying it expertly as he gets to making more pancakes. Yoongi grabs plates and utensils to set the table and Hoseok pretends to be busy while asking Seokjin if the amount of batter they have will be enough for the four of them to eat. All of them seem oddly nervous. Namjoon smiles down at you, then gently pats your head. “You did well, sweetheart. Would you mind waiting for us while we eat? We’re going to have a pretty long conversation after, so we’ll need some food before then.”

You shift your weight, cheeks burning a little at Namjoon’s honey-sweet tone. “I’ll wait in the study.” You mumble. Namjoon nods, promising you the four eldest alphas will be there as soon as they’re done eating. 

As you sit in the study, you realize the Pack Omega card is one that seems to win more often than it loses. It earned you one steamy night with Seokjin, and stopped what would’ve most likely been a fight between Namjoon and Jimin. (Or a punishment, whatever that entails.)

After about half an hour of overthinking, the four eldest alphas enter the study. At the same time, Jungkook comes down the flight of stairs in the back hallway. “What is this, a pack meeting?” He asks, frowning. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

Namjoon is unimpressed. “You didn’t hear Pack Omega’s order? You, Jimin, and Taehyung are to stay together while we have a conversation about how some of us have been treating Y/N.”

Jungkook folds his arms over his chest, frown deepening. “Then shouldn’t the alpha she’s upset with be present? Otherwise, we’re not supposed to interfere with a new omega’s bonding process with other alphas, right?”

“Oh, now you want to follow rules.” Seokjin says sharply, making you flinch. Jungkook looks surprised at the eldest alpha’s tone, unfolding his arms. He opens his mouth, but Seokjin has no tolerance for it. “Don’t argue with your eldest hyung. You’ll be called in if you are needed. Now get out.”

Jungkook looks flabbergasted. “What did I do?” He asks, eyebrows raising sky high.

Seokjin shuts his complaints off with one cold glare, sending the alpha off on his way. Jungkook mutters complaints under his breath. Yoongi laughs at the sight, shoulders shaking slightly. “You should’ve seen the look on his face just now.” He says, entering the study. “I haven’t seen the kid look that baffled in years.”

Seokjin looks oddly smug, closing the door behind the alphas and coming to sit next to you on the sofa. Hoseok sits on your other side, draping an arm on the back of the Chesterfield sofa in an attempt to seem nonchalant despite the fact that you can smell the slight sour tinge to his usually sweet citrus smell. It’s a little silly, but you know he’s doing it to comfort you, so you say nothing.

Yoongi and Namjoon sit on the sofa across from you. Namjoon folds his hands in his lap, appraising you. He sighs. “I’m sorry for everything that happened with Jimin yesterday. He was completely out of line. In his opinion, we haven’t done anything to teach you the rules of this pack or your role as Pack Omega. However, as a lower ranking alpha, it’s not his place to decide how and when we teach you. If anything, his remarks yesterday likely scared you and did the opposite of what we were intending to do.”

“He did scare me and upset me, but he wasn’t totally wrong. You haven’t really taught me the rules or anything about my role.” You answer, playing with your hands in your lap. 

“It’s not that we’ve chosen not to tell you, but rather that we’re trying to show you instead.” Namjoon explains patiently. “We felt that explaining a lot of things at once, especially while you’re new, would be overwhelming and could make you more nervous. I also felt that being too strict with you about rules and customs would make you feel even more frustrated. So we decided to take things easy and teach you as we go.”

“Like what?” You ask. “I don’t know anything…”

Namjoon shakes his head. “That’s not true. For one, you understand our hierarchy. I’m at the top, then Seokjin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook, then you. You understand we have a “hyung-line” and a “maknae-line” through our conversations. You’ve also learned through our teaching what our expectations are. You didn’t at first, but now you always tell us where you’re going and with whom so we know. This is important for your safety. You accept our indirect care without questioning it, like car rides, meals and treats prepared for you, little things like that. You have even begun connecting with us, like over books you and I like. Sometimes, you even seek our care and attention, like you did with Seokjin-hyung recently.”

You blush at the reminder of sleeping with Seokjin, but marvel quietly at the rest. It never occurred to you that these little things were carefully planned by the pack for you. “You did that on purpose?” You ask with wide eyes.

Namjoon smiles kindly, eyes crinkling. “Yes. We know you’re incredibly independent and that the lack of trust between us is a big problem. If we were too direct with our care, it might drive you away or hurt your pride. By taking things slowly, we hoped you would warm up to us and in time, begin to accept us as your pack. As you got more comfortable, we would teach you the rules and your role. Until then, your job was only to receive from us and just live your life.”

The head alpha sighs. “The plan was working well until yesterday. I planned on introducing you to your role properly around Seokjin-hyung’s birthday next week, so that we could have a cozy Christmas as a pack. But the maknaes only know bits and pieces of our plan, which is why Jimin was so frustrated that we ‘weren’t doing anything’ to ‘teach you the way.’” Namjoon makes air quotes with one hand, sassily quoting the younger alpha. It brings a slight smile to your face.

Namjoon runs his hands through his hair like he’s trying to will his irritation away. “That plan went bust thanks to Jimin, and honestly, we didn’t have a back-up one. So, whatever. I guess we’ll just have to do things the hard way.” He says, shrugging. “Take it away, hyung.”

“Do I have to explain the next part? Can’t Seokjin-hyung do it?” Yoongi asks. The two have a conversation with their eyes that reminds you of kids in school disagreeing over who has to talk during a presentation. The cat-like alpha sighs, giving in easily. “Okay, so. Alphas and omegas obviously have different roles, but the dynamics depend on the exact pack. Our pack is unconventional in many ways. We’re an all-alpha pack, something that is extremely rare due to an alpha’s inherent desire to be at the top of the hierarchy. Usually, only alphas born into family packs will accept being ranked below another alpha, such as an older brother, father, etcetera. And even that, to a degree, is because they know they will eventually move up in the hierarchy.” Yoongi explains, face bored but voice serious. It makes your smile grow a little bit. Still, you pay close attention.

“But we’re not blood-related and we’re all alphas, which makes our pack the only one of its kind. Even our head alpha is atypical. Usually, the head alpha is selected based on age. In our pack, we weighed various traits such as resourcefulness, strength, protectiveness and so on.” Yoongi continues, looking like he’s explained this exact same thing a million times.

“Can you be any more boring?” Seokjin asks. You press your lips together, suppressing a giggle.

Yoongi glares at Namjoon. “I told you I didn’t want to do the explaining!”

“I already talked so much today that my throat hurts. Can’t you just do it?” Namjoon returns, oddly pouty.

“Fine, then you do it!” Yoongi says, ordering Hoseok. 

Hoseok flusters, cheeks turning pink. “Me? Why?” Yoongi makes an unyielding face, like a cat that has decided to loaf somewhere they are definitely not allowed to. Hoseok scratches his neck, then picks up a nearby framed picture of the seven alphas smiling together. He clears his throat, then points at Seokjin’s face in the picture. “By age, Seokjin-hyung should’ve been Head Alpha. Although he has every right to do so, hyung very rarely uses his title as the eldest to keep us in line. It’s just not his nature. And although we love him, a pack in a crisis needs a firm leader that won’t hesitate to make orders, even ones the pack doesn’t want to obey. That’s the only way to keep a pack in order sometimes.”

You take in the information seriously, rolling it over in your mind for a moment. Then: “Wait, didn’t he just use that title to send Jungkook off?”

“That’s because Jungkook was getting on my nerves.” Seokjin says sagely. 

Unable to stop yourself this time, you giggle. “He was here for two minutes. Are you even allowed to pull the Eldest Hyung card whenever?”

Seokjin sits up straighter. “Well, I usually only use it when it’s important, which is why it works. And this conversation needed to happen without him here, so I used it. Anyway, continue with your little visual demo, Hobah.”

Hoseok blushes, then points out Yoongi’s smiling face next. “By resourcefulness, the head alpha would’ve been Yoongi-hyung, because he’s the best provider among us, which is best for attracting a future mate. But Namjoon-hyung is the best option for a reason. He’s both physically the strongest—making our wolves not want to challenge him by default—and also extremely protective. We feel safe and cared for by him. And therefore, submitting to him is natural to a degree even though we’re all alphas.”

“As much as I loved the praise, you didn’t even point my face out.” Namjoon interjects, making himself, Yoongi, and Seokjin laugh. You hold back a giggle for Hoseok’s sake.

“This was supposed to be a serious conversation, you know!” Hoseok says indignantly, face blushed pink. Then, he very carefully puts the frame back in its place. Jokes aside, you also feel Namjoon is the best option for Head Alpha. His sweet petrichor and pine scent and his firm voice scream Head Alpha to your wolf. In fact, even if the title belonged to another alpha, you think your wolf would still recognize him as Head Alpha.

The eldest alpha spares Hoseok the embarrassment of continuing. “Aside from Head Alpha, our hierarchy is still based on age like most packs, but we’re not rigid about it. There are only a few times where our hierarchy is absolute: when one of us is in danger/sick, our rut cycles, or for punishments. And, of course, any traditions or ceremonies relating to the Pack Omega such as bite consummation.” Seokjin explains. Noticing you stiffen at the mention of punishment, he rubs your back soothingly. 

“W-What does punishment mean?” You ask quietly.

Seokjin pauses. “In order to understand punishment, you need to understand what defiance and submission look like first. For alphas, submission means accepting an order given by Head Alpha or another who outranks him, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to accept it. This shows trust in the pack above even yourself, and understanding that the person who gives the order has your safety and best interests in mind. Defiance looks like refusing orders or acting out of line—like back-talking someone that outranks him, or trying to take control of something that is not his responsibility without permission. Jimin ruining our plan was defiance, for example.”

“And punishment?” You dare.

All four of the alphas’ expressions shift at your question to worry. “What do you think it entails?” Namjoon asks gently. 

“Well, punishment is…physical. So, it–it could be anything, really.” You mumble, avoiding his eyes.

“Physical…” Namjoon breathes the word out. “Could be anything.” He repeats slowly. 

After a long stretch of silence, you dare to meet the head alpha’s eyes. They are dragon-like now and brimming with fury. You’ve seen Namjoon’s anger, but you’ve never seen it like this before. You flinch. “A-Am I wrong?”

“Yes, you are.” Namjoon’s response is immediate. The bite in his words stings. Looking at your fallen expression, the head alpha sighs. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then reopens them. “You know what, I think we need to end this conversation here and pick it up another day. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

You glance at the other alphas, shocked to realize they are as angry as Namjoon. Yoongi’s nostrils flare, jaw clenched tight as he stares at you. Hoseok’s eyes are cold, hands clenched into fists. Seokjin looks downright murderous, like he’d like nothing more than to set the bookshelf he’s staring at on fire. It feels like your nightmares have come to life in the blink of an eye.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you…” You say, beginning to tremble. You don’t understand why they’re so angry. Punishments have always been physical for you. Is it not the case for alphas? Is that why?

Namjoon turns away. “I need a smoke.”

Seokjin stands up abruptly. “I need some water.”

“Me too.” Grits Hoseok, following Seokjin.

You watch the three of them leave, stunned at the sudden, immediate shift in the energy of the room. What went from being a semi-lighthearted conversation became so heavy. Is that why they’re upset? Because I asked about something too heavy too early on? You ruminate, shrinking in on yourself.

“Y/N.” Yoongi calls your name, breaking your trail of thought. The alpha is still angry, but he gestures for you. “Come here.”

The VIP lounge is a blur of neon purple and expensive champagne, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the leather booth. To anyone watching, Jungkook looks like he’s having the time of his life. He’s been taking shots with Jimin, laughing at Jin’s jokes, and even stood up to dance for a minute but the moment Minho slides back into the seat next to him and tosses his phone onto the table, the mask slips.

Jungkook watches the phone for a second, his dark eyes clouded with a mixture of guilt and exhaustion.

"Was that her?" Jungkook asks, his voice low, cutting through the noise of the party.

Minho nods, grabbing a drink. "Yeah. She sounded... quiet, man. She didn't even know we were out. Did you really not tell her?"

Jungkook lets out a long, heavy sigh that seems to deflate his entire chest. He leans back, his head hitting the headrest of the booth as he stares up at the dim ceiling. He looks less like a celebrating star and more like a man drowning in his own head.

"Ten days," Jungkook mutters, rubbing his face with his tattooed hands. "It’s been ten days since I’ve said a word to her."

"Ten days? JK, what are you doing?" Minho looks at him, bewildered. "After that morning at your place, I thought you were finally all-in."

"I am all-in," Jungkook snaps, a flash of frustration crossing his face before it fades back into sadness. "That’s the problem. Those practice sessions... they weren't just long, they were brutal. I’d get home at 4:00 AM, stare at my phone, and I’d start to type a message. But then I’d look at the time and think, She's sleeping. Then I'd wake up and think, She's at work, she doesn't want to hear from a guy who’s barely alive."

He grabs his glass, swilling the amber liquid around. "The longer I waited, the harder it got to send the first text. I started feeling like a failure. How do I explain that I’ve been so deep in my own head about the tour, about the pressure that I just... shut down?"

He looks over at the dance floor where the others are laughing, but his heart clearly isn't there.

"I saw her texts," he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. "I read them every night. They were so sweet, so patient. And every time I read them, I felt like I didn't deserve her. So I waited one more day. And then another. I thought if I just finished this choreo block, I could go to her and be 'the perfect Jungkook' again."

He looks at Minho’s phone, realization dawning on him like a cold bucket of water.

"She thinks I’m just out here having fun, doesn't she? She thinks I forgot about her." He lets out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I’m an idiot. I’ve probably lost her because I was too scared to be vulnerable when things got hard."

He stands up abruptly, ignoring the protest from Jimin across the table. He doesn't want the champagne anymore. He doesn't want the music. He realizes that while he was trying to be perfect for her, he ended up being the very thing she feared most: someone who could walk away without a word.

The morning sun hits the penthouse floor with a brightness that feels aggressive compared to the heavy, stagnant silence inside. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of his bed, the luxury of the room feeling more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary. His head is pounding from the night before, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the sinking dread in his stomach when his phone vibrates.

He sees your name. His heart hammers against his ribs a mix of desperate hope and terrifying guilt. He expects anger. He expects you to scream at him through a screen, to call him every name he deserves for disappearing. But as he scrolls through the long, carefully written paragraphs, his breath hitches.

There is no anger. There is only a quiet, devastating grace that hurts a thousand times worse.

He reads your words where you tell him that the time you spent together was the most beautiful dream you’ve ever had. You thank him for the "Superstar" moments and the quiet ones, especially the morning with Bam. But then, he reaches the part where you explain your own silence. You tell him that it was somewhat clear that a man like him would eventually lose interest in someone like you. You write that you’ve spent the last ten days looking in the mirror, wondering what you did wrong if you were too quiet, too inexperienced, or simply too much.

His eyes sting as he reads your conclusion: that it must have been your fault, because why else would someone share something so intimate, so vulnerable, and then simply vanish? Even as you say goodbye, you don't blame him once. You wish him luck on his tour and tell him you'll always be his biggest fan, even from a distance.

He stares at the screen until the words blur. He realize that while he was protecting his pride, he was systematically destroying yours. He realizes that by trying to be "perfect," he became the villain in a story where you were the only one being real.

The Text Message:

"Jungkook, I’ve spent a long time staring at this screen, trying to find the right way to say this without sounding like I’m asking for something I don't deserve. I guess I just wanted to say thank you. The time we spent together.. Date Five, the morning in your kitchen, the way you looked at me when we were just us, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. For a moment, I actually believed I belonged in your world.

But the last ten days have been a very loud wake-up call. I think, deep down, I always knew this was coming. It was always clear that someone like you, who has the whole world at his feet, would eventually lose interest in someone as ordinary as me. I’m not angry, truly. I’m just... sad that I wasn't enough to make you want to stay.

I’ve spent every night since we last spoke wondering what I did to drive you away. I keep replaying that night in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. I keep thinking that it must be me, that I was too much, or perhaps not enough, because I can’t find any other reason why someone would be that intimate with another person and then disappear without a single word. I must have made it too easy for you to leave.

Please don't feel guilty. I don't blame you for any of this. You have a massive life and a beautiful career, and I was just a small part of a season. I’m grateful for the shirt, the laughs, and the way Bam made me feel like I was home for a second. I’ll be cheering for you from the sidelines, just like everyone else. I hope you find exactly what you’re looking for, even if it wasn't me. Goodbye, Jungkook."

The silence in the penthouse is suddenly broken by the sound of a phone hitting the hardwood floor. Jungkook stands up, his chest heaving, the air in the room feeling too thin to breathe. He stares at the device as if it’s a weapon. Your words the way you took all the weight of his failure and placed it on your own shoulders, are tearing him apart from the inside out.

"Not enough?" he whispers to the empty room, his voice cracking. "You think you weren't enough?"

He starts pacing, his hands tugging at his hair. He thinks of you sitting in your apartment, looking at the door and wondering why it stayed shut. He thinks of you feeling ordinary when, to him, you were the only thing that felt real in a life made of strobe lights and scripted answers.

He grabs a shirt, the first one he finds and his keys. He doesn’t call a driver. He doesn't check the mirrors for paparazzi. He doesn't even put on a mask. He just runs.

He's halfway to the elevator when he realizes he’s still in his pajama pants, but he doesn't care. He gets into his car, his hands shaking so hard he can barely grip the steering wheel. The drive to your apartment is a blur of red lights he barely sees and a mounting sense of panic. Every second he spends in traffic feels like another second you’re slipping further away, another second you’re convincing yourself that his silence was your fault.

When he finally reaches your building, he doesn't take the elevator. He runs up the stairs, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. He reaches your door and stops, his hand poised to knock, but he freezes.

What can he even say? How can he explain that he was a coward? How can he fix the fact that he let ten days go by while you were breaking?

He leans his forehead against the cool wood of your door, closing his eyes. Inside, he hears a faint sound, the clink of a mug, or maybe just the television and it kills him. You’re in there. You’re alive, and you’re hurting, and it’s because of him.

Finally, he knocks. It’s not a superstar’s knock. It’s hesitant, quiet, and pleading.

"Y/N?" he calls out, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. "Please... please open the door. I’m an idiot. I’m a coward. But please... just let me look at you for one second. Please don't believe a word of that text."

He waits, his heart hammering against his ribs, listening for the sound of your footsteps on the other side. He knows he doesn't deserve for you to open it, but he stays there, grounded by the sheer weight of his regret, waiting for the only person who ever made him feel like he didn't have to be perfect.

You pull the door open slowly, the heavy fabric of your plush bathrobe wrapped tightly around you as if it could serve as armor. Your eyes are red-rimmed, and your hair is a mess, but the moment you see him standing there, the world seems to tilt.

He looks nothing like the polished idol from the celebration videos. He’s disheveled, breathless, and his eyes are filled with a raw, agonizing desperation that stops your heart.

"Jungkook?" you whisper, your voice cracking. You're so shocked to see him on your doorstep especially like this, that for a second, you think you’re hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

He doesn't wait for you to invite him in. He takes a step forward, the space between you vanishing, but he doesn't touch you yet. It’s as if he’s afraid he might bruise you further.

"I’m an idiot," he chokes out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush of shame. "Y/N, I am a complete and utter idiot. I’m a coward who got scared because things felt too real, and I let my own head get in the way of the only good thing I've had in years."

He reaches out, his hand hovering near your cheek before he pulls it back, his knuckles white.

"I read your message," he says, his voice breaking completely. "Every word felt like a knife. The thought of you sitting in here thinking that you weren't enough... that it was your fault... it destroyed me. It was never you. It was me being too weak to show you that I was struggling. I’m an idiot who destroys everything good just because I don't know how to handle being happy."

He looks at you then, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears, searching your face for any sign of the girl who smiled at him in his kitchen.

"Please," he whispers, his voice dropping to a plea. "Please tell me it’s not too late. Please tell me I haven't ruined us before we even started."

You stand there, frozen in the doorway, your mind struggling to catch up with the reality of him being in front of you. The confusion is like a thick fog, how can he be saying these things now, after ten days of silence? After the videos of him laughing? You had already started the painful process of closing the door on him in your heart, convincing yourself that you were just a fleeting thought to a man like Jeon Jungkook.

"I don't understand," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I saw you... I saw you were okay. I thought you had just realized I wasn't worth the trouble."

But Jungkook doesn't let you spiral back into those thoughts. Before you can say another word, he moves. He reaches out, his large hands cupping your face with a sudden, desperate intensity, and pulls you toward him.

The kiss isn't like the ones before. It’s not slow or playful; it’s frantic and apologetic, tasting of salt and regret. It’s a silent plea for forgiveness, his lips pressing against yours as if he’s trying to breathe his own life back into you. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything he was too cowardly to put into a text message.

When he finally pulls back just an inch, his forehead remains pressed against yours. You can feel his shaky breath on your skin.

"I was never okay," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours, refusing to let you look away. "I was hiding. I was being a child because I didn't know how to tell you that I'm exhausted and stressed and terrified of failing you. But I am never letting ten days go by again. Never."

He slides his hands down to your waist, pulling your bathrobe-clad body firmly against his chest, grounding you both.

"I want to know everything about you," he says, his voice now a steady, determined vow. "I want to know how you like your tea in the morning, what movies make you cry, and why you ever thought for a second that I could lose interest in you. I want to keep doing this. No more rules, no more disappearing. Just let me in, Y/N. Please."

The wall you built up over the last week starts to crumble. Looking at his messy hair and his tear-streaked face, you realize that the superstar is gone again, and the man standing in your hallway is someone who is just as scared and human as you are.

The moment the words leave his lips, the last of your resistance dissolves. The tension that has been building for ten agonizing days snaps like a taut wire. Before you can even breathe a response, Jungkook’s hands slide from your waist to your thighs, and with a sudden, powerful surge of energy, he hooks his arms under you and hoists you up.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the soft fabric of your bathrobe bunching up as he presses you hard against the wall of your entryway. The thud of your back hitting the surface is muffled by his body, but the impact of his mouth back on yours is anything but soft.

This isn't the gentle, hesitant Jungkook from ten minutes ago. This is a man possessed by the fear of almost losing you. The kiss is deep, hungry, and desperate, his tongue seeking yours with a feverish intensity that makes your head spin.

Your fingers tangle in his messy hair, pulling him closer, your nails grazing his scalp as you mirror his desperation. You want to crawl inside his skin, to erase the last ten days with the sheer heat of your bodies. Every time he groans into your mouth, a low, vibration that starts in his chest and ends in your soul, you feel your knees weaken even more.

His hands aren't still for a second. One is buried in your hair, holding your head at the perfect angle to deepen the kiss, while the other is wandering, gripping your hip through the thick robe, his thumb digging into your skin with a possessiveness that makes you shiver.

"I'm sorry," he gasps against your lips, barely breaking the contact for air. "God, Y/N... I missed you so much it was making me sick."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He attacks your neck, his kisses hot and bruising, marking you as his in the dim light of your hallway. The world outsidethe fans, the managers, the "Superstar" title doesn't exist. There is only the sound of your combined, ragged breathing and the frantic beat of two hearts finally finding their rhythm again. He carries you toward the bedroom without ever letting your feet touch the floor, his eyes dark with a fire that promises he isn't going anywhere tonight.

The transition from the frantic energy of the hallway to the soft, dim light of your bedroom feels like stepping into a different world. It’s quiet here, smelling of your favorite candles and the familiar comfort of home. Jungkook lowers you onto the duvet with surprising tenderness, his large hands lingering on your waist as you sink into the pillows.

The contrast is overwhelming. Just an hour ago, you were ready to delete his number, and now, the most famous man in the world is hovering over you, his chest heaving, his eyes never leaving yours.

"So," you whisper, your voice small but steady, "Jeon Jungkook actually wants to get to know me?"

Jungkook freezes for a second, a small, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks down at his hands, then back at you, the intensity in his gaze softening into something so sweet it almost hurts.

He slowly crawls onto the bed, bracing himself on his elbows so he can loom over you without pinning you down. He reaches out, his thumb gently stroking your reddened cheek, tracing the warmth of your blush.

"More than anything," he says, his voice a low, gravelly vow. "I don't just want the highlights, Y/N. I want the boring stuff. I want to know why you chose this apartment. I want to know what you’re thinking when you look out the window. I want to know every single thing that makes you you."

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose.

"I know I messed up. I know I have to earn back your trust," he murmurs against your skin. "But if you'll let me... I want to spend every spare second I have proving to you that I'm not just some dream that's going to end. I'm just a guy who’s incredibly lucky that you opened that door today."

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression playful but sincere. "And for the record? You look incredible when you're flustered."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, the tension finally leaving your body as you sink deeper into the mattress. "You’re such a dork," you whisper, though your heart is racing. "You show up here looking like a mess, give me a heart attack, and then start flirting?"

Jungkook chuckles, a genuine, warm sound that fills the cozy space of your room. He shifts, lying down on his side next to you and propping his head up on his hand. He uses his free hand to catch yours, interlacing his fingers with yours and resting them on the pillow between you.

"I'm serious, though," he says, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "No more walls. If I'm tired, I'll tell you. If I'm stressed, I'll call you. Even if it's 3:00 AM and I only have two minutes. I won't let the silence happen again."

He looks around your room, taking in the small details the books on your nightstand, the framed photos, the cozy clutter that makes this place yours. It’s a world away from his cold, minimalist luxury, and you can see him soaking it in, memorizing the environment that shaped you.

"So," he murmurs, his eyes drifting back to yours. "Since we're starting over... tell me something. Something nobody else knows. What's your favorite way to spend a rainy Sunday when the world is turned off?"

The question is so simple, so human, that it makes the lump in your throat return but this time, it’s not from sadness. It’s from the realization that he’s actually listening.

You spend the next hour just talking. The heavy, frantic desire from the hallway settles into a deep, comfortable intimacy. You tell him about your childhood, your secret habits, and the things that make you laugh until you cry. And in return, he tells you about the pressure of the stage, how much he actually misses Busan, and how Bam ended up being the only one he could talk to for a long time.

At some point, the sun shifts, casting a warm orange glow across the bed. Jungkook pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

"I have to go to the studio in a couple of hours," he says softly, his breath stirring your hair. "And this time, I'm going to text you the second I walk through those doors. And the second I leave. You’re going to be so sick of my notifications, you’ll wish I stayed silent."

You smile against his chest, closing your eyes and listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. "I highly doubt that, Jungkook."

"Good," he whispers, tightening his grip. "Because I’m not planning on letting you go again."

Jungkook pulls you into his arms, shifting until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. He wraps his heavy, tattooed arm around your waist, pulling you so close that there isn't a single inch of space left between you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a long, shaky sigh of relief that seems to vibrate through your whole body.

"I missed this," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin. "I missed the way you smell. I missed how quiet my brain gets when I'm near you."

You reach back, running your fingers through his hair, untangling the mess from his frantic morning. Every time you move, he tightens his grip just a little bit, as if he’s still making sure you’re actually there and not a figment of his imagination.

You spend the time in a comfortable, drifting silence. Sometimes you whisper small, meaningless things, and other times he just presses soft, lazy kisses to your shoulder or the back of your neck. It’s the kind of cuddling that feels like a conversation in itself—a way of healing the rift the last ten days created without needing any more words.

His breathing eventually slows down, becoming deep and rhythmic. You can feel the tension finally leaving his muscles. In your cozy room, he’s just a man who worked too hard and almost lost the girl he cared about.

"Y/N?" he whispers after a long time, his voice thick with a mix of sleepiness and affection.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let me go, okay? Even if I get stupid and quiet again... just remind me that this is where I’m supposed to be."

You turn in his arms then, facing him. His eyes are soft, his guard completely down. You reach up, cupping his face and tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jungkook. Just stay."

He grins, that lopsided, boyish smile that always makes your heart melt, and pulls the duvet up over both of your heads, creating a little cocoon where the rest of the world can't find you. For the first time in ten days, the silence between you isn't empty—it's full of everything you’ve both been waiting to say.

The atmosphere in the practice studio is thick with the scent of floor wax and sweat. The music has finally stopped after a grueling six-hour session, and the members of BTS are sprawled across the floor, panting and reaching for water bottles.

Jungkook is leaning against the mirrored wall, staring at his phone with a small, private smile that he hasn't been able to shake all day.

"What is up with him?" Jimin pants, nudging Hoseok. "He’s been smiling at that screen for hours. Usually, after this choreo, he’s ready to fight the air."

Namjoon looks over, wiping his forehead. "He looks... suspiciously happy. Did he find a new gaming setup or something?"

Jungkook looks up, realizing he’s been caught. He tries to quickly lock his phone, but Jin is already leaning over his shoulder, squinting at the screen.

"Wait... that's not a game," Jin says, his eyes widening. "Is that a girl? Jungkook-ah! Are you hiding something from your hyungs?"

The room goes dead silent for a heartbeat before erupting into chaos. The members scramble to their feet, surrounding the maknae like a pack of curious wolves.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jungkook laughs, his face turning bright red as he tucks his phone into his pocket. "It's nothing... I mean, it's not nothing. I just... I met someone."

"You met someone?" Taehyung's jaw drops. "When? How? We've been in this building for eighteen hours a day!"

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, looking shyly at the floor. "You remember Minho? The friend I’ve mentioned a few times? He set me up on a blind date a while ago. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to jinx it. I thought... I thought it might just be one dinner."

"A blind date?" Yoongi raises an eyebrow, a rare, supportive smirk on his face. "And? Did the 'Golden Maknae' actually manage to survive a social interaction without us?"

"We've been on five dates," Jungkook admits softly, a genuine glow in his eyes. "Well, six, actually. It’s... it’s different, hyung. She doesn't care about any of the idol stuff. She just... she sees me. Even when I’m being an idiot."

The members go quiet for a second, seeing the look on his face. They know Jungkook,they know how much he struggles with the pressure of being perfect and how lonely his world can get.

"Finally!" Hoseok cheers, pulling Jungkook into a suffocating hug. "Our maknae is growing up! No wonder you've been dancing like a madman lately. You have someone to impress!"

"I’m just happy for you, Kook," Namjoon says, patting him on the shoulder. "If she makes you look that happy after a six-hour practice, she must be something special. When do we get to meet her?"

Jungkook laughs, his ears turning deep pink. "Not yet! I just got her back after being a coward for ten days. I'm not letting you guys scare her off with your 'big brother' interrogation yet."

He looks back at his phone, feeling a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the workout. For the first time, his personal life feels just as bright as the stage lights.

You’re curled up on your sofa with a book when your phone lights up with a FaceTime request. You answer, and Jungkook’s face fills the screen. He’s back at the penthouse, looking showered and relaxed in a simple white tee, though his damp hair is still a bit messy.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft and intimate through the speaker. "I promised I'd call the second I got home."

"You did," you smile, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. "How was the rest of practice?"

Jungkook chuckles, leaning his phone against something so he can sit back. "Actually, practice was... interesting. I ended up spilling the beans."

You tilt your head, confused. "Spilling the beans? About what?"

"About us," he says, a playful, slightly nervous grin spreading across his face. "The hyungs caught me smiling at my phone like a fool. I couldn't hide it anymore. I told them everything about Minho setting us up, the blind date, the fact that we've been on six dates now."

Suddenly, your heart skips a beat, but not in the way it usually does. A wave of heat rushes to your face, and you feel your stomach do a nervous flip. "You... you told them? All of them? Like, Namjoon and Jin and... everyone?"

"Yeah," Jungkook says, oblivious for a moment to your changing expression. "Hobi was practically screaming, and Jin hyung was already making jokes about when he gets to meet you. They're actually really happy for me, Y/N. They said I haven't looked this energized in—"

He stops mid-sentence when he notices you’ve pulled your blanket up to cover the lower half of your face, your eyes wide and your forehead practically glowing red.

"Wait, are you... are you blushing?" he teases, leaning closer to his camera.

"Jungkook!" you groan, your voice muffled by the blanket. "I’m mortified! They’re literally global icons! The thought of them sitting around a practice room talking about me... I think I want to disappear into the floor."

"Why?" he laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction. "You're the girl who handled a Doberman and a 'Superstar' in one morning. I think you can handle a few dorky hyungs."

"It’s not the same!" you squeak. "Now they know I exist. Now I’m not just a secret, I’m a... a topic. What if they think I’m boring? Or what if they think you could do better?"

Jungkook’s expression shifts instantly. The teasing look fades, replaced by that intense, grounded gaze that always makes you feel like the only person in the world.

"Hey," he says, his voice dropping into a serious, low register. "Look at me."

You slowly lower the blanket, feeling incredibly shy.

"They think I’m lucky," he says firmly. "Because they’ve seen how I’ve been the last week, and they saw how I walked into the studio today. I told them you’re the only person who makes me feel like I can just breathe. So don't be embarrassed. To them, you're already the person who saved their maknae from himself."

He winks at the camera, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, Jin already asked if you can cook. I told him you make better eggs than me, so you're already his favorite."

"Oh my god," you whisper, burying your face in your hands again. "I'm never leaving my house."

You take a deep breath, trying to push the image of the world's biggest boy band discussing your existence out of your head. You shift on the sofa, tucking your legs under you, and try to bring the conversation back to something grounded.

"Okay, okay, I'll try to process that later," you say with a small, shy smile. "But how was the actual work? How was the rehearsal? You sounded like they were really putting you through it today."

Jungkook leans his head back against the headboard of his bed, and for a split second, the exhaustion he’s been masking flickers across his face. He runs a hand through his damp hair, his muscles visibly tense even through the screen.

"It’s... it’s a lot, Y/N," he admits, his voice dropping an octave. "This comeback... it’s going to be absolutely crazy. The scale of everything the choreo, the transitions, the stage production it’s bigger than anything we’ve attempted in a long time. It’s ambitious. But man, it’s draining."

He shifts his camera slightly, and you can see the faint bruises on his knees from the floor work they’ve been doing.

"Every bone in my body aches," he says with a tired, honest laugh. "The perfectionists weren't kidding. We spent four hours today just on one thirty-second dance break because the synchronization wasn't 'surgical' enough. It’s the kind of tired that gets into your soul, you know? Like, you're so focused on the counts and the breathing and the angles that you forget how to just be a person."

He looks back at the camera, his gaze softening as it lands on you.

"That’s why I was so desperate to see you today. It’s the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He reaches out as if to touch your face through the screen, his thumb tracing the glass where your cheek is.

"I'm sorry if I sound like I'm complaining. I love it, I really do. I want it to be perfect for the fans. But sometimes... I just wish I could teleport back to your sofa and let you tell me about your day until I fall asleep."

You nod slowly, watching the weariness in his eyes and feeling a wave of genuine empathy.

"I get it, Jungkook," you say softly, leaning your chin on your hand. "At the end of the day, it’s your job. And everyone gets frustrated or exhausted by their work, no matter how much they love it. It’s okay to be tired. You don’t have to be the 'Golden Maknae' with me, remember? You're allowed to just be a guy who’s had a rough shift."

He watches you, his expression relaxing as he lets out a breath he seemed to be holding. It’s clear he doesn’t get told that often.

"But," you continue with a small, playful smirk, "if it makes you feel any better, or maybe worse the pressure is definitely real out here. One of my colleagues at work literally has a digital countdown clock on her desktop for the Arirang Comeback. Every time I walk past her desk, she’s checking the seconds. The world is ready, even if your knees aren't."

Jungkook freezes for a second, then a slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face. It’s that specific look half-proud, half-mischievous that makes him look like the boy you first met on that blind date.

"A countdown, huh?" he asks, his voice dropping into a playful, teasing hum. "So... does that mean you have a countdown too? Are you secretly counting the seconds until you see me on stage?"

He leans closer to the camera, his dark eyes sparkling with a challenge. "Or are you only counting the seconds until our next date?"

As the weight of his gaze hits you through the screen, that familiar heat flares up in your cheeks again. You look away, tucked into your hoodie, but you know it's too late you're glowing bright red under the soft light of your living room.

"I... I don't have a clock," you stammer, looking everywhere but at his face. "I just... I have a calendar. That's different."

Jungkook lets out a low, delighted laugh, the sound rich and warm. "You're blushing again. God, Y/N, you’re so easy to tease. It’s a good thing I’m all the way over here, or I’d never let you hide that face."

You try to hide your face behind your hand, but his laughter makes you smile despite the embarrassment. You clear your throat, trying to regain a bit of your composure as you look back at the screen.

"Okay, okay, stop teasing me," you say, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since you’re so full of energy now, tell me when is Date Seven? You mentioned you were already planning it when we were in the kitchen, but the last ten days kind of... interrupted the schedule."

Jungkook leans back, a mysterious, cat-like grin spreading across his lips. Instead of giving you a date or a time, he simply shrugs his shoulders, his expression incredibly smug.

"That," he says, popping the 'p' and looking away as if he’s thinking about something wonderful, "is for me to know and for you to find out. I told you I’m planning something where I have you all to myself. No distractions."

"Not even a hint?" you plead, leaning closer to the phone. "Is it outdoors? Do I need to dress up? Or is it another 'sweatpants and movies' kind of night?"

"Nope. Not a single word," he replies, shaking his head. He looks so satisfied with himself that it’s almost frustrating. "I want you to be completely surprised. All I’ll tell you is that I’ve already cleared a window in my schedule, and I’ve made sure the crew won't be able to find me."

He winks at you, his voice softening into that low, intimate tone that always makes your stomach flip.

"Just be ready. When the car shows up at your door, don't ask questions. Just trust me, okay?"

You sigh, leaning back against your sofa cushions. "I’m terrible with surprises, Jungkook. You’re going to give me anxiety until then."

"It’ll be worth it," he promises, his gaze lingering on your face as if he’s trying to reach through the screen and touch you. "I owe you a perfect night after everything. Now, go to sleep. You have work in the morning, and I have to go dream about how I’m going to impress you on Date Seven."

The elevator ride down feels like it takes an eternity. Your head is throbbing from back-to-back meetings, a mountain of passive-aggressive emails, and a boss who seemingly forgot you were a human being today. All you want to do is crawl into bed, order the greasiest takeout possible, and vanish into the darkness.

As the lobby doors slide open, you step out into the evening air, shivering slightly. Your shoulders are hunched, your eyes tired, and your mood is hovering somewhere near rock bottom.

And then you see it.

Idling quietly at the curb is a sleek, black sedan with tinted windows. Before you can even process if it’s for you, the back door swings open, and a familiar figure steps out well, as familiar as someone can be when they are wearing an oversized black hoodie, a mask, and a bucket hat pulled low.

Even without seeing his full face, you recognize the way he stands one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the door frame.

"Rough day?"

Jungkook’s voice is muffled by the mask, but the warmth in it is unmistakable. He steps toward you, ignoring the few passersby, and reaches out to take your work bag from your hand.

"How did you—?" you start to ask, your voice sounding small and exhausted.

"I have my ways," he says softly. He pulls his mask down just enough to show you a sympathetic, knowing smile. He reaches out with his free hand and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your temple. "You look like you've been fighting a war. Get in. The world ends at that car door, I promise."

He ushers you into the back seat, which smells faintly of his cologne and expensive leather. As he slides in next to you and shuts the door, the chaos of the city is instantly replaced by a heavy, luxurious silence.

Jungkook doesn't ask you what happened. He doesn't ask you to be "on." Instead, he just pulls your head down onto his shoulder and takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

"Don't think about work," he whispers, his voice vibrating through your side. "Date Seven officially starts now, and the first rule is that nobody is allowed to be stressed. We're going somewhere where the only thing you have to do is breathe."

As the car pulls away from the curb, you feel the weight of the "fucking horrible" workday start to lift, replaced by the steady, grounding presence of the man who actually showed up when you needed him most.

The car moves smoothly through the evening traffic, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. Jungkook doesn't try to force a conversation. He seems to sense that your brain is fried, so he just keeps his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles over your knuckles.

"Hungry?" he asks quietly after a few minutes.

"Starving," you admit, your voice a little scratchy. "I think I lived on three cups of coffee and half a protein bar today."

He tsked under his breath, shaking his head. "That’s not allowed on my watch. Lean back, we’re almost there."

You expect a fancy restaurant or maybe a return to his penthouse, but the car eventually pulls into a quiet, private parking area near the Han River, far away from the usual tourist spots. When the door opens, the air is cool and smells like rain.

He leads you toward a small, unassuming building a private rental studio that looks like a converted loft. Inside, it’s stripped back: exposed brick, a massive projector screen on one wall, and a floor covered in thick, oversized cushions and blankets. There’s no staff, no cameras just a small table in the corner stacked with takeout containers from that specific 24-hour place you once mentioned you liked.

"I figured you wouldn't want to sit in a stiff chair at a restaurant," Jungkook says, pulling off his bucket hat and tossing it onto a cushion. He looks at you, his eyes searching your face. "And I know when I have a bad day, the last thing I want is people looking at me."

He walks over to the containers and starts opening them spicy rice cakes, fried chicken, and a massive bowl of jjajangmyeon.

"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the pile of blankets. "Eat first. Vent second. Or don't talk at all. We can just watch a movie and pretend the rest of Seoul doesn't exist for a few hours."

You sink onto the cushions, the sheer comfort of the setup making your eyes sting for a second. It wasn't a grand, cinematic gesture; it was exactly what you needed.

"Thank you, Jungkook," you say, finally feeling your shoulders drop from your ears. "Seriously."

He sits down cross-legged across from you, handing you a pair of chopsticks. "Don't thank me yet. I picked a really long movie. You’re trapped here until at least midnight."

He gives you a small, crooked grin the kind that isn't for the cameras, just for you. For the first time all day, the knot in your stomach finally begins to untie.

As you start digging into the spicy rice cakes and fried chicken, the dam finally breaks. Maybe it’s the comfort of the food or just the way Jungkook is sitting there, looking at you with complete focus, but all the frustration from the last nine hours comes pouring out.

"I honestly can’t take it anymore," you say, waving a chopstick in the air for emphasis as your voice rises. "My manager is a total nightmare. She waited until 4:55 PM to drop a complete project redesign on my desk and then had the nerve to ask if I could 'quickly' finish it before I left. Like, do I look like a magician to her?"

Jungkook leans back on his elbows, nodding along, his eyes locked on you. He doesn't interrupt; he just lets you ride the wave of your anger.

"And the emails!" you continue, your face getting redder as you get into it. "The passive-aggressive 'per my last email' comments from the accounting department... it’s like everyone in that building woke up today with the sole purpose of making my life a living hell. I’m doing the work of three people, and for what? To be treated like a piece of office furniture?"

You take a aggressive bite of chicken, chewing as if you're trying to vent your anger through your jaw. "I swear, if I have to hear the word 'synergy' or 'deadline' one more time this week, I’m going to throw my laptop out the window. It’s just so disrespectful of my time, Jungkook. It’s exhausting."

Jungkook reaches out, grabbing a napkin and gently wiping a stray bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth. He doesn't look overwhelmed by your outburst; if anything, he looks like he’s enjoying seeing this fiery side of you.

"Get it all out," he says with a low, supportive chuckle. "Throw the laptop. I'll buy you a new one. Tell me more about the manager what else did she do?"

"She had the audacity to tell me I looked 'tired'!" you vent, throwing your hands up. "Of course I look tired! I’ve been carrying her department for six months!"

Jungkook shakes his head, his expression shifting into a mock-serious frown. "That’s it. We’re blacklisting her. No concert tickets for her, ever."

His comment is so ridiculous that it finally cracks your shell, making you huff out a laugh despite yourself. You lean back against the cushions, the heat of your anger finally starting to dissipate into the quiet room.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, looking down at your plate, feeling a bit shy now that the storm has passed. "I probably sound like a crazy person. You have actual, world-level problems, and here I am crying about emails."

"Don't do that," he says firmly, reaching over to nudge your knee with his. "Your stress is real, Y/N. Just because I dance in stadiums doesn't mean your bad day isn't heavy. I like hearing you get fired up. It means you’re human. And honestly? It’s kind of hot when you’re angry."

He winks at you, effectively ending your rant and making you blush for the hundredth time that week.

You roll your eyes, though a smile is tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Oh, shut up," you laugh, reaching out to give him a playful, firm punch to his bicep. "I'm having a legitimate crisis over here and you're using it to flirt?"

Jungkook doesn't even flinch at the punch; instead, he lets out a soft, delighted chuckle, catching your hand before you can pull it back. He uses it to tug you toward him, closing the small gap between you on the floor.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs, his thumb grazing your knuckles. "I like that you're not polite with me. I like that you tell me when things are bullshit."

Before you can come up with a witty comeback, he leans in. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts with that same teasing grin you can literally feel him smiling against your mouth but it quickly deepens into something warmer and more grounding.

It’s the perfect antidote to your day. The taste of him, the quiet of the room, and the way his hand slides up to cup the back of your neck makes the memory of your manager and those annoying emails feel like they happened a lifetime ago.

When he finally pulls back, just a few inches, his dark eyes are shining with mischief. "Better?" he whispers.

"A little," you admit, your heart doing that familiar backflip.

"Good," he says, grabbing a piece of chicken and offering it to you. "Because I have a whole list of things to distract you with tonight, and work isn't on it."

The projector hums quietly in the background, casting large, flickering shadows against the brick walls. The movie is some long, beautifully shot film, but you’re barely paying attention to the subtitles. You’re tucked firmly into Jungkook’s side, his arm draped heavily over your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest.

It feels incredibly domestic. For a moment, you forget that he’s a man who sells out stadiums; here, in the dim light, he’s just a guy who keeps sharing his blanket and subconsciously rubbing his thumb against your arm. The atmosphere is so thick with quiet romance that you want to bottle it up.

You reach for your phone, wanting to capture the mood. You start by taking a few shots the half-eaten takeout containers, the way the light from the screen hits the edge of his tattoos, and the cozy pile of blankets at your feet.

"What are you doing?" he whispers, his voice vibrating against your temple.

"Documenting Date Seven," you murmur, snapping a photo of your interlaced hands. "So I can prove to myself tomorrow that this wasn't just a fever dream caused by work stress."

Jungkook chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. He doesn't pull away; instead, he shifts, leaning his head down until his cheek is resting against yours. "Well, if you're going to take pictures, at least put me in them. I didn't fix my hair for nothing."

You laugh, turning the camera around to selfie mode. The screen shows the two of you, you, looking soft and relaxed for the first time all day, and Jungkook, looking completely at peace, his dark eyes fixed on you instead of the lens.

"Ready?" you ask.

Just as you press the shutter, Jungkook doesn't just smile. He turns his head and presses a lingering, sweet kiss to your temple, his eyes closing. The camera clicks, capturing a moment that is so raw and intimate it makes your heart ache.

You look at the photo on the screen the way he’s holding you, the genuine Contentment on his face and you feel a rush of affection so strong it almost rivals your earlier anger.

"I look like a mess," you whisper, staring at your tired eyes in the photo.

"You look like mine," he corrects softly, taking the phone from your hand and setting it aside so he can pull you even closer. "Now, stop looking at the screen and look at me."

The movie continues to flicker on the wall, but the sound has faded into a distant hum as you turn in his arms to face him. The dim light catches the silver of his lip ring, and when he leans in to close the distance, the metal is a sharp, cold contrast against the startling heat of his mouth.

It’s a sensation that sends a shiver straight down your spine. You’re completely under his spell the way he smells, the weight of his body, and the intense, focused way he looks at you as if nothing else exists. The kiss deepens, becoming hungrier and more urgent, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands begin to wander.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, a sound of pure wanting that vibrates against your lips. He shifts, moving you until you’re lying back against the pile of soft cushions, his body hovering over yours. His hand slides down from your waist, moving beneath the hem of your clothes, his warm palm grazing the skin of your stomach and making your breath hitch.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he whispers against your skin, his voice dropped to a gravelly, dangerous pitch. "While I was at practice, while I was sitting in that car... all I wanted was to have you like this."

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, slipping beneath the lace with a slow, agonizing deliberate edge. You gasp as he finds you, his touch incredibly gentle at first, circling and teasing until you’re arching up against him. He watches your face, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, tracking every hitch in your breath and every flush of color on your skin.

Then, he slides a finger inside you. He’s skilled and patient, his movements rhythmic and deep, mimicking the pace of his tongue as he kisses you again. The sensation is overwhelming.

"You're so soft," he murmurs into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. He adds a second finger, stretching you gently, his thumb finding exactly the right spot to send waves of electricity through your nerves. "Do you like that, Y/N? Tell me."

You can barely find your voice, your head lolling back as you grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie. You’re completely lost in him, the stress of the day fully incinerated by the fire he’s started. He picks up the pace, his hand moving with a blurring intensity that pushes you closer and closer to the edge, until the world outside the room truly ceases to exist.

The sounds of the movie are nothing more than a blurred static in the background, completely drowned out by the sound of your own jagged breathing and the heavy, rhythmic friction of your bodies. Jungkook is focused entirely on you, his movements precise and demanding, driving you further into the cushions with every deep, pulsing stroke of his fingers.

He watches your eyes glaze over, his own expression a mask of raw intensity. He’s not the shy boy from the phone call anymore; he’s a man who knows exactly how to take what he wants. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up further, his thumb never leaving that sensitive peak as his fingers slide in and out of you, slick and relentless.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a dark, rough velvet. When you meet his gaze, you see the hunger there the absolute need to be the one who makes you lose control. "That's it... just for me, Y/N."

He picks up the pace, his hand moving with a blurring speed that makes your hips buck instinctively against him. You’re wound so tight, your entire body trembling as the tension coils in your lower stomach. You cry out his name, your voice breaking, and he captures the sound with his mouth, swallowing your moans as he pushes you over the edge.

The climax hits you in violent, white-hot waves, your muscles clenching around his fingers as you shatter. Jungkook holds you through it, his forehead pressed against yours, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he feels the aftershocks of your release. He doesn't pull away immediately; he lingers, his touch softening into something slow and grounding, letting you drift back down to reality.

He eventually withdraws, the silver of his lip ring catching the flickering light as he kisses your forehead, your nose, and finally your swollen lips. He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucking you into his chest as your breathing finally begins to level out.

"Date Seven," he whispers into the crown of your head, his voice still thick and low. "Definitely worth the wait."

You lean into him, completely spent and finally at peace, the memory of your horrible day nothing more than a shadow in the wake of him.

You’re still breathless, your body humming with the aftershocks of what he just did to you. As your head clears, you shift against the cushions, reaching out to tug at the waistband of his joggers. Your eyes are dark with a new kind of intent; you want to return the favor, to see him lose that cool, controlled composure he’s been holding onto all night.

But before you can move, Jungkook’s hand gently but firmly catches your wrist.

He shakes his head slowly, a soft, lopsided smile playing on his lips. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are still heavy with heat, but he pulls your hand up and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles instead.

"No," he whispers, his voice still a bit gravelly. "Not tonight."

"Jungkook," you protest, your voice a small, sleepy whine. "That's not fair. Let me—"

"Hey," he murmurs, shifting so he can tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He pulls the duvet up higher, cocooning you against his chest. "I told you when I picked you up today was about the world ending at the car door. You had a hell of a day. You were stressed, exhausted, and ready to quit everything."

He settles back into the pillows, pulling you firmly into the crook of his arm so your head rests right over his heart. You can feel the steady, powerful thud of it beneath his ribs.

"Tonight was about making you forget all of that," he says, his chin resting on the top of your head. "It was about making sure you felt... taken care of. I don't need a trade. Seeing you look like that, seeing you finally relax that was enough for me."

He gives you a playful little squeeze, his tone lightening just a bit. "Besides, I’m a marathon runner, remember? I can wait for Date Eight. Tonight, you just stay right here and let me hold you."

You let out a long, contented sigh, finally giving in to the sheer comfort of his embrace.

You sink into the warmth of his side, the steady beat of his heart acting like a metronome that finally stills your racing mind. The flickering light from the projector starts to feel heavy on your eyelids, and the plush blankets are like a soft sanctuary against the rest of the world.

Jungkook doesn't say much more, sensing that you're drifting off. He reaches over and grabs the remote, turning the volume of the movie down to a mere whisper until it’s just ambient noise. He stays perfectly still, acting as your human pillow, his hand resting protectively on your waist.

"Sleep, Y/N," he mumbles, his voice vibrating through your ear. "I’ve got you."

You don't even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you feel a gentle shift hours later. The room is darker now, the movie has finished, and the screen is glowing with a soft, static blue. Jungkook is carefully untangling himself from you, moving with the kind of grace that only a dancer has to avoid waking you up.

"Where are you going?" you whisper, your voice thick with sleep.

He freezes, then leans back down to press a kiss to your temple. "Just getting some water. And checking with the driver. It's late, but if you want to stay here, we can stay. I rented the place until noon tomorrow."

You sit up squinting, feeling the cool air hit your skin where his body heat used to be. The realization hits you he didn't just plan a date; he planned an escape. No managers knocking on the door, no early wake-up calls, just a quiet loft in the middle of a sleeping city.

"You don't have practice tomorrow?" you ask, rubbing your eyes.

Jungkook grins, that mischievous glint back in his eyes as he hands you a bottle of water he just opened. "I told Namjoon hyung that if I didn't get one full morning of peace, I was going to 'accidentally' leak the bridge of the new single. He told me to take the morning off."

He crawls back onto the cushions, pulling you back down with him. "So, no alarms. No emails. Just us and maybe some breakfast whenever we actually wake up."

As you settle back into his arms, you realize that for the first time in months, you aren't dreading the next day. You turn your face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, and finally let the last of the world fade away.

You look up at him, the dim blue light of the studio reflecting in your eyes. While this loft is peaceful, you find yourself craving the one place that truly feels like his sanctuary. You want the familiar scent of his pillows, the heavy duvet, and the quiet comfort of his actual home.

"Jungkook?" you whisper, your voice still a bit husky from sleep.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

"Can we go back to your place? I want to sleep in your bed. Your actual bed." You pause, a small smile tugging at your lips as you think of a certain four-legged friend. "And I really miss Bam. I bet he’s wondering where I am."

Jungkook’s expression softens instantly. A low, warm chuckle vibrates in his chest as he pulls you closer for a second. "You want to go home, huh? And here I thought you only liked me for my movie taste."

He leans down and nips playfully at your earlobe before pulling back. "Bam definitely misses you. He’s probably sitting by the door right now. He’s obsessed with you honestly, I think he likes you more than he likes me at this point."

He starts gathering his things, helping you up from the pile of cushions with a steady hand. "If that's what you want, that's where we're going. My bed is way more comfortable than these cushions anyway, and there’s no one there to bother us."

He pulls his mask and bucket hat back on, but before he leads you out to the waiting car, he stops. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"I like that you call it 'home,'" he says quietly, his eyes searching yours. "Let's go. Bam is waiting for his favorite person."

The drive back to his place is quiet, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows in streaks of neon and gold. Your head is back on his shoulder, and his hand is firmly anchored on your thigh, a silent promise that the peace of the evening isn't over yet.

As soon as the elevator dings at his penthouse and the doors slide open, a frantic clicking of paws on the polished floor echoes through the hall.

"Bam-ah!" Jungkook calls out, his voice instantly dropping into that high-pitched, "dog-dad" tone.

The massive Doberman skids around the corner, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half wiggles. He ignores Jungkook entirely, heading straight for you and nearly knocking you over with a giant, wet lick to your hand. He whines low in his throat, nudging his head against your hip as if demanding to know where you’ve been for the last ten days.

"See?" Jungkook grumbles playfully, tossing his keys on the marble counter. "I’m just the guy who pays the bills. You’re the one he’s been waiting for."

You laugh, kneeling down to ruffle Bam’s soft ears. "I missed you too, buddy."

Jungkook watches the two of you for a moment, a look of pure, unshielded contentment on his face. He walks over, placing a hand on the small of your back and guiding you toward the master bedroom. The apartment is quiet, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the Han River, but tonight, the view doesn't matter.

Inside his room, the air is cool and smells faintly of his signature woodsy scent. He doesn't bother turning on the main lights, leaving the space in a soft, amber glow.

"Go get comfortable," he says, nodding toward his dresser. "Take whatever you want. I’m going to let Bam out for a minute and grab us some water."

By the time you’ve changed into one of his oversized black hoodies which smells exactly like him and reaches halfway down your thighs Jungkook returns. He’s stripped down to just his sweatpants, his tattoos on full display in the dim light.

He pulls back the heavy, dark duvet, inviting you in. As you slide into the massive bed, the high-thread-count sheets feel like heaven against your skin. Bam follows suit, jumping onto his designated spot at the foot of the bed with a heavy thump, letting out a satisfied huff as he settles in.

Jungkook climbs in beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He positions you so your back is against his chest, his large frame acting like a shield against the rest of the world.

"Finally," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with the beginning of sleep. "This is exactly how I wanted Date Seven to end."

"In bed with your dog?" you tease softly.

"In bed with my two favorite people," he corrects, tightening his grip on you.

As you close your eyes, the stress of the workday feels like a distant, blurry memory.

The silence of the room is heavy and sweet, broken only by the low, rhythmic thud of Bam’s tail hitting the mattress a few times before he finally drifts off. The city lights outside the window look like fallen stars, but the only thing you’re focused on is the heat of Jungkook’s skin against your back.

"You're still awake," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that you feel more than hear. He nuzzles his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck, his lips grazing your skin. "Still thinking about those emails?"

"No," you whisper, turning slightly in his arms so you can see his face. "Those feel a hundred years away now."

He looks incredibly young in the shadows, the sharp lines of his jaw softened by the pillow. He reaches out, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip.

He pulls you a little closer, his gaze becoming intense. "Having you here, in my actual life... not just at a restaurant or a studio, but here... it makes the 'Idol' part of me feel smaller. In a good way. Like I have a place to land."

He leans in, pressing a soft, slow kiss to your lips.

"I do have to be at the stadium early tomorrow for soundcheck," he whispers against your mouth, "but I want you to stay here. Sleep in. Use the rain shower. Eat whatever you want from the fridge. I’ll have the driver take you wherever you need to go when you're ready."

"Jungkook, I have to work tomorrow too," you remind him with a small laugh, though the idea of staying in this bed forever is tempting.

"Right. Work," he sighs, dramatically hiding his face in your neck. "I’m going to personally write a letter to your manager telling her you’re busy being the Muse of the Year. She’ll understand."

You giggle, running your hand over the ink on his arm, tracing the intricate designs. "I don't think that's how corporate Korea works, JK."

"A guy can dream," he mutters, finally settling down and pulling the duvet up to your chins. He kisses your forehead one last time, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Stay anyway. Just for the morning. I want to know you're here when the sun comes up."

You’re standing in the kitchen, wearing one of Jungkook’s oversized t-shirts and some leggings, hair tied up in a messy bun. The smell of the stew you’re simmering fills the apartment, and Bam is currently flopping around your feet, exhausted and happy from your long walk.

Then, the front door lock beeps.

You expect it to be just Jungkook maybe he finished rehearsals early. But the hallway suddenly erupts with a chaotic mix of voices, laughter, and the heavy thud of multiple pairs of boots.

"I’m telling you, the bridge needs that extra ad-lib!"

"I'm just here for the free food JK promised..."

Your heart stops. You look toward the entryway just as a sea of familiar faces rounds the corner. It’s not just Jungkook. It’s all of them. RM, Jin, Suga, J-Hope, Jimin, and V are spilling into the living room, shedding jackets and talking over each other.

The room goes dead silent the moment they spot you standing there with a wooden spoon in your hand.

Jungkook is at the back of the group, frozen mid-sentence. His eyes go wide as he realizes the collision course he’s just steered his entire life into. He looks at you, then at his six "brothers" who are now staring at you like you’re a rare museum exhibit.

"Uh..." Namjoon is the first to speak, blinking rapidly. "Hi?"

Jin’s nose sniffs the air. "Is that... Kimchi Jjigae? Jungkook, you didn't say you hired a chef. Or... wait."

Your face is probably ten different shades of red. Meeting the six people who are essentially his family, all at once, in your loungewear, was not the plan.

You look at Jungkook, your eyes screaming 'Help me,' while Bam happily trots over to Tae, who is the only one not frozen, already kneeling down to greet the dog.

Jungkook finally clears his throat, stepping forward and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He looks at you with an apologetic, "I-totally-forgot-I-invited-them" expression.

"Everyone," Jungkook says, his voice a bit higher than usual. "This is Y/N. Y/N... these are the hyungs. All of them. At once. Sorry."

Jimin is the first to break the tension, a huge, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "So this is why you've been disappearing the second practice ends? Jungkook-ah, you have a lot of explaining to do."

You grip the handle of the spoon so hard your knuckles turn white. You wanted to be elegant, prepared, and "girlfriend material" when meeting his circle. Instead, you're standing here in his laundry, smelling like onions.

You stand there, frozen, the wooden spoon still held like a makeshift shield. Your heart is hammering against your ribs so hard you’re sure they can hear it. You look down at your messy bun, then at Jungkook’s oversized shirt, and finally at the six legends standing in the living room.

"I... uh..." you stammer, your voice coming out a little breathless and incredibly shy. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking anywhere but directly into their curious eyes. "It looks like... I’m going to need to cook a lot more than I thought."

The silence breaks instantly.

"Yes! I like her already!" Jin exclaims, clapping his hands together and heading straight for the kitchen island. "Jungkook, she has the right priorities! Food first, introductions later!"

Jungkook finally moves, rushing to your side and sliding an arm around your waist. He leans down, whispering quickly into your ear, "I am so sorry, they practically forced their way into the car. I'll help you. We have more stuff in the fridge, right?"

"Wait, wait," Jimin says, leaning over the counter with a playful, narrow-eyed look. "You've been hiding her for how long? And she’s already at the stage where she’s walking the dog and cooking dinner?" He nudges Jungkook’s shoulder. "You're moving fast, JK!"

You turn back to the stove, your face feeling like it’s literally on fire. "I’ll just... I’ll start some more rice," you mumble, focusing intently on the pot of stew to hide your blushing.

"Don't be nervous!" Hoseok says, giving you a bright, heart-shaped smile from across the room. "We’ve heard... well, we haven't heard much because he’s been keeping you a secret, but we know he’s been a lot happier lately. Thank you for the meal!"

Taehyung, who is still on the floor with Bam, looks up and tilts his head. "She smells like Jungkook’s fabric softener," he notes out loud, making the others laugh and making you want to melt into the floorboards.

Jungkook groans, hiding his face in your shoulder for a second. "Okay, everyone out! Go to the living room! Give her some space!"

He turns back to you, his eyes softening as he takes the spoon from your hand. "You're doing great," he whispers so only you can hear. "They already love you. Just... maybe don't let Jin help, or we'll be here until midnight."

You’re trying to keep it together for the sake of hospitality, but as you pull another bag of rice from the pantry, the reality of the situation starts to grate on your nerves. You aren’t "officially" anything yet, no titles, no "boyfriend/girlfriend" talk and yet here you are, looking like a housewife in his clothes, about to serve a three-course meal to the biggest stars on the planet.

As the guys retreat to the living room, their loud laughter and Bam’s excited barking filling the space, Jungkook stays behind to help you. He reaches for a bowl, but you shoulder him out of the way a bit more forcefully than necessary.

"Hey," he whispers, catching the tension in your movements. "Are you okay?"

You turn to him, keeping your voice low so the others don't hear, but your eyes are flashing. "Jungkook, this is a lot," you hiss, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "I’m standing here in your laundry, I haven't even brushed my hair properly since the walk, and suddenly the entire group is in your living room?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry—"

"No, seriously," you interrupt, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of shyness and genuine annoyance. "We haven't even had the talk about what we are, and now I’m being introduced to your 'family' like this? You overstepped. I wanted to be prepared. I wanted to... I don't know, have my own clothes on?"

Jungkook flinches slightly, the playful grin disappearing from his face. He realizes he messed up. He was so excited to have his worlds collide that he completely forgot to check if you were ready for the impact.

"Y/N, I really didn't plan it," he says softly, his hands hovering near your waist but not touching, sensing your anger. "They were teasing me about where I was going, and Jin-hyung said he was hungry, and before I knew it, they were all in the elevator. I should have called. I should have told them 'no'."

He looks toward the living room, then back at you, his expression clouding with guilt. "Do you want them to leave? I'll make up an excuse. I’ll tell them I have a private meeting. I’ll kick them out right now if it makes you feel better."

"No," you sigh, your anger deflating into a heavy weight of social anxiety. "Don't kick them out. That would be ten times more awkward. Just... give me a second to breathe, okay? And go get them some drinks so they stay out of the kitchen."

"Okay," he breathes, looking relieved but still cautious. He leans in, quickly kissing your forehead. "I'm an idiot. I'll make it up to you. Date Eight is going to be whatever you want, I promise."

You manage to pull together enough food to feed a small army, moving with a focused, silent efficiency that Jungkook clearly interprets as "danger zone." He stays out of your way, playing the perfect host by setting the table and herding the guys toward the dining area.

"Dinner's ready," you say quietly, keeping your eyes on the plates as you set the last bowl of steaming stew in the center of the table.

The guys practically swarm the table, their eyes widening at the spread. "Wah, it looks amazing!" Jimin says, looking at you with a warm, appreciative smile. "Thank you so much, Y/N-ssi."

"Yeah, seriously," Namjoon adds, pulling out a chair. "We're sorry for just barging in like this."

You give them a small, stiff nod polite but clearly overwhelmed. "Please, enjoy. I’ll be right back."

You don't wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head straight for the master bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft but firm click.

Finally, silence.

You lean against the cool marble of the vanity and let out a long, shaky breath. Your hands are actually trembling. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and nearly groan. You’re wearing Jungkook’s shirt which is so big it’s falling off one shoulder and your hair is a bird's nest of loose strands and flyaways from the windy walk with Bam.

"Great first impression, Y/N," you whisper to your reflection. "Just great."

You quickly pull the hair tie out, shaking your hair loose. You grab a brush from the counter knowing it’s Jungkook’s and vigorously work through the tangles. You splash some cold water on your face to kill the lingering heat in your cheeks and try to smooth out the oversized shirt so it looks at least intentionally casual rather than "just rolled out of bed."

As you're re-tying your hair into a much neater, sleek ponytail, there’s a soft, hesitant knock on the bathroom door.

"Y/N?" It’s Jungkook. His voice is muffled and low. "The guys are already halfway through the chicken and they won't stop talking about how good it is. Are you... are you coming back out?„

You stare at the door, your irritation still simmering but softened by the slight tremor of nerves in his voice. He’s clearly terrified that he’s ruined everything.

"I'm coming out," you call back, taking one last look at yourself and straightening your shoulders. "Just... give me thirty seconds to stop wanting to crawl into a hole."

You take one last deep breath, check your reflection, and open the door. When you walk back into the dining area, the atmosphere is loud and chaotic exactly what you’d expect from seven men who have lived together for a decade.

Jin is currently mid-sentence, gesturing wildly with a piece of chicken, explaining a "dad joke" that has Namjoon facepalming and Hoseok doubled over laughing. Jungkook’s eyes immediately find yours as you enter, and he pulls out the chair next to him, his expression a mix of relief and intense "thank you."

"There she is!" J-Hope beams, his energy practically lighting up the room. "Come, sit! Eat before Jin-hyung finishes the entire pot of stew."

"Hey!" Jin protests, though his mouth is full. "I am savoring the craftsmanship!"

You sit down, feeling the initial wave of shyness start to melt under their sheer friendliness. It’s hard to stay mad or stiff when Jimin is leaning over to show you a funny video of Bam he just took, or when Taehyung is asking you very serious questions about your favorite flavor of ice cream as if it's the most important data point in the world.

"So, Y/N," Yoongi says, leaning back and looking at you with a calm, observant smile. He hasn't said much, but his vibe is surprisingly grounding. "How did a sensible person like you end up dealing with this brat?" He jerks a thumb toward Jungkook.

"Hey!" Jungkook pouts, but you actually find yourself laughing.

"Honestly?" you say, finally feeling your posture relax. "It started with a blind date where he was so nervous I thought he was going to vibrate out of his chair."

The table erupts.

"No way!" Jimin shrieks, clapping his hands. „JK was shaking? Tell us everything!"

As you start to recount a few details of your first meeting, you realize that your earlier anger has completely vanished. They aren't treating you like a stranger or a "secret"; they’re treating you like a new friend they’ve been dying to meet.

Jungkook settles back, his hand finding yours under the table and squeezing it firmly. He leans in close, whispering under the cover of the others' laughter, "You're doing amazing. See? I told you they’d love you."

You nudge him back with your shoulder, a genuine smile finally reaching your eyes. "You're still an idiot for not calling first, JK. But... the company isn't so bad."

"I'll take it," he grins, finally digging into his own food, looking like the happiest man in Seoul.

The table goes a little quiet as the guys exchange looks, and it’s Jimin who leans forward, his eyes twinkling with an idea. "You know, Y/N, we’re doing a full run-through of the choreography at the stadium tomorrow. You should come by. It’s way more impressive than watching it on a tiny screen."

Your heart skips a beat, and that familiar heat rushes back into your cheeks. You look down at your plate, suddenly feeling very small again.

"Oh, I... I don't know," you stammer, glancing at Jungkook. "I'd love to, but... doesn't the management have rules? They don't even know I exist. I don't want to cause a scandal or get anyone in trouble just because I showed up."

Namjoon, ever the voice of reason, shakes his head with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about the 'official' stuff. We’re allowed to have friends visit the set. As far as the staff is concerned, you're just a close friend of the group. We have people stop by all the time, producers, family, stylists' friends."

"Exactly!" Taehyung adds, popping a piece of kimchi into his mouth. "And besides, if anyone asks, you're Bam's personal consultant. You have a very important job."

You bite your lip, still feeling hesitant. "Are you sure? I don't want to be a distraction."

Jungkook, who has been watching you with a hopeful expression, leans in and bumps his shoulder against yours. "You wouldn't be a distraction. Honestly, having you there might actually make me work harder. I’d have someone to impress."

"He’s already showing off for you and you aren't even there yet," Suga mutters with a smirk, making the others howl with laughter.

"Seriously though," Jin says, his tone surprisingly sincere for a moment. "It’s a different world when the lights are on and the music is loud. We’d like you to see what we do. It makes us feel more... human, having someone we care about in the seats."

The word "care" hangs in the air, warm and heavy. You look at Jungkook, and he gives your hand another squeeze under the table.

"Okay," you say softly, a small, brave smile forming on your face. "If you're sure it's okay... I’d love to come."

The cheer that goes up around the table is so loud it makes Bam bark in excitement. You still feel a bit like you're dreaming two days ago you were crying over emails, and tomorrow you'll be watching a private stadium rehearsal.

"Great!" J-Hope claps his hands. "It's settled. Jungkook, make sure she gets a VIP pass. And don't forget to tell the kitchen to make the good snacks!"

The last of the guys finally filters out, their laughter echoing down the hallway until the elevator dings and silence settles over the penthouse. You stand in the kitchen, staring at the mountain of plates and empty bowls, and instinctively reach for a sponge. You’re still a bit buzzed from the adrenaline of the evening, you actually survived meeting all six of them.

"Y/N, stop," Jungkook says, his voice much lower and closer than before.

He’s standing right behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you away from the sink. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"Leave it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "The cleaning crew comes in the morning. I didn't get them out of here so you could spend the rest of the night doing dishes."

"But it's such a mess, JK," you protest weakly, though you’re already leaning back into his strength. "I feel bad leaving it like this."

"Don't," he says firmly. He turns you around in his arms, his dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. The playful "little brother" vibe he had with the guys is completely gone, replaced by the man who has been waiting all night to have you to himself again.

He cups your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "You were incredible tonight. I know I overwhelmed you, and I'm sorry again, but seeing you laugh with them... it meant everything to me."

He leans down, his forehead resting against yours. "But now, I'm tired of sharing you. No more hyungs, no more Bam, no more talk about work or choreography."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He hooks his arms under your knees and lifts you up in one smooth motion, making you let out a small gasp of surprise as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

"Jungkook!" you laugh, breathless.

"I'm taking you to bed," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous, gravelly pitch that sends a shiver straight to your core. "And this time, I’m not letting you fall asleep until I’ve properly thanked you for being so patient with me."

As he carries you toward the bedroom, the mess in the kitchen and the stress of the day disappear. The only thing that exists is the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, and the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The bedroom is bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamps as Jungkook lowers you onto the cool silk sheets. He doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath, his body hovering over yours as he rains kisses down your neck, his hands sliding up under the hem of his shirt that you're still wearing.

"I've been watching you all night," he groans against your skin, his voice thick with a hunger he’d been forced to suppress in front of his friends. "Seeing you in my clothes, taking care of everyone... it drove me crazy."

He pulls the shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth moves lower, trailing fire across your stomach. He moves with a focused, primal intent, parting your legs and kneeling between them. When his tongue first makes contact, the sensation is so sharp and perfect that you arch off the bed, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. He’s relentless, his silver lip ring adding a chilling, electric edge to the wet heat of his mouth as he drinks in your moans.

The pleasure is building too fast, a dizzying climb that makes you crave the feel of him just as much. You reach down, tugging at his shoulders. "Jungkook... wait," you gasp, your voice breaking.

He looks up, his eyes dark and blown out, his lips glistening. Before he can ask what’s wrong, you shift, maneuvering your body with a sudden burst of confidence. You spin around, swinging your legs over his shoulders until you’re positioned over him, your center hovering just inches from his face while your own gaze settles on him.

A low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he realizes what you’re doing. He reaches up, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as you lower yourself back onto him, while simultaneously taking him into your mouth.

The 69 position is a chaotic, beautiful blur of sensory overload. The contrast is staggering, the deep, rhythmic pull of his mouth on you while you taste the salt and heat of his skin. Every time he swirls his tongue or applies pressure, you find yourself reacting against him, your own movements becoming more urgent.

Jungkook is losing his mind beneath you; you can feel the tension in his thighs and the way his fingers dig into your skin, anchoring you. He’s never been more vulnerable or more powerful at the same time. The room is silent except for the sounds of wet friction and the ragged, synchronized gasps for air.

As the tension reaches a breaking point, he begins to use his thumbs to tease you alongside his tongue, driving you toward a cliff you know you're about to fall off. You’re both shaking, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch until the world finally shatters into a thousand pieces of white light, leaving you both collapsed against each other in a tangled, breathless heap of limbs and racing hearts.

You roll off him, your skin flushed and slick, and collapse onto the pillows beside him. Your chest is heaving as you try to pull enough air into your lungs, the room still spinning slightly from the intensity of it all. The silence that follows is heavy and sweet, filled only with the sound of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again.

Jungkook doesn't move for a moment, just lies there with his arm flung over his eyes, his own breath coming in jagged hitches. Then, he slowly turns his head toward you.

A slow, lopsided grin spreads across his face, the kind of look that’s equal parts pride, adoration, and lingering heat. His hair is a chaotic mess against the dark sheets, and his eyes are still dark, tracking the way your pulse is thrumming in your neck.

"Wow," he breathes out, the word vibrating with a low, raspy chuckle. "Okay. Note taken. You are definitely not as shy as you look in the kitchen."

He reaches over, his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. He pulls you closer until your heads are resting on the same pillow, his grin softening into something more intimate.

"You okay?" he whispers, his voice dropping to that tender, private register. "I think you might have actually killed me for a second there."

You let out a soft, tired laugh, nudging your head against his. "You're the one who started it by acting like a gentleman in front of your hyungs."

"I had to," he says, pulling the duvet over both of your tangled bodies. "If I let them see how much I’m actually falling for you, they’d never let me hear the end of it. But here?" He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Here, it’s just us. And I think I like 'just us' best."

He tucks you firmly into his side, his large hand resting on your waist, and for the first time all day, the world feels completely still.

The shrill, persistent buzz of your phone cuts through the quiet of the bedroom at 6:30 AM. You grope blindly for the nightstand, silencing the alarm before the first bar of the melody can even finish. Beside you, Jungkook doesn't even stir; he’s buried deep under the duvet, one arm flung over the spot where you were just lying, his breathing deep and steady.

You slip out of bed as quietly as a ghost. Because this has become a frequent "happy accident" over the past few weeks, you’ve claimed a small corner of his massive walk-in closet. Seeing your structured blazers and crisp office slacks hanging next to his sea of oversized black hoodies and leather jackets always gives you a secret thrill of domesticity.

You grab your work bag and your clothes, heading into the en-suite bathroom. You keep the shower steam low and the water pressure soft, trying not to let the clink of your toiletries wake him. There’s something peaceful about getting ready in his space—using his expensive shampoo and seeing your toothbrush standing next to his.

Once you're dressed and your hair is pinned back into a professional, manager-ready style, you sneak out to the kitchen.

The penthouse is breathtaking in the early morning light, the sun just starting to hit the Han River through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bam trots over to you, stretching his long legs with a sleepy yawn, and follows you into the kitchen.

"Morning, buddy," you whisper, scratching him behind the ears.

You move with practiced ease, clicking on the high-end espresso machine. The rich, bitter aroma of the coffee begins to fill the air, grounding you for the day ahead. You pop two slices of bread into the toaster and lean against the marble counter, sipping your coffee while you wait.

For a moment, standing there in your office attire while the rest of the world and the superstar in the next room is still asleep, you feel a strange sense of balance. The corporate chaos of yesterday feels manageable when you know you have this quiet sanctuary to return to.

You’re just buttering your toast when you hear the soft thud-thud of bare feet on the floor. You turn around to see Jungkook standing in the doorway, his hair a wild, sleep-mussed nest and his eyes barely open, looking like a completely different person from the man who commanded the room last night.

"Going already?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep as he wanders toward you like a moth to a flame.

You nod, taking another sip of your coffee as you watch him lean sleepily against the kitchen island.

"Yeah, I have to," you say softly, offering him a sympathetic smile. "I have a really important meeting this morning that I can't push back. The corporate world doesn't wait for anyone, even if I'd much rather stay here in bed."

Jungkook lets out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing his face with his hands before stepping closer to wrap his arms loosely around your waist. He rests his forehead against your shoulder, his skin still warm from sleep. "I hate that meeting already," he grumbles into your shirt.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours with a hopeful glint. "Are you still coming to the stadium later? For the rehearsal?"

You check your watch, mentally calculating your schedule and the mountain of files waiting on your desk. "I really want to," you promise, reaching up to smooth down a particularly stubborn stray hair on the top of his head. "If I can get through my tasks on time and make it out of the office, I'll definitely be there. I’ll text you as soon as I’m in the car."

"You better," he murmurs, leaning down to catch your lips in a slow, sweet morning kiss that tastes faintly of coffee. "The guys will be disappointed if you don't show up..but I'll be the one pouting the most."

"I'll do my best, JK," you laugh, grabbing your toast. "Now go back to sleep for another hour. You have a long day ahead of you too."

At the office, you are a complete machine. You tear through your tasks with a level of focus that leaves your colleagues trailing behind. Your meeting is a success, you’re sharp, articulate, and efficient, fueled by the quiet confidence of the morning you spent in the penthouse. Every email you send and every decision you make is executed with surgical precision.

Meanwhile, your phone stays mostly silent. You know Jungkook is likely in the middle of a grueling rehearsal schedule; he’s someone who pours every ounce of his energy into his craft, barely glancing at his phone when he’s in the zone.

As the clock hits late afternoon, you finally clear the last of your priority files. You grab your bag, head down to the street, and hail a taxi.

"Seoul Olympic Stadium, please," you tell the driver.

As the car weaves through the heavy Seoul traffic, you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This morning you were a corporate professional, but now you’re heading into a completely different world. You check your reflection in the window, smoothing your hair and straightening your blazer. You’re about to see the man who was pouting over coffee this morning turn into the powerhouse you saw on stage—and this time, you have a front-row seat.

You walk through the stadium corridors with a confidence that mirrors your performance at the office. The sharp click-clike of your high heels echoes against the concrete floors, drawing eyes from staff and security alike. You look incredible a perfect blend of professional power and effortless beauty but you keep a warm, polite smile for everyone you pass.

Eventually, you run into Sejin, the group's long-time manager. He looks a bit surprised to see a stranger navigating the restricted area so confidently.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" he asks politely, though his eyes are curious.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," you introduce yourself with a graceful nod. "I'm a close friend of the group. They invited me to watch the rehearsal today." You notice a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, so you add smoothly, "I believe Minho-ssi mentioned I might be coming by?"

The mention of Minho’s name acts like a magic key. Sejin’s expression softens immediately, and he offers a small, respectful bow. "Ah, I see. Yes, they did mention a guest. Please, follow me. They just started."

He leads you through the final set of heavy double doors that open into the massive arena. The air inside is cooler, vibrating with the heavy, rhythmic bass of a track you recognize instantly: "Hooligan."

The stage is flooded with harsh, white rehearsal lights. In the center of the chaos, you see him.

Jungkook is a force of nature. He’s wearing a loose, sweat-drenched tank top that shows off every muscle in his arms and the intricate ink of his sleeve. His movements are sharp, aggressive, and perfectly synchronized with the dancers around him. There’s no trace of the sleepy man who was pouting in his kitchen this morning; this is the Artist.

Your gaze locks onto him, and a sudden wave of heat washes over you. You watch the way he commands the space, the intensity in his eyes, and the sheer physicality of his performance.

As you stand there in the shadows of the sound booth, watching him move, the reality of your "arrangement" hits you hard. Jungkook had said it was okay to just be "friends" in public, but looking at him now—knowing how he felt against you last night, knowing the taste of his skin—you realize that playing the role of a platonic friend is going to be much harder than you ever imagined.

The track reaches its peak, the bass vibrating through your chest, and just as the choreography shifts into a brief transition, Jimin’s head turns. Even from a distance, you can see the moment his eyes land on you. His entire face transforms, a massive, mischievous grin breaking through his professional concentration. He doesn't miss a single step, but he catches the eye of a few other members, nudging toward where you’re standing with Sejin.

You feel the weight of several world-famous gazes landing on you at once. Your confident corporate shell cracks just a little, and you raise your hand, giving them a small, shy wave.

Jimin winks at you—bold and playful—before spinning back into the formation.

A split second later, Jungkook follows Jimin’s lead. He pivots for a high-intensity move, his eyes scanning the sound booth area, and then he sees you. The transformation is instantaneous. He doesn't stop dancing—he’s too much of a professional for that—but his energy shifts. There’s a sudden, sharp flick of his head, a little more power in his kick, and a smirk that is meant for nobody else in the stadium but you.

He looks dangerous in the best way possible.

"They're almost done with this set," Sejin whispers beside you, looking impressed by the sudden spike in the group's performance. "I'll take you down to the floor when they take a break."

As the final notes of "Hooligan" echo through the cavernous stadium, Jungkook stands at the center, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples. He doesn't even reach for a water bottle first. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on yours, unbothered by the staff or the cameras, his gaze intense and heavy with a silent message: I'm glad you made it.

"Y/N-ssi!" J-Hope shouts from the stage, waving both arms frantically like a lighthouse. "You really came! Did you see that? Was I cool?"

The tension breaks as the other members start laughing and teasing Hobi, but Jungkook just starts walking toward the edge of the stage, his eyes never leaving you, looking like he’s about to jump the barrier just to get to you faster.

You walk toward the edge of the stage, the clicking of your heels now muffled by the heavy floor mats. Up close, the members look even more impressive,flushed, breathing hard, and glowing under the stadium lights.

Hobi is practically vibrating with energy as you reach the barrier. You give him a bright, genuine smile. "Hobi, you were incredible," you say, making sure your voice carries. "Seriously, your stage presence is on a completely different level. You were so cool!"

Hoseok beams, doing a little celebratory dance move. "See? I told you she has great taste!"

Jungkook finally reaches the edge, leaning his elbows on the stage floor to look down at you. He’s drenched in sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead, and he’s looking at you with that intense, "look-at-me" gaze. He expects a compliment, a lingering look, maybe even a secret wink.

Instead, you tilt your head and look over at Hobi again, then back at Jungkook with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"You know, Jungkook," you say, pitching your voice just loud enough for the others to hear. "Watching that just now... I think I finally understand the hype. Hobi-ssi definitely has some serious bias potential. I might have to rethink my rankings."

The reaction is instantaneous.

Jimin lets out a high-pitched cackle, doubling over and slapping his knee. "Oh, she got you! She got you good, JK!"

Jin starts "windshield-wiper" laughing from the back. "Aigoo, our Golden Maknae is being replaced! Hoba, you're the favorite now!"

Jungkook’s jaw practically drops. He stands up straight, his hands going to his hips, looking at you with an expression of pure, betrayed disbelief. "Bias potential? Ranking?" he repeats, his voice a mix of a pout and a challenge. "I'm standing right here! I just did the hardest choreo in the set, and you're talking about Hobi-hyung?"

He looks at Hobi, who is preening and blowing kisses at you, then back to you. Jungkook narrows his eyes, a playful, competitive smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay, I see how it is," he murmurs, leaning over the edge again so he’s closer to your face. "I guess I’ll just have to go twice as hard for the next song. Don't go changing your lockscreen just yet, Y/N."

As the music blasts through the speakers again, you step back to give them space, leaning against a flight case near the soundboard. For the next two hours, you watch them work with a focus that is almost intimidating. Even though you teased him, your eyes never truly leave Jungkook.

He is undeniable.

Every time he hits a move, you can see the sheer power in his legs and the precision in his hands. During the harder sequences of "ON" and "Black Swan," he looks like he’s possessed by the rhythm. He’s pushing himself harder now probably because of your little comment, and every time he catches your eye during a transition, he gives you a sharp, intense look that says, “Try finding a new bias after this.”

You find yourself holding your breath more than once. The way he moves, the way he commands the stage even in a simple tank top and sweatpants, is breathtaking. Hobi is a master of dance, no doubt, but Jungkook has this raw, magnetic energy that pulls you in like a vacuum. To you, he isn't just a performer; he’s the man who held you last night, and seeing those two worlds collide makes your heart race.

When they finally call for a long break, the guys are completely spent. They collapse into chairs near the stage, staff rushing over with towels and portable fans.

Jungkook doesn't even sit down. He grabs two water bottles, heads straight for you, and hops off the stage with a heavy thud of his boots. He’s panting, his skin glistening with sweat, looking incredibly attractive in his exhaustion.

"So," he says, his voice low and raspy as he hands you one of the waters. He leans in close, ignoring the staff moving around you, his scent—a mix of his fabric softener and hard work, enveloping you. "Still thinking about that 'Hobi bias' thing, or did I successfully defend my title?"

You look up at him, your heart softening at the sight of his damp hair and the expectant, slightly vulnerable look in his eyes. You reach out, your fingers briefly brushing against his hot, tattooed forearm.

"You're an idiot," you whisper, smiling up at him. "You know you're the only one I'm looking at. You were... incredible, JK."

He grins, that triumphant, boyish look returning to his face. "Good," he murmurs, leaning in just a bit closer, his voice dropping so the others can't hear. "Because I was doing every single one of those jumps just for you."

You look up at him, and for a moment, the massive stadium feels like it shrinks down until it's just the two of you. The adrenaline from the performance is still radiating off him in waves, and the way his eyes are softened, focusing only on your face, makes your stomach do backflips.

"You have no idea," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the crew resetting the stage. You step a fraction closer, just enough that the heat from his body warms your skin. "It’s actually torture standing here like this. It is so incredibly hard not to just lean in and kiss you right now."

You glance around there are stylists bustling with racks of clothes, cameramen checking lenses, and Sejin watching from a distance. The friends mask is heavy.

"I have to just stand here and be 'polite' while you look like that," you add with a frustrated little smile, gesturing to his sweat-drenched hair and the way his tank top clings to him.

Jungkook’s expression shifts. The triumphant smirk vanishes, replaced by a dark, intense look of longing. He clenches his jaw, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat before snapping back to your eyes. He shifts his weight, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out and pull you behind one of the massive speakers.

"You think it's hard for you?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that dangerous, private growl. "I’ve been watching you stand there in those heels all afternoon. Every time I turned around, all I could think about was the fact that I can't even touch your hand."

He takes a slow, steadying breath, trying to regain his professional composure. "Stay close, okay? We have one more run-through, and then I'm getting us out of here. I don't care who's watching when we get to the car."

He gives you a look that promises exactly how he plans to make up for the public distance, then turns back toward the stage, his walk a little more determined than before.

As the final note of the last track echoes into the rafters and the house lights come up slightly, the silence of the massive stadium feels heavy and expectant. The seven of them are standing in their finishing positions, chests heaving, sweat dripping onto the stage floor.

You stand up from your seat by the soundboard and begin to clap, the sound sharp and clear in the cavernous space.

"That was incredible!" you call out, your voice filled with genuine awe. You walk toward the stage as they break formation, some of them collapsing onto their knees in exhaustion. "Seriously, guys. I know you've done this a thousand times, but seeing it like this... the energy is different. I just know this tour is going to be a massive breakthrough. You're going to blow everyone away."

Namjoon looks up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, a tired but grateful smile on his face. "Thanks, Y/N. That actually means a lot. Sometimes when we're in the middle of it, we lose perspective."

"Yeah," Jin adds, breathless as he grabs a towel. "If the Bias-Changer says it’s good, it must be true!"

Jungkook is the last to move. He’s standing center-stage, staring down at his boots, trying to catch his breath. When he hears your voice, he looks up, and the intensity in his eyes hasn't faded. He watches you praise his brothers, a flicker of pride in his expression, but he stays back for a moment, just watching you exist in his professional world.

He finally hops down from the stage, his movements a bit slower now that the adrenaline is dipping. He walks straight to you, ignoring the staff members holding out water and towels.

"You really think so?" he asks, his voice low and raspy. He’s looking for your honest opinion, the one he trusts more than any critic. "You think we're ready?"

"Better than ready, JK," you say, looking him straight in the eyes, your professional mask slipping just enough for him to see the adoration underneath. "You were perfect."

He bites his lip, a small, private smile breaking through his exhaustion. "Good. Because I'm exhausted, I’m starving, and I really just want to get out of these clothes." He glances at the exit, then back to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's go home."

The atmosphere in the stadium is a whirlwind of activity as the rehearsal officially wraps up. The guys are true professionals, despite being completely drained, they take the time to bow and shout "Thank you!" to the sound engineers, lighting techs, and stagehands. You watch Jungkook do the same, his politeness never wavering even when he’s practically vibrating with exhaustion.

You follow closely behind him as he makes his way through the familiar maze of the backstage area. The staff gives you respectful nods as you pass, though you can feel the curious eyes on your back.

Once you reach the underground parking garage, the cool air hits you. Jungkook heads straight for his sleek, black Mercedes. He unlocks it, and the headlights cut through the dimness of the concrete structure.

The moment the heavy doors thud shut, sealing you both inside the quiet, leather-scented interior, the tension of the day finally snaps. Jungkook doesn't start the engine immediately. He just sits there in the driver's seat for a beat, his hands resting on the steering wheel, his head tilted back against the headrest.

He lets out a long, ragged exhale that seems to carry all the pressure of the rehearsal with it.

Then, he turns his head toward you. The dim cabin lights catch the sharp line of his jaw and the damp curls of his hair. Without a word, he reaches across the center console, his large, warm hand finding the back of your neck. He pulls you toward him, his thumb tracing the line of your ear.

"Finally," he murmurs, his voice low and vibrating in the small space. "I thought that rehearsal would never end."

His gaze is heavy, drifting from your eyes down to your lips, the frustration of having to keep his distance all afternoon finally boiling over. The Mercedes feels like a private sanctuary, miles away from the managers, the cameras, and the choreography.

"Come here," he whispers, leaning in to bridge the gap between you.

The silence of the car is instantly replaced by the sound of heavy breathing and the soft rustle of clothes as he pulls you across the center console. The kiss is frantic, a desperate release of all the tension that had been building since you first saw him on that stage.

Jungkook isn’t being gentle. His hand is tangled deep in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, while his other hand grips your waist so tightly you can feel his heat through your blazer. He tastes like the water he was drinking and feels like pure fire.

"You have no idea," he groans against your lips, his voice a ragged mess. "Watching you watch me all day... I almost messed up the choreo three times just looking at you."

You pull him closer, your hands sliding over the damp cotton of his tank top, feeling the hard muscle of his chest heaving underneath. Every time he moans into your mouth, the sound vibrates through your entire body. He moves his mouth to your neck, his silver lip ring catching against your skin, sending sharp jolts of electricity down your spine.

"JK, wait—" you gasp, your head falling back against the seat as he finds a sensitive spot just below your ear.

"I can't wait," he mutters, his breath hot and demanding. "I want you so bad it hurts."

He shifts, trying to get even closer to you in the cramped space of the driver's seat, his hands roaming over your curves with an urgency that tells you exactly how much your Hobi bias tease had actually affected him. The windows of the Mercedes are already starting to fog up from the heat radiating off the two of you.

He pulls back for a second, his eyes dark, blown-out pools of desire, his lips swollen and wet. He looks like he’s losing his mind, and honestly, you are too.

"We need to get home," he rasps, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to find the strength to pull away. "Now. Before I do something here that’ll give Sejin a heart attack on the security cameras."

You lean back against the passenger seat, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your face is burning, and you can feel the heat radiating off your skin in waves. Your hair, which was so perfectly pinned back for the office earlier, is now a mess of loose strands from his fingers tangling through it.

"God, it’s so hot in here," you whisper, fanning yourself with your hand, though you know it's not the car's climate control that's the problem. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your pulse is still racing from the feel of his mouth on your neck.

Jungkook looks over at you, his own breathing still ragged. Seeing you so flustered, your lips swollen and your eyes slightly glazed with lingering desire, only makes him smirk. It’s that dark, satisfied look of a man who knows exactly what he’s done to you.

"You look beautiful like this," he rasps, reaching out one last time to trace his thumb over your lower lip. "All messed up and red."

He finally forced himself to turn the key. The engine of the Mercedes roars to life, a low, powerful hum that vibrates through the floorboards. He cranks the air conditioning to the max, the blast of cold air hitting your face and making you shiver, though the heat deep in your core doesn't budge.

He shifts the car into gear and peels out of the parking spot, his hand immediately returning to yours, gripping it tightly on the center console. He drives with a focused intensity, weaving through the late-night Seoul traffic with a single-minded goal.

"Don't look at me like that, Y/N," he mutters, his eyes fixed on the road but his grip on your hand tightening. "Or we’re not going to make it all the way back to the apartment."

The cold air from the vents does nothing to cool the atmosphere as you turn in your seat, fixing him with a look that is anything but innocent. You see his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel, his jaw tight when your hand slowly, deliberately slides down his thigh and disappears beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Y/N," he growls, a warning and a plea wrapped into one. "I'm driving."

"I know," you whisper, your voice smooth and teasing. "Just keep your eyes on the road, JK. I've got this."

As you wrap your fingers around him, he lets out a sharp, choked-off hiss through his teeth. The car swerves slightly before he corrects it, his breathing becoming a series of ragged, shallow hitches. You move with a slow, agonizing rhythm at first, watching the way his pulse thrums in his neck and the way his eyes flutter shut for a split second before he forces them back to the traffic.

The power dynamic shifts instantly. The superstar who was just commanding a stadium is now completely at your mercy, trapped by the laws of the road and his own desire. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates in his chest, as you increase the speed.

"You're... you're going to get us killed," he rasps, though his hips are instinctively arching into your hand.

You don't stop. Instead, you lean over the center console, the cramped space only adding to the friction. You replace your hand with your mouth, swirling your tongue around him with a focus that makes his head snap back against the headrest.

The sounds in the car are intense the low hum of the engine, the rush of the wind outside, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of you taking him deep. Jungkook is losing it; his left hand is white-knuckled on the wheel while his right hand finds the back of your head, his fingers digging into your hair as he tries to maintain some semblance of control.

As he reaches his limit, his breath hitches into a broken "Oh, god," and he stiffens, his entire body vibrating with the force of it. You don't pull away, staying with him through every pulse, meeting his intensity until you swallow every bit of him, leaving him completely spent.

He lets out a long, shaky exhale, his body going limp against the seat as he finally pulls the Mercedes into his private garage. The engine cuts out, and the sudden silence is deafening.

Jungkook sits there for a moment, chest heaving, his eyes blown wide and glazed as he stares at the concrete wall in front of him. He slowly turns his head to look at you, his expression one of pure, stunned adoration.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to walk up to the apartment," he whispers, his voice completely wrecked. He reaches out, cupping your face with a shaking hand and kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. "You are going to be the death of me."

The heavy thud of the car door closing echoes through the silent, dimly lit garage. You smooth down your skirt and step out, the sharp clack of your heels against the concrete sounding like a victory march. Despite what just happened in that car, you carry yourself with the poise of the high-level professional you were this morning—only the slight flush on your cheeks gives you away.

You don't look back to see if he's coming; you already know he is.

You walk toward the private elevator, your hips swaying just enough to keep his eyes glued to you. As the sensors recognize your presence and the doors slide open, you turn around.

Jungkook is trailing a few paces behind, looking completely dazed. His hair is a mess, his shirt is rumpled, and his eyes are dark with a mixture of shock and absolute devotion. He looks less like the "Global Pop Star" and more like a man who has just had his entire world tilted on its axis. He’s following you with a primal, single minded focus, his gaze never leaving yours.

You lean against the back wall of the elevator, your heels making you stand tall and commanding. As he steps inside, the air in the small space immediately thickens again.

"Going up?" you ask innocently, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Jungkook doesn't even answer. He just stares at you, his chest still heaving slightly. He looks completely smitten, utterly whipped, and like he’d follow you off a cliff if you asked him to. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he presses the button for the penthouse, but he doesn't pull his arm back. Instead, he traps you against the wall, leaning in until his nose brushes yours.

"You're dangerous," he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of awe and hunger. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me? I can't even think straight."

He’s completely under your spell, and as the elevator begins its silent ascent, you realize he isn't just attracted to you anymore he’s absolutely obsessed.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and you step out into the hallway of the penthouse, your heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor. You haven't even taken two steps before a familiar, excited skittering sound greets you.

Bam comes charging around the corner, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half wiggles. He’s been waiting patiently for his favorite people to return, and he immediately circles your legs, letting out a happy, low woof.

"Hey, Bam! Did you miss me?" you say, your voice softening instantly. You lean down, ignoring the fact that your designer skirt is riding up slightly, and give him a vigorous scratch behind his ears. The dog leans into your touch, panting happily, oblivious to the high-voltage tension currently vibrating between the two humans in the room.

Jungkook stands just behind you, watching the scene. The sight of you, still looking like a powerful, hot executive but melting into a puddle of affection for his dog, seems to be the final blow to his composure.

"Traitor," Jungkook mutters playfully at Bam, though his eyes are fixed entirely on you. "I'm the one who pays for the premium treats, but you greet her like she’s the one who saved your life."

You stand back up, smoothing your hair, and catch Jungkook’s gaze. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an expression that is so purely, helplessly smitten it’s almost overwhelming. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore.

"Well, maybe I just have a way with him," you tease, walking past him toward the kitchen to put your bag down.

Jungkook doesn't say a word. He just watches you walk, his eyes tracking every movement of your heels. He whistles low for Bam, gesturing for the dog to go to his bed in the corner. Once the dog is settled, Jungkook turns back to you, the playful banter dying out to be replaced by that heavy, hungry silence from the car.

"Bam is settled," he says, his voice dropping into that low, vibrating register as he starts walking toward you. "Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted by my own front door?"

Just as Jungkook reaches for you, his hand inches from your waist, the sharp, insistent ring of his phone cuts through the tension like a blade. He freezes, letting out a frustrated groan that sounds more like a growl.

He pulls the phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen. The name "Sejin-hyung" flashes in bright letters.

"Damn it," he mutters, looking at you with an apologetic, pained expression. "I have to take this. If he’s calling this late after a rehearsal, it’s either a schedule change or something urgent."

"It's okay," you say, breathless and a little relieved for the chance to cool down. You reach up, patting his cheek playfully. "Duty calls, Superstar. I'm going to wash the stadium and the car off me."

He catches your hand, kissing your palm fervently before he answers the call with a clipped, professional "Yeoboseyo?"

You head into the master bathroom, clicking the door shut behind you. The space is a marble sanctuary, smelling faintly of his expensive cologne and clean linen. You strip off your work clothes,the blazer and skirt that felt like a suit of armor today, and step into the massive walk-in shower.

As the steaming water hits your shoulders, you lean your forehead against the cool tile, letting out a long sigh. The heat from the water mingles with the lingering warmth in your body. Every time you close your eyes, you see the way he looked on that stage, the way his eyes followed you to the elevator, and the raw intensity of the drive home.

You take your time, lathering up with his sandalwood-scented body wash, feeling the tension of the long workday and the high-octane evening finally begin to melt away. Through the heavy glass door, you can hear the faint, muffled sound of his voice in the bedroom, his tone is serious, rhythmic, the sound of a man back in his professional element.

By the time you turn off the water and wrap yourself in one of his oversized, plush white towels, you feel like a human being again. You wipe the fog from the mirror, looking at your flushed reflection, wondering just how much longer that phone call is going to last.

The conversation in the other room is still going, and it doesn't sound like it's wrapping up anytime soon. Through the door, you can hear the low, persistent rumble of Jungkook’s voice, not angry, but firm, the tone he gets when he's advocating for himself or the team. It sounds like a complex logistics nightmare or a last-minute schedule change for the tour.

The adrenaline from earlier has finally started to dip, replaced by the heavy, comfortable weight of exhaustion. You’ve had a massive day, from being a machine at the office to the high-intensity atmosphere of the stadium, not to mention the workout in the car.

You leave the bathroom, the steam trailing behind you, and head over to the massive king-sized bed. The sheets are cool and crisp against your skin.

You slide under the heavy duvet, the scent of Jungkook’s laundry detergent something clean and familiar, enveloping you like a hug.

You prop yourself up on the pillows for a moment, watching the city lights of Seoul through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but your eyelids feel like lead. The muffled sound of his voice in the living room acts like white noise, lulling you deeper into the mattress.

"Yeah, hyung, I understand, but we need to ensure the dancers have enough recovery time..." you hear him say faintly.

You smile to yourself, thinking about how hard he works, how much he cares. Your body feels soft and warm, and the bed is far too comfortable to fight. Within minutes, the rhythm of his voice fades into the background, and you drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep, finally reclaiming the rest you've earned.

You are deep in sleep when the mattress finally shifts. The door to the balcony or the living room must have clicked shut, because the low drone of his voice has finally ceased.

Jungkook moves with practiced quietness, trying not to disturb the peace he finds you in. You feel a soft draft of cool air as he lifts the edge of the duvet, followed by the dip of the bed as he slides in beside you. He’s showered, too, smelling of fresh soap and that hint of mint from his toothpaste.

He doesn't stay on his side for long. He maneuvers himself closer until his chest is flush against your back, his large, warm hand sliding over your waist to pull you firmly against him. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, heavy sigh of relief that brushes against your skin.

"Mmm... you're already asleep," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly, tired whisper.

He sounds exhausted, the weight of the long call and the grueling rehearsal finally catching up to him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his grip on you tightening just a fraction, as if he’s making sure you’re actually there and not part of some fever dream from earlier.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as he matches his breathing to yours. "The tour... it's a lot. But this? This is the only part of the day that makes sense."

Even in your half-conscious state, you instinctively reach back, your fingers finding his arm and squeezing gently. He lets out a content hum, nuzzling deeper into you. Within minutes, his breathing slows into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. The "Golden Maknae" is gone, and in his place is just a man who finally feels at home, holding onto the person who makes the chaos of his world disappear.

The next day, you meet up with Naemi at a bustling Korean BBQ spot. The air is thick with the savory scent of sizzling bulgogi and the rhythmic clinking of soju glasses. As you flip the meat on the grill with practiced ease, the conversation shifts from work gossip to more personal matters.

"So," Naemi says, pouring you a drink while giving you a knowing look. "Your birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. What’s the plan? Are we doing a big dinner, or is the 'International Superstar' whisking you away somewhere private?"

You take a sip of your drink and shake your head, a small, slightly sheepish smile on your face.

"Honestly? Nothing is planned," you admit. "With the stadium rehearsals and the tour prep getting so intense, everything has been a bit of a whirlwind."

Naemi raises an eyebrow, pausing with her chopsticks mid-air. "Nothing? Not even a tiny hint to Jungkook? He seems like the type who would want to rent out an entire amusement park or something for you."

"That’s exactly why I haven't mentioned it," you laugh, though there's a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. "He’s under so much pressure right now with the breakthrough of this tour. The last thing I want to do is add 'organizing a birthday' to his to-do list. I haven't told him a single word about the date."

"Y/N, you're too selfless," Naemi sighs, leaning back in her chair. "It’s your birthday! You’re allowed to be a little high-maintenance. If he finds out later that he missed it, he’s going to be absolutely devastated. You know how he is, he’ll probably go into a full-on guilt spiral."

"I'll tell him eventually," you murmur, turning your attention back to the sizzling meat on the grill. "But for now, I just want him to focus on the stage. I'm perfectly fine with a quiet night in... or maybe just a normal day at the office."

Naemi doesn't look convinced, but she lets it drop for now, though you can tell by the look in her eyes that she thinks you're playing a dangerous game with a man who is as observant, and as smitten as Jungkook.

You lean across the table, lowering your voice so the surrounding diners can’t hear over the sizzle of the grill. "Naemi... I think I’ve actually fallen for him. Like, really fallen."

Naemi’s eyes go wide, and she lets out a muffled squeal of pure joy, throwing her hands up. "I knew it! I freaking knew it!"

"Shhh! Quiet!" you hiss, half-laughing and half-panicked as you pull out your phone. You swipe through your gallery and show her a few candid photos. There’s one of him sleeping with Bam, and another, a blurry, beautiful selfie of the two of you in the back of his car, eyes glowing with that specific kind of late-night happiness.

"Look at him," Naemi whispers, her expression softening. "He’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world. It’s so obvious, Y/N."

She takes a big sip of her drink, then leans back and fixes you with a more serious look. "But wait... have you guys made it official? Are you actually in a relationship now? Did he ask the question?"

The smile on your face wavers just a little. You poke at a piece of kimchi on your plate, suddenly feeling a bit uncertain.

"Honestly? I don't know," you admit quietly. "I mean, we live together... mostly. We act like a couple. The chemistry is... well, you saw the photos. But he hasn't actually asked me to be his girlfriend. There hasn't been a 'talk' or a label."

You look up at her, a shrug of your shoulders showing your inner conflict. "With his life, everything is so unconventional anyway. Sometimes I feel like we’re in our own little bubble where labels don't matter, but then I realize I don't actually know what to call him if someone asks. He hasn't asked, and I'm too scared to bring it up and ruin the 'magic' we have right now."

Naemi frowns slightly. "He’s smitten, that’s for sure. But men can be dense, even the ones who perform for millions. Especially if he's as stressed as you say. But Y/N, you deserve to know where you stand, especially before this birthday rolls around."

You lean in even closer, your voice dropping to a barely audible whisper as you swirl the remaining soju in your glass. "And... there’s something else. We haven’t actually had sex yet."

Naemi freezes. Her chopsticks actually clatter onto the table, and she stares at you with her mouth hanging open, completely speechless. The silence between you lasts for a long, heavy beat before she finally finds her voice.

"Wait, what?" she gasps, leaning so far over the table she’s practically in the grill. "You live with the Jeon Jungkook. You show me pictures where the sexual tension is literally steaming off the screen. You tell me you’re in love... and you’re telling me you guys haven't gone all the way?"

"I know, I know," you say, feeling a flush creep up your neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "It’s not that I don’t want to… God, I want to. And I trust him completely. It’s just... I don’t know. Between his insane rehearsal schedule, him coming home exhausted, and us just finding our rhythm... the timing hasn't been right. Or maybe he’s waiting for something? I can't explain it, but it just hasn't happened yet."

Naemi sinks back into her chair, looking genuinely baffled. "Is he a saint? Because if I were him, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you for more than five minutes. Especially after that car story you hinted at."

"We've done... other things," you murmur, biting your lip as you think back to the garage. "But the final step? No. It makes everything feel so much more significant, you know? It's like we're building this foundation first, but at the same time, it makes me wonder if he’s holding back for a reason."

"Maybe he wants it to be perfect," Naemi suggests, her shock turning into a look of pure intrigue. "Or maybe he's waiting for a special occasion. Like, I don't know... a birthday?"

You shake your head, laughing nervously. "Don't start. I just want us to be us first. But yeah... it's definitely a strange situation to be in."

The atmosphere in the penthouse is stifling. The heavy, sweet scent of the candles you lit earlier feels cloying now, clashing with the sharp, icy silence radiating from Jungkook. He’s been home for an hour, but he hasn't looked at you once. He’s just staring at his laptop, his jaw set in a hard line, radiating a restless, dark energy that makes the entire room feel small.

"Jungkook, I made dinner. Are you actually going to eat, or are you just going to sit there radiating heat?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level.

He doesn't even turn around. "I'm not hungry. I told you, the rehearsal was a mess. I don't have the headspace for this right now."

"For 'this'?" You feel a sting of indignation. "By 'this,' do you mean me? Because I’ve been waiting here all evening while you ignore me like I’m part of the furniture."

He finally snaps his laptop shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room. He turns, his eyes tired and unusually cold. "Look, I’m stressed. I have a hundred people depending on me, and I come home and feel like I have to perform here, too. I just don't have the energy for you tonight, Y/N."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stare at him, waiting for the "I'm sorry" or the softening of his expression, but it doesn't come.

"Wow," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "Fine. If you have so little 'energy' for me today, you should have just said so. I wouldn't have bothered coming over."

"Maybe you're right," he says, his voice flat and unapologetic. "Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't."

The silence that follows is deafening. You feel a lump form in your throat, but you refuse to let him see you cry. Without another word, you stand up, grabbing your bag from the kitchen counter. You don't look back at him. You don't check to see if he's watching you.

You head straight for the door, the click of your heels on the floor sounding hollow and lonely. As you pull the heavy front door open, you pause for just a second, hoping,praying,he’ll call your name.

He doesn't.

You step out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind you with a final, heavy thud. The elevator ride down to the garage feels like an eternity, and as the cool night air hits your face, the weight of the argument,and the coldness in his eyes,finally sinks in. You get into your own car, your hands shaking as you start the engine, leaving the penthouse behind.

The drive back to your apartment is a blur of streetlights and stinging eyes. The silence in your own car feels heavy, a stark contrast to the electric tension that usually fills the space when he’s sitting next to you. You keep replaying his words in your head “I just don't have the energy for you tonight” and each time, it feels like a fresh bruise.

When you finally pull into your parking spot, you don't even bother turning on the lights in your flat. You kick off your heels in the hallway, letting them fall where they land, and drop your bag on the floor.

The apartment feels cold and far too quiet.

You don't get a glass of water, you don't check your phone, and you certainly don't look at the photos Naemi was gushing over just hours ago. You walk straight to your bedroom, stripping off your clothes and leaving them in a heap. You slide into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin and curling into a ball.

Your own sheets don't smell like his laundry detergent. They don't smell like him.

You feel a wave of exhaustion hit you, not the good kind that comes after a long day of work, but the hollow, aching kind that follows a fight with the person you love. You close your eyes tightly, forcing your brain to shut down before the "what ifs" and the hurt can spiral any further.

Within minutes, the emotional drain wins out, and you fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep, leaving the penthouse and Jungkook’s coldness miles away.

The next morning, the fluorescent lights of the office feel far too bright for your mood. You’re fueled by nothing but black coffee and a lingering sense of hurt, trying to bury yourself in spreadsheets so you don't have to think about the hollow silence of your phone.

Unfortunately, your workplace is a minefield. Two of your colleagues, Sarah and Min-hee, are sitting at the desk cluster next to yours, and they are deep in "Army" mode. They have no idea about your private life, which makes their excitement feel like salt in a wound.

"Did you see the schedule for today?" Min-hee squeals, leaning over her monitor. "They have that big global radio interview at noon, and then the rumor is a Weverse Live tonight to talk about the tour prep!"

"I saw the teaser photos from the rehearsal," Sarah adds, her voice full of awe. "Jungkook looked so intense. Like, he looked a bit tired, but his energy was just... dark? In a hot way? I don't know how he does it with that schedule."

You keep your head down, typing furiously. Every word they say is a reminder of the man who told you he didn't have the energy for you, but clearly has enough to charm the entire world.

"I hope he's eating well," Min-hee sighs, looking at a fansite photo on her phone. "He looked a little stressed in the last clip. I wish I could just tell him to take a break."

You tried, you think bitterly, the memory of the untouched dinner in the penthouse flashing through your mind. It didn't go well.

"Y/N, you're quiet today," Sarah says, turning toward you. "Are you watching the Live later? It’s supposed to be right after they finish their final stadium run-through. We’re all going to stay late at the office just to stream it on the big screen in the breakroom."

You force a tight, professional smile. "I've got a lot of reports to finish, guys. I might just catch the highlights later."

"Highlights? For a JK live?" Min-hee looks at you like you’ve suggested committing a crime. "He always does something chaotic. You have to watch!"

You turn back to your screen, your heart heavy. You wonder if he’s even realized you haven't texted him. As the clock ticks toward noon, the anticipation in the office builds, leaving you trapped in a building where everyone is screaming for the man you're currently trying to forget.

By the time the afternoon sun begins to dip, the office is still buzzing. Sarah and Min-hee have been dissecting every second of the interview, gushing over how "professional yet charming" he was. You watched it, too, hidden behind a mountain of tabs on your second monitor.

He looked incredible, but you noticed the slight tension in his shoulders that only someone who knows him would see. He was "on," giving the fans exactly what they wanted, while you were still feeling the sting of the door closing behind you last night.

Finally, you can't help yourself. The anger has cooled into a dull ache, and despite everything, you’re still his biggest supporter. You pull out your phone and pull up your chat with him. The last message is still your "I'm heading out" from the night before, which he never replied to.

You type out a short, neutral message, keeping it professional to protect your own heart.

To: JK

I saw the interview today. You did a great job,you sounded really grounded and clear. The breakthrough everyone is talking about is definitely happening.

You hit send and immediately flip your phone face-down on the desk, your heart thudding. You don't expect a reply. You know he’s probably already back at the stadium, buried in the final rehearsals before the tour officially kicks off.

Ten minutes pass. Then twenty.

You’re about to pack up your things when your phone buzzes against the wood. Your breath hitches. You pick it up, half-expecting a short "Thanks," but the notification on the screen makes your stomach flip.

JK:

Are you still at the office?

Before you can even type a response, another bubble pops up.

JK:

I’m sorry about last night. I was a jerk. I’m tired, but that’s no excuse to take it out on you. Please don’t be mad.

You stare at the screen for a moment, the tension in your shoulders finally beginning to give way. Even though the sting hasn't completely vanished, seeing him apologize so quickly,and so genuinely,softens the edge of your hurt.

You tap out a reply, keeping your tone calm and steady.

To: JK

It's okay. I know how much pressure you're under right now. Let's just put it behind us.

I'm just finishing up here. I’m going to grab some food on the way and then head straight home to get some rest.

You wait, watching the little typing bubbles appear and disappear. He’s clearly distracted or being pulled in a dozen directions at the stadium.

JK:

Thank you for understanding. Truly. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Don’t stay up too late.

You put your phone in your bag, feeling a little lighter than you did an hour ago. As you walk past the breakroom, you see Sarah and Min-hee huddled around a laptop, waiting for the Live to start. They’re laughing and pointing at the screen, totally immersed in the idol version of the man who just sent you a private apology.

The contrast is jarring. To them, he’s a distant star; to you, he’s the man who was a "jerk" last night and is currently trying to find his way back into your good graces.

You head out to your car, the evening air cool against your skin. You stop at a small takeout place for some bibimbap, the familiar routine grounding you. By the time you get back to your apartment, the sun has set, and the city lights are beginning to twinkle.

You kick off your shoes, sit down at your small dining table, and open your laptop. Despite saying you might skip it, you find yourself navigating to the Live stream. You just want to see his face to see if the jerk from last night has truly been replaced by the Jungkook you love.

The Live starts, and the contrast is immediate. He looks like a completely different person from the tense, brooding man who snapped at you last night. He’s sitting in his gaming chair, headset on, leaning into the screen with that intense focus he gets when he’s playing. He’s laughing that loud, nose-scrunching laugh that always makes your heart do a little skip as he jokes around with the fans and yells at his teammates in the game.

You’re sitting at your table with your bibimbap, watching him through the screen. Seeing him so relaxed and happy makes the last of your resentment melt away. You can tell he’s using the game to finally blow off all that tour stress.

On an impulse, you pick up your phone. You want to see if he's actually paying attention to his notifications while he's "working."

To: JK

You look like you're having way too much fun for someone who was "exhausted" five minutes ago. Your aim is terrible tonight, by the way. ;)

You look back at the laptop screen. A few seconds pass. Suddenly, his phone which is sitting face-up on the desk next to his keyboard lights up. You see him glance at it out of the corner of his eye while his character is respawning.

He freezes for a split second, then picks up the phone. As he reads your message, a massive, genuine grin spreads across his face the kind of look he usually reserves just for you. He bites his lip, trying to suppress the smile for the camera, but he fails miserably. He chuckles softly to himself, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The chat on the side of the screen starts moving at light speed:

“WHO TEXTED HIM?!”

“Look at that smile, he’s definitely texting a girl.”

“JK is blushing omg??”

“The mystery text strikes again!”

He puts the phone back down, but he’s still beaming. He looks directly into the camera, leaning in closer. "Ah, someone just told me my aim is bad," he says to the millions of viewers, his voice playful and warm. "I have to focus now to prove them wrong."

He goes back to the game, but he’s sitting up straighter now, his energy completely shifted. He looks invigorated. You sit back, a smile of your own growing as you realize that even with the whole world watching him, a single text from you is what actually changed his mood.

You watch him for another hour, leaning your head on your hand as he continues to play. He’s much more animated now, occasionally glancing toward his phone as if waiting for another notification. Eventually, he starts wrapping things up, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes.

"Okay, everyone, I should go," he says into the camera, his voice dropping into that soft, late-night tone that makes the comment section explode. "I have a very early start tomorrow. Sleep well, and thank you for today."

He ends the stream, the screen going black. Not even a minute later, your phone vibrates.

JK:

My aim isn't that bad. I was just distracted.

Are you still awake?

You smile, typing back quickly.

To: JK

I'm still up. Just finished watching a very "distracted" gamer fail at his mission.

The phone rings immediately. You answer, and the sound of his voice raw and stripped of the "Idol" persona fills your quiet apartment.

"Hey," he says softly. You can hear the rustle of him moving around, probably heading to his bed. "I really am sorry about last night, Y/N. Seeing your text during the Live... it was the first time I actually felt like I could breathe all day."

"I know," you murmur, sliding down further into your pillows. "It’s okay, Jungkook. I'm not mad anymore."

"Good," he sighs, and you can practically hear the relief in his chest. "Because I’ve been thinking. This weekend... before the tour officially starts and I have to leave for the first leg. I want you to come over. No work, no phones, no Sejin-hyung calling every five minutes. Just us. I want to make it up to you properly."

Your heart flutters. You think about what Naemi said at dinner about labels, about your birthday, and about the fact that you still haven't taken that final step together.

"I'd like that," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"I'll see you then," he says, his voice dropping an octave, sounding suddenly very much like the man from the garage. "Get some sleep, Y/N. You've been on my mind all night."

As you hang up, you stare at the ceiling. The weekend is only two days away, and for the first time, it feels like the magic you were afraid of ruining might be leading exactly where you want it to go.

You spend the next morning humming to yourself, the lingering warmth from his late-night phone call still buzzing in your chest. You pack a small overnight bag with your essentials a few comfortable outfits, your favorite skincare, and that one lace set you’ve been saving for a moment that felt right.

When you arrive at the penthouse and let yourself in, you expect to see him sprawled on the sofa or maybe playing with Bam. Instead, you find Jungkook standing in the middle of the living room, dressed in a casual hoodie, standing next to a sleek, packed suitcase.

Your heart sinks for a split second. "Wait... are you leaving already? I thought we had the weekend?"

Jungkook looks up, and a wide, mischievous grin breaks across his face. He walks over to you, taking your bag from your hand and setting it down. He pulls you into his arms, his scent instantly grounding you.

"I am leaving," he murmurs against your temple, "but you’re coming with me."

You pull back, confused. "What?"

He points toward the kitchen counter, where two printed booking confirmations are lying. "I know things have been crazy, and after the way I acted the other night... I realized we need to get out of this city. No fans, no managers, no noise."

You pick up the papers, your eyes widening as you read the header of a high-end, secluded luxury wellness resort tucked away in the mountains of Gangwon-do.

"A wellness weekend?" you gasp, looking back at him. "Jungkook, you have rehearsals! How did you—"

"I told Sejin-hyung that if I didn't get forty-eight hours of total silence, I wouldn't be able to give 100% on tour," he says, sounding incredibly proud of himself. "He didn't argue. The car is already downstairs, and I've requested a private villa with its own hot spring."

He leans in, his eyes dark and focused, the playfulness from the Live gone, replaced by a deep sincerity.

"Just you and me, Y/N. No distractions. I want to spend every second of this weekend making sure you know exactly where you stand with me."

He kisses you then, a slow, deep promise that leaves you breathless. He grabs both suitcases, nodding toward the door.

"Ready to go?"

The drive is peaceful, a stark contrast to the usual frantic energy of Seoul. Jungkook is behind the wheel of a more discreet SUV this time, one hand resting firmly on the gear shift while the other reaches over to lace his fingers with yours.

In the back seat, Bam is living his absolute best life. He’s got his head slightly out the cracked window, ears flapping in the wind, letting out the occasional huff of pure excitement. Every few minutes, he pokes his large snout between the front seats, nudging your shoulder for a distracted scratch before doing the same to Jungkook.

"Look at him," Jungkook says, glancing in the rearview mirror with a soft, fatherly beam. "He knows he’s going on vacation. He’s already in holiday mode."

"He’s literally our son," you laugh, reaching back to rub Bam’s soft ears. The dog responds by trying to lick your ear, making you squirm and giggle.

"Careful, Bam, don't distract the driver," Jungkook teases, though his smile only widens. He squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "But you're right. He is. It feels like a real family trip, doesn't it?"

The way he says the word family sends a tiny shiver of warmth through you. It’s so domestic, so grounded. For these next two days, he isn't the most famous man on the planet, and you aren't the busy office professional. You're just two people and their very spoiled Doberman, heading into the mountains to disappear for a while.

"I can't wait to see him running around the grass at the villa," you say, looking out at the scenery as the buildings start to thin out, replaced by lush green slopes.

"I can't wait to get you inside that villa," Jungkook murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he shoots you a side-eye that is definitely not innocent. "No interruptions. Just us. And maybe a very long nap for Bam after he's done running."

He turns up the music some low, vibey R&B and the three of you settle into the rhythm of the road, leaving the weight of the world far behind in the rearview mirror.

A classic R&B track fills the car, the bass low and smooth. Jungkook starts humming along, his voice rich and effortless even just messing around. He catches your eye and grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he begins to actually sing the chorus. He looks so relaxed, so completely different from the stressed-out version of himself just days ago. You lean your head against the headrest, just watching him with a wide, soft smile. He looks so happy, and that happiness is absolutely infectious.

"You like that?" he teases, glancing over at you with a playful wink as he finishes the verse.

"I love it," you admit softly, the truth slipping out.

The drive continues until the highway signs indicate a rest stop. Jungkook pulls the large SUV into a parking spot.

"Okay," he says, unbuckling. "I need fuel, and I’m pretty sure our son needs a bathroom break. What do you want?"

"Just something cold to drink," you say. "And maybe something salty."

"Got it," he says, grabbing his phone and hat. He pulls the mask up over his face, instantly slipping into his discreet public persona. He opens the back door, and Bam immediately jumps out, tail wagging. "Make it quick, Bam-ah!"

While Jungkook heads inside the bustling rest stop market, you walk Bam over to a grassy area slightly away from the main parking lot. Bam sniffs around excitedly, finally finding the perfect spot to do his business. You stand there, waiting patiently, the cool mountain breeze rustling your hair.

A few minutes later, you hear the familiar beep of the car doors unlocking. You look up to see Jungkook walking toward you, balancing a cardboard tray with two large sodas and two sticks of hot, spiraled Potato Tornados dusting with seasoning. He’s looking at his phone, but as he gets closer, he looks up at you and Bam.

A massive, genuine smile spreads across his face, even with the mask obscuring the lower half. He stops, setting the tray down carefully on the hood of the car, and pulls up his phone camera.

"Stay right there," he calls out. "Look at me!"

You laugh, the sound bright in the open air, and instinctively pose, resting your hand on Bam's head. The dog looks up at you, his tongue lolling out in contentment.

Click.

He captures the moment perfectly, you, flushed from the wind and smiling widely, and Bam, looking happy and domestic beside you. Jungkook lowers his phone, his eyes crinkling.

"That’s my favorite picture I've ever taken," he says softly as he walks over to hand you your Potato Tornado.

You reach out, sliding your hand behind his neck to pull him down toward you. Despite the fact that you’re at a public rest stop even with his hat and mask you don’t hesitate. You press your lips to his in a short, sweet, but lingering kiss.

For a second, the world around you disappears. You don't hear the engines of passing cars or the chatter of other travelers. It’s just the warmth of his lips and the soft scent of his cologne.

Jungkook seems startled for a split second, he’s so used to being hyper-aware of his surroundings but then he melts into it. He adjusts his grip on the potato tornados so he can lean into you, his eyes fluttering shut. He kisses you back with a soft, content hum, ignoring the risk of a wandering camera or a curious glance.

When you pull away, his eyes are sparkling with a mix of surprise and pure adoration. He looks a little dazed, his mask slightly lopsided.

"Wow," he breathes, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he fixes his mask. "You're getting bold, Y/N. I like it."

"I just wanted to," you say with a shrug, feeling a little bit of a thrill from the spontaneity.

"Well, keep that energy," he whispers, leaning in close to your ear so only you can hear him. "Because once we get to that villa, I'm not letting you go that easily."

He nudges you playfully toward the car, handed you your snack while whistling for Bam. As you climb back into the passenger seat, you feel a surge of confidence. The tension from earlier in the week feels like a lifetime ago, replaced by the excitement of a weekend where the only thing that matters is the two of you.

You climb back into the car, and for a few minutes, the only sounds are the rustle of paper and the satisfied crunching of the seasoned potato spirals. Jungkook is leaning back in his seat, a look of pure, unadulterated contentment on his face. He’s eating with that focused, happy intensity he gets when he truly enjoys something, chewing enthusiastically, eyes bright, occasionally licking a bit of the savory seasoning off his lip.

He looks so... light. The heavy shadow that was hanging over him back in Seoul has completely evaporated.

"God, this is so good," he mumbles around a mouthful of potato, looking over at you with a lopsided grin. "Why does rest stop food always taste better than five-star catering?"

You laugh, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. "Maybe because you're actually relaxed enough to taste it."

"Probably," he admits, leaning his head back against the headrest and letting out a long, satisfied sigh. He looks out the window at the mountains, then back at you, his expression softening into something incredibly tender. "I’m just happy, Y/N. Like, really happy. Just sitting here in a car at a random rest stop with you and Bam... it feels better than any sold-out show."

He reaches over, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tight, not letting go even as he takes another bite of his skewer. There’s no trace of the superstar Jeon Jungkook here, just a guy who’s deeply in love, enjoying a simple snack with his favorite person.

"Let's get going," he says, his voice full of excitement as he tosses the empty wooden sticks into a trash bag. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can have you all to myself."

He starts the engine, the low hum of the car matching the peaceful vibe of the afternoon. As he pulls back onto the highway, he starts humming again, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand, radiating a warmth that tells you this weekend is going to be everything you hoped for and more.

The drive winds up a private, tree-lined path until the forest opens up to reveal a stunning piece of modern architecture. The villa is a masterpiece of glass, dark wood, and natural stone, perched perfectly on the edge of a slope with a panoramic view of the misty mountains.

As the gates glide open, you can see the steam rising from a private infinity pool and an outdoor stone hot spring (onsen style) tucked away in a courtyard.

"Jungkook..." you breathe, staring at the sheer scale of the place. "This is insane. This must have cost a fortune."

He just laughs, cutting the engine and looking at you with a playful shrug. "Don't even think about the price. I worked hard this year, and I wanted the best for us. Besides," he leans over, unbuckling your seatbelt for you, his eyes locking onto yours, "spoiling you is literally my favorite hobby. You deserve to be in a place as beautiful as you are."

He hops out and opens the back door for Bam, who goes sprinting onto the private lawn like a bullet, ecstatic to have so much space to himself. Jungkook grabs the bags from the trunk, slinging them over his shoulders with ease.

Inside, the villa is even more breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace already flickering with a warm glow, and a bedroom that looks out directly over the valley. There's a bottle of chilled champagne waiting on the counter and a basket of high-end spa products.

Jungkook drops the bags and walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder as you both stare out at the view.

"Finally," he whispers, his voice vibrating against your ear. "No cameras, no schedules, no interruptions. Just the three of us."

He turns you around in his arms, his expression turning a bit more serious, searching your face. "Do you like it? Is it enough of an apology for being a jerk the other night?"

Jungkook leads you deeper into the villa, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. As you walk through the master suite toward the massive glass doors leading to the private terrace, you stop dead in your tracks.

Hanging from the reinforced oak beams of the ceiling, right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the valley, is a sleek, minimalist indoor swing. It’s made of heavy leather and polished wood, looking more like a piece of high-end design than a piece of furniture, but its purpose is unmistakable.

A deep heat flushes across your cheeks, turning your face a bright, undeniable crimson. You look away quickly, but it’s too late.

Jungkook lets out a low, melodic chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. He steps closer, closing the distance until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"You're turning red, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that always makes your knees weak. "I saw it in the catalog and thought it looked... comfortable. For enjoying the view, of course."

He walks over to the swing, testing the weight with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The playful "Golden Maknae" is gone; in his eyes is the gaze of a man who has been waiting far too long for this exact moment of privacy.

"You know," he says, his voice a low growl as he turns back to you, "I told you I wanted to make sure you knew exactly where you stood with me. And I have every intention of spending the next forty-eight hours showing you."

He crosses the room in three slow, deliberate strides, backing you up until your calves hit the edge of the massive king-sized bed. He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip, pulling it down slightly.

"No more talking about the tour. No more talking about work," he whispers, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "I've been a 'saint' for long enough, don't you think?"

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hitching as he finally lets the tension that’s been building for months take over. "I want to hear you say my name for a reason that has nothing to do with a fight."

The tension in the room is thick enough to touch. Jungkook doesn't miss the way your eyes keep flickering back to the swing, nor the way your breathing has hitched. He loves the power he has over you in this moment, the way he can make you blush just by suggesting the possibilities.

"The view out there is beautiful," he whispers, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you flush against him so you can feel the rigid proof of his desire. "But I think I'd prefer a different view."

Without waiting for an answer, he picks you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you over to the swing, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes your blood hum. He settles you onto the leather seat, the slight sway of the ropes making your heart race. He stands between your knees, his large hands gripping your thighs to steady the swing.

"Jungkook..." you gasp, your head falling back against the ropes.

"Stay right there," he commands softly. He drops to his knees on the plush rug beneath you. The height of the swing puts you at the perfect level for him. He doesn't rush; he takes his time, his hands sliding slowly up your legs, pushing your pants out of the way until he finds the edge of your lace underwear.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, making you shiver uncontrollably. "I've been thinking about this since the drive," he murmurs against your inner thigh, his voice muffled. "About finally having the time to give you everything you've been waiting for."

He hooks his fingers into the silk, tugging it aside. When his tongue finally makes contact, a sharp cry escapes your lips, echoing through the glass-walled room. Jungkook moans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips to keep the swing from moving too much as he loses himself in you.

He’s meticulous and fervent, using the edge of the swing to gain leverage as he drinks you in. Every flick of his tongue, every deliberate pressure is designed to make you forget everything, the fight, the office, the world outside. You grip the ropes of the swing, your knuckles white, as the first wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless and completely at his mercy.

The intensity of the afternoon leaves you both feeling pleasantly dazed and deeply connected. After a long, shared shower and some much-needed downtime, the hunger finally shifts from physical desire to a literal need for food.

The resort’s restaurant is as exclusive as the villas dimly lit, with warm wood accents and spaced-out tables that guarantee total privacy. Jungkook has shed his idol armor for a simple, oversized black sweater, looking soft and relaxed in the candlelight.

You’ve settled into a cozy corner booth. Bam is the perfect gentleman; he’s sprawled out on the plush travel mat you brought from home, tucked neatly under the edge of the table. He’s already had his dinner and is now content to just rest his heavy chin on his paws, watching the world go by with sleepy eyes.

"He's so well-behaved when he's tired," Jungkook whispers, reaching down to blindly scratch Bam’s ears while he looks at the menu. "A true professional."

The waiter brings out an array of local delicacies perfectly marbled Hanwoo beef that you grill on a small stone at the table, fresh mountain greens, and chilled wine. Jungkook is back in "happy eater" mode, his eyes widening with every bite.

"Try this," he says, leaning across the table to offer you a perfectly grilled piece of beef. He waits until you take it, watching you with a satisfied smirk. "Good, right?"

"Amazing," you admit, the rich flavors melting on your tongue. "Everything about today has been... perfect, Jungkook. Thank you."

He sets his chopsticks down for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches across the table to take your hand. The flickering candle casts dancing shadows across his sharp features, making him look incredibly handsome.

"I meant what I said," he says quietly, his thumb stroking your knuckles. "I know I can be a lot. The schedule, the stress, the way I shut down when I'm overwhelmed. But being here with you... it reminds me of who I am when I'm not 'Jungkook of BTS.' Just being Bam's dad and your... well."

He pauses, a playful, slightly nervous glint in his eyes.

"Your whatever-you-want-me-to-be tonight."

You squeeze his hand back, feeling the weight of the week finally dissolve completely. Outside, the mountains are silhouettes against a star-heavy sky, and inside, the only thing that matters is the heat of his hand and the quiet breathing of your dog at your feet.

The night air is crisp and carries the scent of pine and damp earth as you leave the restaurant. The small mountain town is practically sleeping; the glowing signs of a few late-night convenience stores are the only things illuminating the cobblestone streets. It feels like you've stepped into a quiet, private world meant only for the three of you.

Jungkook has his bucket hat pulled low, but he isn't walking with his usual "stealth" posture. He looks relaxed, his shoulders down, holding Bam’s leash firmly in one hand while his other hand is hopelessly tangled with yours.

"It's so quiet," he whispers, his voice echoing slightly against the stone buildings. "You can actually hear the wind in the trees. I don't get this often."

Bam is leading the way, his tail swaying in a slow, happy rhythm as he sniffs every flower bed and lamp post. He seems to sense the calm energy between you two, trotting along without his usual chaotic energy.

As you walk past a small, closed flower shop, Jungkook pulls you a little closer, tucking your joined hands into the oversized pocket of his hoodie. It’s a tight fit, but the warmth of his skin against yours is the best feeling in the world.

"Look up," he says softly, stopping in the middle of a bridge that crosses a small, bubbling creek.

You tilt your head back. Away from the glare of Seoul’s skyscrapers, the sky is a velvet canvas spilled with thousands of stars. It’s breathtaking.

"I used to look at the stars during late rehearsals and just feel... small," Jungkook murmurs, looking not at the sky, but at you. The starlight reflects in his dark eyes, making them shimmer. "But standing here right now, I don't feel small. I just feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

He stops walking entirely, turning to face you. Bam sits down patiently at his feet, looking up at the two of you. Jungkook reaches out with his free hand, cupping your face, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

"Thank you for coming with me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "And for not giving up on me when I'm difficult."

He leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally lingering on your lips. It’s a kiss that tastes like the chilled wine from dinner and the promise of a long, peaceful night ahead.

"Let's go home," he whispers against your lips. "Our son looks like he's ready to sleep, and I really want to get you back to that villa."

The atmosphere in the villa has shifted from peaceful to electric. After the walk, you tell him you’re going to get ready for bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. Inside the spacious, marble-tiled bathroom, you catch your reflection. You’re wearing the new lingerie set you bought, deep emerald silk and delicate black lace that hugs your curves in all the right places. It’s bold, elegant, and far more daring than anything you usually wear. You take a deep breath, smoothing the lace, and finally step out.

In the bedroom, the only light comes from the dim bedside lamps and the dying embers in the fireplace. Jungkook is already under the covers well, mostly. He’s lying on top of the sheets in nothing but his black boxers, leaning against the headboard while scrolling through his phone. The sight of him the intricate tattoos trailing down his arm, the hard lines of his chest and abs makes your throat go dry.

When he hears the bathroom door click, he looks up. His thumb freezes on the screen.

For a heartbeat, he just stares, his gaze traveling slowly from your face down to your toes and back up again. You feel a wave of insecurity wash over you, your hands instinctively reaching up to fiddle with the strap of the lace.

"I... I bought this for tonight," you whisper, your voice small.

Jungkook’s phone is forgotten, tossed onto the nightstand. His expression transforms; the casual, sleepy look vanishes, replaced by a dark, intense hunger that feels like a physical weight in the room. A slow, predatory smirk plays on his lips.

"Come here, baby," he says, his voice a low, gravelly command that vibrates in your chest.

He doesn't wait for you to move. He reaches out, his large hand finding your waist and pulling you firmly onto the bed. In one fluid motion, he settles you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. The contrast of your soft skin against the rough texture of his tattoos and the heat of his bare thighs is overwhelming.

He cups the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls your face toward his. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," he murmurs against your lips. "You look beautiful. Too beautiful."

Then he kisses you, not the gentle, apologetic kisses from the bridge, but a deep, possessive kiss that tastes of longing and fire. His hands slide down your back, pressing you closer until there isn't a single inch of space left between you, making it very clear that he has no intention of letting you go until morning.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the heat radiating between your bodies. Jungkook’s hands are shaking slightly as they slide over the silk of your lingerie, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he grips too hard.

"You’re so perfect," he groans, his voice breaking as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He begins to worship your skin, leaving a trail of biting, sucking kisses along your collarbone that he knows will leave marks tomorrow. He’s taking his time, his tongue tracing the edges of the lace, teasing the skin beneath but never quite touching where you want him most.

His large hands move with a desperate kind of worship, mapping every curve of your body as if he’s trying to memorize you through his fingertips. When he finally unclips the emerald silk, his breath hitches. He looks at you with such raw adoration it’s almost overwhelming. He leans down, his mouth finally capturing one peak, his tongue swirling and tugging until you’re arching your back against him, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

He moves lower, his kisses becoming more urgent, more demanding. He’s murmuring praise against your skin, how beautiful you are, how much he’s wanted this, how you’re the only thing that matters. By the time he’s between your thighs, the tension is unbearable. You’re slick and aching, and the way he looks at you, like you’re a goddess he’s lucky to serve makes your heart race faster than the pleasure.

When he finally enters you, it’s slow and agonizingly deep. He lets out a ragged, choked-off sound, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to find his rhythm. But you’re not making it easy. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your hips meeting every thrust with a desperate hunger of your own. You whisper his name, your voice breathy and broken, and it’s the final straw.

The weeks of pent-up stress, the longing, and the sheer sight of you beneath him snap his control. With a few more frantic, powerful thrusts, he collapses against you, his body shuddering as he spills into you far sooner than he intended.

Silence falls over the room, broken only by your heavy breathing. Jungkook stays buried in your neck, his body gone limp. Slowly, he pulls back, his face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He won't meet your eyes, his jaw tight with frustration.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice thick with shame. "I... it's been so long, and you... you just make me lose my mind, Y/N. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

"Jungkook, look at me," you whisper, cupping his face and forcing him to see the genuine love in your eyes. "It is perfect. You don't have to be a superstar in here. I just want you."

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes softening, but the competitive, protective side of him isn't finished. "I'm not letting you go like that," he murmurs, a new kind of determination sparking in his gaze.

He shifts, moving down the bed until he’s positioned between your legs again. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and focused. "I'm going to make sure you remember tonight," he promises.

He uses his fingers with the same precision he uses for everything else, deliberate, steady, and intense. He watches your face, his thumb working in expert circles while two fingers slide inside you, mimicking the depth he just left. He doesn't stop, even when your breath hitches and your eyes roll back. He watches every transition of your pleasure, his expression one of pure, focused worship.

When the first tremors of your orgasm hit, he picks up the pace, his touch firm and unrelenting, dragging the climax out of you until you’re crying out his name, your body shivering in his hands. Only then does he crawl back up, pulling you into his chest and wrapping the duvet around both of you, holding you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

You’re still breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as the aftershocks of the climax slowly fade into a warm, heavy glow. Jungkook is still hovering over you, his face slightly hidden in the crook of your neck, his body tense with that lingering sense of "failure" he felt for coming too quickly.

You reach up, your fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him back just enough so he has to look at you.

"Jungkook," you whisper, your voice still a little raspy. "Stop worrying. Seriously. That was... it was incredible."

He bites his lip, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of disappointment. "I should have lasted longer for you. I wanted to be better."

You let out a soft laugh and pull his head down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Believe me, you were more than enough. Do you have any idea how hot it is to see you lose control like that? Knowing that I'm the one who makes you lose your mind... that’s better than any perfectly timed performance."

You run your hand down the solid line of his chest, tracing the ink on his skin. "I find you so incredibly hot, kook. All of you. Especially when you're just like this, raw and real with me."

A slow, bashful grin finally breaks across his face, that famous bunny-smile returning as the tension leaves his shoulders. He lets out a long, relieved huff and buries his face in your chest, wrapping his massive arms around you and squeezing tight.

"You're going to give me a massive ego," he mumbles into your skin, though he sounds completely satisfied now.

"Good," you tease, stroking his hair. "You deserve one."

He shifts, pulling the heavy duvet over both of you and tucking your head under his chin. Bam is a quiet weight at the foot of the bed, the fire is glowing dim in the hearth, and for the first time in a long time, the world feels completely still.

"Sleep, baby," he whispers, his voice dropping into that deep, protective tone. "I've got you. We have all of tomorrow, too."

The next morning, the room is bathed in a soft, golden light filtering through the mist of the mountains. You slip out of bed as quietly as possible, glancing back at Jungkook. He’s out cold, sprawled across the pillows with one arm hanging off the side of the bed. He looks completely dead to the world, the kind of deep, heavy sleep that only comes when your body finally gives up after months of tour prep and intense emotions.

After a long, steaming shower that makes your skin glow, you get dressed in some leggings and an oversized hoodie. Bam is already waiting by the door, his tail thumping rhythmically against the floor.

"Shh, let's let him sleep," you whisper, clipping on his leash.

The air outside is biting and fresh, waking you up instantly. You’re walking Bam along a quiet, wooded path behind the villa when your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, seeing Minho's name on the screen.

"Hey, Minho," you answer, keeping your voice low as Bam sniffs a nearby pine tree.

"Hey! I’m not waking you up, am I?" Minho’s voice is bright, a stark contrast to the quiet morning. "I just wanted to check in. Naemi mentioned you guys went away for the weekend. How is it? Did he manage to apologize properly?"

You can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck as you think about the swing and the night before. "He did. We're at a wellness resort in the mountains. It's... it's really beautiful here, Minho. Very peaceful."

"Good. He needed that. And I’m guessing you did too," Minho says, his tone softening a bit. "He’s been under so much pressure with this tour. I’m glad he’s got you there to help him turn his brain off for a bit."

"He's currently doing exactly that," you laugh softly. "He’s still crashed out. I think he’s going to sleep until noon."

"Let him. He's earned it," Minho says. "Anyway, I won't keep you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay and didn't need me to bail you out of any more awkward dinners with his manager. Enjoy the quiet while it lasts, alright?"

"Thanks, Minho. Talk soon."

You hang up and tuck the phone away, taking a deep breath of the mountain air. As you watch Bam explore the undergrowth, you feel a sense of calm you haven't felt in weeks.

The morning light is hitting the peaks just right, turning the mist into a shimmering veil of gold and violet. You watch Bam sprint across a wide, green meadow, his muscular frame moving with pure joy against the backdrop of the jagged, pine-covered mountains.

It’s too beautiful not to capture. You pull out your phone and open Instagram.

You film a short, Story.

The first few seconds are a slow pan of the horizon the sun peeking over the ridge, the deep shadows of the valley, and the absolute silence of the wilderness.

Then, you switch the focus to Bam. He’s a blur of black and tan, leaping over a fallen log and then turning back to look at you, his tongue lolling out in a goofy, happy grin.

You tag the location simply as Somewhere peaceful and add a tiny heart emoji in the corner.

Almost immediately, your notifications start to flicker. You don't check them, though. You just tuck your phone back into your pocket and whistle for Bam.

"Come on, boy," you call out, watching him race back toward you. "Let's head back. I think your dad might be waking up soon, and he's going to be starving."

As you walk back toward the glass-fronted villa, you see a movement behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. A dark silhouette is standing there, messy hair sticking up in every direction, wrapped in a white duvet like a giant cocoon. Even from this distance, you can see the sleepy, lopsided smile on Jungkook's face as he watches his two favorite things in the world walking back to him.

By the time you reach the door, he’s already opened it, leaning against the frame with his eyes half-closed, still radiating the heat of a man who just woke up from the best sleep of his life.

"Morning," he rasps, his voice deep and heavy with sleep. He reaches out a hand, pulling you into the warm, scent-filled circle of his blanket. "I woke up and the bed was cold. Don't do that again."

You giggle, leaning into the warmth of the duvet as his strong arms pull you close. The smell of sleep and his familiar scent wrap around you like a second blanket.

"I had to take Bam out," you say, looking up at him with a teasing smile. "He had business to attend to, and unlike you, he doesn't have the luxury of sleeping until noon."

Jungkook groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "He’s a traitor for leaving me alone in that big bed," he mumbles, his breath warm against your skin. "I woke up and reached for you, and all I found was a cold pillow. I almost had a heart attack."

Bam, hearing his name, trots over and nudges Jungkook’s bare leg with a cold, wet nose. Jungkook lets out a sharp laugh, finally opening his eyes properly.

"Yeah, yeah, I see you, you monster," he grumbles affectionately, reaching down with one hand to ruffle Bam’s ears while keeping the other firmly around your waist. He pulls you even tighter, his gaze dropping to your lips. "The bed is still warm, you know. And I’m definitely not ready to be a functional human being yet."

He gives you a look that is half-sleepy and half-hungry—the kind of look that tells you he isn't thinking about breakfast at all.

"Come back to bed for just an hour?" he pleads, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive rasp. "No phones, no walking, just... staying right there."

He doesn't even wait for a "yes." He starts backing you toward the bedroom, pulling the duvet around both of you like a private tent, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glow you love so much.

The moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you, the playful morning energy shifts into something far more intense. Jungkook drops the duvet, letting it pool around his feet, and pulls you flush against him. His skin is still radiating the deep, heavy heat of sleep, and as he presses you back against the mattress, his weight feels grounding and possessive.

"I missed you," he mumbles, his voice a vibration against your lips. "Even for twenty minutes... it was too long."

He doesn't give you a chance to respond. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that tastes like raw, morning hunger. It’s slow and deep, his tongue tangling with yours with a lazy, confident rhythm. His hands, large and calloused, slide under your hoodie, his palms searing against your bare skin as he searches for the lace you wore last night. When he finds it, he lets out a low, guttural growl of approval.

He pulls the hoodie over your head and tosses it aside, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. He moves down your body, his mouth worshiping the curve of your breasts through the silk before his teeth graze your nipple, sending a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core.

"Jungkook," you gasp, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

He ignores your plea for speed, determined to savor every inch of you this morning. He moves with a deliberate, agonizing slowness, his tongue tracing the line of your stomach down to the waistband of your leggings. He peels them off with a focused precision, tossing them to the floor until you’re lying completely bare beneath him in the morning light.

He settles between your thighs, his gaze fixed on yours as he reaches down, his fingers finding you already slick and aching for him. He watches your expression change the way your eyes flutter shut and your lips part, as he strokes you, his thumb finding that perfect, sensitive spot.

"Look at me," he commands softly. When you open your eyes, you see the pure, unadulterated devotion in his gaze. "I want to see you when you feel this."

He enters you with one slow, masterful thrust that fills you completely. You let out a broken cry, your head hitting the pillow as he begins to move. It’s different from last night, less frantic, more rhythmic and deep. He’s taking his time, his chest heaving as he watches the way your body reacts to him. Every time his hips hit yours, he lets out a shaky breath, his fingers interlacing with yours and pinning your hands to the bed.

The friction is perfect, the heat between you building until the air in the room feels heavy. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, your movements becoming more desperate as the tension coils tight in your stomach.

"You're mine," he rasps, his pace quickening as he nears the edge. "Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," you moan, your voice breaking as the first wave of the climax hits you. "Always yours, Jungkook."

The sound of his name is the final trigger. He loses his rhythm, his thrusts becoming hard and fast as he buries his face in your neck, his body shuddering violently as he collapses into you. He holds you so tight you can barely breathe, his heart thudding against your chest in a wild, erratic beat, both of you lost in the quiet, golden warmth of the mountain morning.

The room is silent except for the sound of your synchronized breathing, the air still thick with the heat of the last few minutes. Jungkook is heavy on top of you, his forehead resting against yours, his skin damp and glowing in the morning light. He hasn't moved an inch, as if he’s trying to hold onto the connection for as long as possible.

You reach up, your hand shaking slightly as you brush a stray, sweat-dampened lock of hair away from his eyes. He finally blinks, his dark pupils blown wide, looking at you with a gaze so raw and vulnerable it makes your chest ache.

"Jungkook?" you whisper, your voice a soft rasp.

"Hmm?" he hums, a tiny, contented smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nuzzles your nose with his.

"Are you happy right now?" you ask softly. "In this moment, away from everything... are you truly happy?"

He pulls back just a fraction, his expression turning serious. He searches your eyes, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your lower lip. "I haven't felt this light in years, Y/N. No pressure, no expectations... just being here. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time."

You hesitate for a second, your heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and love. "And... are you happy with me? Not just the weekend, but... us?"

The question makes his breath hitch. His gaze softens into something so incredibly tender it feels like a physical embrace. He doesn't answer with words at first; instead, he leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to your lips.

"Y/N," he says, his voice dropping into that deep, soul-shaking register. "I’m not just happy with you. I’m myself with you. With the rest of the world, I have to be the best, the strongest, the Golden Maknae. But with you... I can just be Jungkook. I can be clumsy, I can be tired, and I can be loved just for who I am."

He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms around you like a shield.

"You’re my peace," he whispers into your hair. "There is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than right here, with you and Bam. You're everything to me."

The rest of the weekend dissolves into a blurred, beautiful cycle of intimacy and recovery. In the isolation of the villa, time ceases to exist. Jungkook sheds every bit of his idol persona, replacing it with a raw, primal energy that seems fueled by the months he spent apart from you.

He proves, quite literally, why he is known for his relentless discipline. His stamina is staggering.

Whether it’s in the massive stone bathtub with the steam rising around you, or back on that leather swing with the moonlight spilling over the floor, he is tireless. He moves with a powerful, athletic grace, his body a map of tensed muscle and sweat-slicked ink. He explores every inch of you with a hunger that seems impossible to sate, pushing you to your limits only to catch you in his arms the moment you crumble.

Each time, he is focused entirely on you, on the way your back arches, the way you gasp his name, and the way your body shudders under his. He takes pride in his endurance, a dark, playful smirk crossing his lips whenever he sees you breathless and spent, only for him to start all over again.

Between the bouts of intensity, there are quiet moments of "normalcy" that feel just as intimate.

You order massive amounts of room service fried chicken, spicy ramen, and mountains of fruit, which you eat while sitting on the floor in your bathrobes, feeding each other bits of food and laughing at Bam’s constant begging.

You take long naps in the middle of the afternoon, tangled together so tightly it's hard to tell where one person ends and the other begins.

He plays his favorite songs on a small Bluetooth speaker, pulling you into slow, clumsy dances in the living room, his hands never leaving your waist.

By the final evening, you’re both physically exhausted but emotionally overflowing. You’re curled up on the outdoor terrace, wrapped in a shared weighted blanket, watching the sun dip below the mountains for the last time.

Jungkook pulls your hand to his mouth, kissing each of your knuckles individually. His eyes are clear, the dark circles that shadowed them on Friday completely gone.

"I don't want to go back," he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with a mixture of peace and lingering desire. "But I think I've finally recharged enough to handle whatever comes next. As long as I know I’m coming home to this."

The drive back to Seoul is a stark contrast to the high-energy trip up. The car is filled with a comfortable, heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the soft R&B tracks playing through the speakers.

Your body feels completely spent in the best way possible. Every muscle is pleasantly sore from the weekend’s "activities," and the emotional release has left you in a state of pure, sleepy bliss. You lean your head against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the green mountains slowly turn into the gray concrete of the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook reaches over, his hand finding yours and squeezing it gently. He looks over at you, his eyes soft as he notices your heavy eyelids.

"Go to sleep, baby," he says, his voice a low, soothing melody. "I’ll wake you up when we’re home."

You don't need to be told twice. You shift in your seat, tucking a small pillow behind your head, and drift off almost instantly.

You float in and out of consciousness for the next few hours. Occasionally, you feel the warmth of his hand stroking your hair or hear him whispering softly to Bam in the back seat to keep him quiet. At one point, you stir when the car stops at a toll booth, and you see him through your lashes profile sharp against the sunset, one hand on the steering wheel, looking completely at peace.

By the time the city lights of Seoul start to blur past the window, you’re in a deep, dreamless sleep.

When the car finally comes to a gentle stop in the private underground garage of his apartment building, you feel a soft kiss on your forehead.

"We're here," Jungkook whispers close to your ear, his breath smelling of the coffee he picked up while you were out. He doesn't make you get up right away; he just stays there for a moment, holding you in the quiet of the car, reluctant to let the magic of the weekend end. "Back to reality, but at least we're doing it together."

Back in Seoul, the bubble of the mountain villa bursts almost instantly. The quiet forest air is replaced by the sterile smell of dance studios, the constant vibration of phones, and the high-pressure hum of tour preparations.

You’re back at your desk, and Jungkook is back to being the world’s most famous perfectionist.

One afternoon, you head down to the massive rehearsal hall at HYBE. You’re there under the guise of "checking the schedule" or "delivering files," but really, you just need to see him. As you push open the heavy soundproof doors, the blast of bass and the screech of sneakers against the floor hit you.

Jungkook is in the center of the room, drenched in sweat. He’s wearing a loose black sleeveless shirt that shows off the tattoos on his arms.. arms that were wrapped around you just forty-eight hours ago. He’s sharp, powerful, and intimidatingly focused.

When the music finally cuts, he bends over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. His eyes find yours in the mirror, and for a split second, that intense "performer" gaze softens into something private and warm.

"Hey," he pants, grabbing a water bottle and walking toward the sidelines where you're standing.

There are staff members everywhere, backup dancers, choreographers, and stylists. You have to keep your distance. You have to be "professional."

"The new choreography looks amazing," you say, your voice steady despite the way your heart is racing. You hold out a tablet as if you're showing him a document. "The transitions in the second verse are much smoother now."

"Thanks," he says, his voice low and raspy. He stands just a little too close to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the same heat you felt under the duvet in the villa.

He pretends to look at the screen, but his hand brushes against yours as he "points" to something. It’s a tiny, lingering touch that feels like a lightning bolt. His eyes flick to your lips for a fraction of a second before he looks back at the room full of people.

It’s agonizing. You want to reach out and wipe the sweat from his forehead. You want to pull him into a corner and kiss him until he forgets the choreography.

"You're doing great, Jungkook-ssi," you say, using the formal suffix for the benefit of the room, though it feels like a lie on your tongue.

"I'm exhausted," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear, a playful but tired glint in his eyes. "I think I need another 'wellness weekend' already. This 'just friends' act is killing me more than the dance routine."

He gives you a subtle, lingering wink before his manager calls his name. He turns back into the professional idol in an instant, but the look he gives you over his shoulder tells you exactly what he’s planning for when the cameras finally turn off tonight.

The air in the briefing room feels heavy with the scent of coffee and the hum of high-powered laptops. You’re standing at the back, your arms crossed, trying to maintain a neutral "staff" expression as the head of operations pulls up a massive, color-coded spreadsheet on the screen.

Jungkook is sitting at the long conference table, surrounded by the other members. He has his glasses on and a serious look on his face, tapping a pen rhythmically against the table.

"Alright, everyone," the manager says, pointing to the screen. "We’re starting with the New York leg. It’s a ten-day stretch. You’ve got the morning shows, three stadium nights, and the charity gala. From there, it’s a direct flight to Tokyo for the fan meetings and the five-night dome run."

You feel a pang in your chest as you look at the dates. It’s weeks of back-to-back travel. Time zones blurring together, late-night rehearsals, and almost zero privacy.

"We’ll be moving in a tight bubble," the manager continues, glancing around the room. "Security will be at Level 1. That means no unauthorized exits from the hotels. Work, gym, sleep. That’s it."

Jungkook’s pen stops moving. He doesn't turn around to look at you, he knows better, but you see his jaw tighten. He’s listening to the cage being built around him for the next month.

"Any questions?" the manager asks.

Jungkook clears his throat, his voice steady but low. "The New York hotel... will the staff floor be the same as the artist floor?"

"Yes, for efficiency," the manager nods, moving on to the logistics of the Japanese press junket.

It’s a small detail, but you catch the meaning. Being on the same floor means a few minutes stolen in the hallway, or a late-night knock on a door when the security team is distracted. It’s a tiny silver lining in a schedule that looks like a marathon.

As the meeting breaks up and people start to stand, the room fills with the sound of chairs scraping and hushed conversations. Jungkook stands up, stretching his back, and for a brief moment, your eyes lock.

He looks tired already, the weight of the upcoming tour pressing down on him. But in that look, there’s also a silent promise. He’s not just going to New York and Japan to perform; he’s going there to find a way to be with you, even if it’s just for five minutes behind a closed door.

"It's going to be a long month," he says loudly, directed at the room but meant entirely for you. He walks past you, the sleeve of his jacket brushing yours, leaving the faint scent of his cologne lingering in your senses as he heads back to the studio.

The energy at the restaurant is electric. To celebrate the tour kickoff, the company booked a private room in a high-end BBQ spot in Gangnam. It’s the kind of place where the walls are thick, the meat is top-tier, and the idols can finally breathe without a mask on.

The table is a chaotic mess of sizzling Hanwoo beef, clinking soju glasses, and loud laughter. All seven guys are there, and the atmosphere is light—the nervous pre-tour jitters have transformed into a shared sense of excitement.

You’re sitting at the end of the table, near the staff members, but close enough to the guys to be part of the conversation. Jungkook is sitting directly across from you. Every time someone tells a joke, he throws his head back and laughs that pure, scrunchy-eyed laugh you love so much.

"To the tour!" Hobi shouts, raising his glass. "And to actually surviving the New York schedule!"

"Cheers!" everyone bellows in unison.

Under the table, you feel a soft pressure against your foot. You look up, and Jungkook is looking at you while taking a sip of his drink. He’s not being obvious, but his eyes are dancing with a secret warmth. He nudges your shoe again with his sneaker, a small, hidden gesture that says, I see you.

"Y/N," Jimin says, leaning forward with a playful grin. "You’re coming with us to the New York leg, right? We need someone to keep this one in line," he gestures toward Jungkook, who is currently trying to fit an entire lettuce wrap into his mouth.

"I'll do my best," you laugh, your face flushing slightly. "But I think he’s a lost cause."

Jungkook manages to swallow and lets out a mock-offended gasp. "Hey! I'm the most well-behaved one here!"

The room erupts in "Yeah, right!" and "Since when?" while Jin starts a long-winded story about Jungkook’s latest gym obsession.

The mood is so good that for a moment, the grueling schedule doesn't seem so scary. Jungkook looks over at you again, his expression softening as he mouths the word 'Wait' so quickly no one else sees it. He’s clearly planning on catching you in the hallway or the parking garage after the dinner.

As the night goes on, the laughter gets louder and the air gets warmer. Despite the chaos of the coming weeks, standing here in this circle of friendship and secret glances, you feel like everything is exactly where it should be. The tour is coming, but for tonight, you’re just a group of friends celebrating a beginning.

The atmosphere, which had been so light and celebratory, curdles in an instant when Minho pulls up a chair. He’s had a few drinks, and his usual protective nature over both of you turns into a clumsy attempt at matchmaking.

"Honestly," Minho says, leaning onto the table and looking between you and Jungkook. "How long is this secret thing going to last? You two are practically inseparable. Why can't you just make it official already? Everyone in this room knows how you feel."

The table goes quiet. The other members exchange awkward glances, sensing the shift in the air. Jungkook’s playful smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, stony mask.

"Minho, drop it," Jungkook says, his voice dangerously low.

"No, I’m serious, JK," Minho persists, his voice rising. "She deserves better than being a ghost in your life. You treat her like a girlfriend in private, but out here? You're too scared to even give her a title?"

"It’s not about being scared!" Jungkook snaps, slamming his hand on the table. The sound echoes in the private room. "You know exactly what my life is like. I don't do official relationships. I can't. It doesn't work with this life. It’s a liability for everyone involved."

Your heart drops into your stomach. You weren't asking for a press release or a red-carpet debut. You just wanted to know that when you were alone, or with your closest friends, you could call him your boyfriend. But hearing him dismiss the idea so coldly labeling your connection as a "liability" makes it feel like nothing more than a convenient situationship.

"So that's it?" you ask, your voice trembling. "We spend all that time together, we share everything, but I'm just a... a secret you keep when it's convenient?"

"I'm protecting you!" Jungkook shouts, turning his frustration toward you.

"Protecting me? Or protecting your image?" you retort, tears stinging your eyes. "I don't need to be in the news, Jungkook. I just wanted to be yours. But you talk about it like it's a business deal."

"We should talk about this alone," you say, trying to maintain a shred of dignity.

"No," Jungkook says, his ego flared and his defensiveness at an all-time high. "There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not going to 'ask you out' like we’re in high school. I don't need to do that to know what we have. If you can't handle how things are, then maybe you shouldn't be here."

The room goes dead silent. The humiliation burns in your chest, hotter than the grill in front of you. You look at him the man who just days ago held you as if you were his entire world and you realize he’s pushing you away to keep his walls up.

"I see," you say, nodding slowly as a single tear escapes. "I’m not going to hang my heart on someone who doesn't take me seriously. If I’m just a 'liability' or a 'situationship' to you, then I’m done."

You stand up, your legs feeling like lead. "I’m not going to New York. And I’m definitely not going to Japan. You can find someone else to keep you recharged on tour."

"Y/N, wait—" Namjoon starts, but you don't stay to hear the rest.

You grab your bag and walk out of the room, leaving the stunned silence and the remains of the celebration behind. Every step away from that table feels like your heart is being torn in two, but the humiliation of staying feels even worse.

The heavy glass doors of the restaurant had barely swung shut behind you when you heard the frantic rhythm of his boots on the pavement.

"Y/N! Stop! Just listen to me for a second!" Jungkook’s voice cracked through the quiet night air, desperate and sharp. He reached out, grabbing your wrist to turn you around, but he let go the second he saw your face.

The streetlights caught the tears tracking down your cheeks, and for a moment, the "International Pop Star" looked like a terrified boy.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak. You took a sharp step back, putting distance between you. "Don't you dare try to fix this with a look or a touch."

"I was just frustrated, the pressure with Minho—"

"No, Jungkook," you interrupted, shaking your head. "You said it perfectly clear in there. I'm a 'liability.' A 'distraction.' You told me you weren't going to ask me to be yours because you don't 'do' official. You treated me like I was just some random girl you’re having a fling with, and not the person who has been by your side through the last months."

You swiped a hand across your eyes, your breath hitching in the cold air.

"I have forgiven you for so much," you continued, your voice gaining a bitter edge. "I’ve forgiven the silence, the mood swings, the long nights where I had to hide in the shadows of your life. I did it because I thought we were building something. But I won't forgive you for demeaning what we are in front of our friends just to protect your pride."

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, his hands reaching out into the empty space between you, but no words came out. He looked paralyzed, the reality of what he’d thrown away finally sinking in.

"Go to New York," you said, your voice cold and final. "Go to Japan. Perform for the world. But while you're out there, you need to figure out exactly what you want. Because if you want a situationship that stays in the dark, you’ve got the wrong person."

"Y/N, please—"

"I'm going home, Jungkook. Don't follow me."

You turned your back on him and walked toward the curb to hail a taxi. You didn't look back, even though you could feel his gaze burning into your spine, standing alone under the flickering streetlights of Gangnam. You had given him everything, but tonight, you finally chose yourself.

The taxi ride home is a blur of passing streetlights and muffled sobs. You lean your forehead against the cold window, the silence of the car feeling heavy and suffocating compared to the laughter that had filled the restaurant only an hour ago. Every time you close your eyes, you hear his voice ‚I don't do official relationships’ ringing in your ears like a physical blow.

When you finally get inside your apartment, the emptiness of the space hits you. You don't even turn on the lights. You just drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the sofa, finally letting the tears come in a violent, chest-aching wave.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a fleeting, hopeful second, your heart leaps, thinking it’s him. But when you pull it out, the screen shows a message from Minho.

Minho: Y/N, I am so, so sorry. I’m an idiot. I thought I was helping, I thought if I pushed him he’d finally say what he tells me when we're alone. I never meant to cause a scene like that. I never wanted to see you hurt.

You stare at the glowing screen, your vision blurred by fresh tears. You know Minho meant well, he’s seen the way you two look at each other, and he wanted his best friends to finally have the peace of being "real." But his well-intentioned nudge only succeeded in exposing the cracks you had been trying to ignore.

You don't have the energy to reply. You can't even think about Jungkook "staring at the door." If he really cared, he wouldn't have let his pride and his fear of his own lifestyle come between you. He wouldn't have made you feel like a secret he was ashamed of.

The steam from the spicy tteokbokki rose between you and Minho, blurring the neon lights of the small, crowded eatery. It was one of those dinners you had every few weeks a tradition that usually involved Minho complaining about his choreography and you complaining about your boss.

"You're doing that thing again," you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.

Minho paused, a piece of fish cake halfway to his mouth. "What thing?"

"The 'I’m-about-to-mess-with-your-life' face. Just say it."

Minho grinned, leaning over the table. He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping before dropping his voice. "I’m setting you up. Blind date. This Friday."

You groaned, leaning back into the plastic chair. "Minho, no. The last time you set me up, the guy spent forty minutes explaining the 'lore' of his NFT collection. I'm still recovering."

"This is different," Minho insisted, his expression shifting into something unusually serious. "He’s a good person. Genuine. But he’s… well, he’s in a position where it’s hard for him to meet people who don't want something from him. I told him about you. I told him you’re the most grounded person I know."

"Who is he?" you asked, suspicious of the sudden mystery.

"I’m not telling you his name. If I do, you’ll look him up, you’ll get in your head about it, and you’ll ruin the vibe. Just show up at The Gilded Lily at 8:00 PM. Wear something nice, but be yourself."

You squinted at him. "Is he a criminal? Why the secrecy?"

"The opposite," Minho laughed, picking up his phone. He started typing rapidly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I’m actually texting him right now to confirm. I’m telling him exactly who he’s dealing with."

"What are you saying?"

Minho read the screen aloud as he typed: "She’s like a little sister to me, so if you're awkward, I’ll find out. But more importantly, if you break her heart, I’m the one who’s going to make your life miserable."

"Minho!" You reached for his phone, but he pulled it away, laughing.

"I’m serious, Y/N," he said, his tone softening as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. "He’s a big deal to the rest of the world, but he needs someone who sees him for who he is. Just promise me you'll give him a chance. No research, no googling. Just a dinner."

You sighed, looking at your reflection in the window of the shop. "Fine. One dinner. But if he talks about NFTs, I’m calling you to come 'rescue' your best friend."

"Deal," Minho smirked. "But somehow, I don't think you'll be calling me for a rescue this time."

The nervous energy was finally starting to settle in your chest as you stared at the contents of your wardrobe. Friday had arrived far too quickly, and Minho’s cryptic warnings were playing on a loop in your head.

With a frustrated huff, you grabbed your phone and hit the video call button. Naemi’s face popped up almost instantly, her screen shaky as she propped her phone up against a pile of books.

"The time has come!" she squealed, not even waiting for you to say hello. "Show me the options. And don't you dare suggest that oversized beige sweater."

"Minho said 'nice,' but not 'trying too hard,'" you murmured, holding up a floral wrap dress and then a silk skirt.

"Boring. Next," Naemi countered, leaning closer to her camera. "Y/N, this guy is a big deal according to Minho. You need to look like the girl who is completely unfazed by a big deal."

After ten minutes of debating, your eyes landed on something at the back of the closet. You pulled it out: a black, long-sleeve midi dress. It was made of a soft, ribbed material that hugged every curve of your silhouette, ending just below the knee with a subtle side slit.

"That's the one," Naemi said, her voice dropping to a whisper of approval. "Put it on. Now."

While you changed, you kept the conversation going. "I'm still annoyed Minho won't tell me his name. It feels like I'm walking into an ambush."

"Or a fairytale," Naemi countered. "Just think... if Minho is acting this protective, the guy must be someone special. Now, what are we doing with the hair?"

You sat down at your vanity, unpinning the large clips you’d used to set your hair. As you brushed it out, thick, glossy waves tumbled over your shoulders. You decided to leave it open, the dark strands contrasting perfectly against the black fabric of the dress.

"You look incredible," Naemi said, her expression softening. "Seriously, Y/N. You look like a dream. Whoever this mystery man is, he’s going to be the one who's nervous, not you."

You took a final look in the full-length mirror. The dress was sleek, the waves were soft, and you felt more like yourself than you had in weeks.

"Okay," you breathed out, grabbing your small clutch bag. "I'm heading out. Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck," Naemi winked before hanging up. "Just don't forget to text me the second you see his face!"

You took one last deep breath, checked your reflection, and headed for the door. The Gilded Lily was waiting, and so was he.

The cool evening air of Seoul hit your face as you stepped out of the subway station. Even in your heels, the walk to The Gilded Lily was short. You navigated the bustling sidewalks, the black fabric of your dress catching the glow of the overhead neon signs.

As the restaurant's elegant gold-trimmed door came into view, your heart did a nervous little somersault. You smoothed your dress one last time and pushed through.

The interior was draped in soft amber light, smelling of expensive wine and roasted herbs. You scanned the room, your eyes landing on a table in a private corner.

Your breath hitched.

Sitting there was a man who looked like he had been pulled straight from a cinematic masterpiece. Even in a simple, crisp button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans, he radiated an effortless, magnetic energy. His dark hair was styled softly, framing a face that was too beautiful to be sitting alone at a blind date table.

There’s no way, you thought, feeling a sudden urge to turn around and check if you were in the right restaurant. Minho must have sent me to the wrong place.

Someone like Jeon Jungkook doesn't get set up on blind dates.

You hesitated, frozen near the host stand, when his eyes met yours. A look of recognition and then a genuine, shy smile broke across his face. He stood up immediately, his movements graceful yet slightly nervous.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice a smooth, low melody that made your toes curl in your shoes.

"Yes," you managed to breathe out, finally finding your feet and walking toward him. "And you’re... Jungkook?"

"I am," he said, stepping out from behind the table to greet you. Instead of a stiff handshake, he gave a polite, respectful bow, his eyes never leaving yours. "Minho didn't lie. He said I’d recognize you the moment you walked in because you’d be the one making everyone else in the room disappear."

Well he was charming.

He pulled out your chair for you, his hand briefly hovering near the small of your back in a protective, gentlemanly gesture.

"I hope the subway wasn't too crowded," he added softly as he sat back down, leaning in as if there was no one else in the world but you. "Thank you for coming. I know Minho was being... difficult with the details."

"Difficult is an understatement," you laughed, finally starting to relax under his warm gaze. "He treated your name like a state secret."

Jungkook chuckled, a rich, boyish sound. "In his defense, I asked him to. I wanted tonight to just be... us. Not the big deal he probably warned you about. Just Jungkook."

As the waiter approached, you realized that despite his fame, the man sitting across from you wasn't looking for an audience. He was looking at you, and for the first time all night, the drama of who he was felt miles away.

The waiter left two menus on the table, and for a moment, a heavy, silence settled between you. It was that classic, awkward first date tension, the kind where you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how you’re sitting, where your hands are, and the fact that you’re essentially strangers tasked with being charming.

The fact that he was Jeon Jungkook added a layer of surrealism, but the awkwardness was human. It was the way he fiddled with the corner of his cloth napkin, and the way you took a very long, unnecessary sip of water.

"So," you both said at the exact same time.

Jungkook let out a breathy laugh, ducking his head. "You go first."

"I was just going to say," you started, giving him a small, sheepish smile, "that Minho told me I wasn't allowed to Google you. So, I spent the whole train ride here trying to fight the urge to open Safari."

Jungkook’s eyes lit up, his shoulders finally losing some of their rigidity. "And? Did you win the fight?"

"I did. But mostly because the 3G in the tunnel was terrible," you joked.

He laughed, a genuine sound that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "I’m glad. It’s... it’s actually a relief. Usually, people have a whole biography of me memorized before we even say hello. It makes me feel like I’m auditioning for my own life."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up, revealing the intricate ink on his arm, but his expression was soft.

"To be honest," he admitted, lowering his voice, "I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes rehearsing how to say hello without sounding like a dork. Minho is like a brother to me, and he was very clear that if I messed this up, he’d make me do extra choreography for a month."

You felt a bridge forming over the awkwardness. "He told me the same thing. He said if you were boring, I should call him for a 'rescue.'"

Jungkook tilted his head, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "And? Are you reaching for your phone yet?"

"Not yet," you replied, meeting his gaze. "The night is young, Jungkook. You still have time to tell me about your NFT collection or something equally tragic."

He let out a loud, delighted bark of laughter that drew a few eyes from the neighboring tables, but he didn't seem to care. The stiff idol energy was gone, replaced by a warmth that felt surprisingly intimate.

"I promise," he said, raising a hand as if taking an oath, "no NFTs. Just good food and hopefully... a version of me that isn't on a poster."

As the waiter returned to take your order, the blind date jitters began to melt away, replaced by the effortless hum of a conversation that felt like it had been waiting to happen for a long time.

The appetizers arrived a delicate beef tartare but the food quickly became secondary to the rhythm of the conversation. You realized that the best way to handle his fame was to simply ignore it, treating his stories about world tours with the same casual interest you’d give a friend talking about a business trip.

"You're remarkably calm," he noted, tilting his head as he watched you expertly navigate the conversation. "Usually, when I mention the members or a stadium, there’s a flicker of... something. But you just want to know if the catering was any good."

"Well, was it?" you asked with a grin. "I have my priorities, Jungkook. High-production sets are cool, but a cold buffet is a tragedy."

He grinned, leaning back. "It was actually pretty good. But honestly? I’d rather be in my kitchen at home. I’ve been getting really into making my own ramen broth lately. It takes like twelve hours, and I just sit there watching it simmer like a madman."

"A perfectionist in the kitchen," you teased. "I should have guessed."

"It's therapeutic," he admitted, his eyes sparkling. "Just like gaming. Sometimes I lose track of time. I’ll start a round at 10:00 PM and suddenly the sun is coming up, and I realize I’ve been yelling at a monitor for six hours. It’s the only time I’m not 'Jungkook' I’m just a guy getting frustrated by a laggy connection."

As the main course was served, he pulled out his phone, but not to check social media. "Wait, I have to show you the real boss of my house."

He flipped the screen around to show a photo of a massive, sleek Doberman with soulful eyes. "This is Bam. He looks intimidating, but he’s basically a giant, oversized lap dog. He’s the only one who doesn't care about my schedule or my awards. He just wants his ears scratched."

You leaned in, looking at the photo of the dog leaning against Jungkook's leg. "He’s beautiful. He has your eyes."

Jungkook let out a bright laugh, tucking the phone away. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

The conversation drifted naturally. He told you about the quiet moments in Busan, the smell of the sea, and how he sometimes misses the simplicity of just being a kid. There were moments where his reality seeped in mentioning security protocols or the strange feeling of seeing his own face on a bus but he said it without ego.

It was just his "normal," and you listened without making it a spectacle.

By the time the dessert menus arrived, the initial awkwardness had completely vanished. You weren't thinking about his millions of followers or his chart-topping hits.

You were thinking about the way he gestured with his hands when he was excited about a new game, and how he seemed genuinely curious about your life in return.

"You know," he said softly, stirring his coffee, "Minho was right about you."

"Oh? What did he say?"

"He said you wouldn't be impressed by me," Jungkook smiled, his gaze intense yet kind. "And that's exactly why I’d actually be able to talk to you. He was right. This is the first time in a long time I haven't felt like I'm on a stage."

You felt a flush creep up your neck, the black fabric of your dress suddenly feeling a little warmer. "I’m glad, Jungkook. You’re much more interesting than a poster anyway."

As the dinner came to an end, the waiter discreetly placed the bill on the table. Before you could even reach for your clutch, Jungkook had already tucked his card into the leather folder with a practiced, effortless flick of his wrist.

"Jungkook, wait—" you started, but he held up a hand, a playful but firm smile on his lips.

"Don't," he said softly. "It’s been a long time since I got to just be a guy taking a girl out for a great dinner. Let me have this."

You gave him a mock-reproachful look but relented. As you both stood up and headed toward the exit, the cool night air of Seoul greeted you again. The street was quieter now, the city lights reflecting in the dark windows of the boutiques.

Jungkook turned to you, his hands tucked into his denim pockets. He looked effortlessly cool, but there was a flicker of hopefulness in his eyes. "My car is parked just around the corner. Can I drive you home, Y/N? It’s getting late."

You looked at him for a moment, then slowly shook your head with a small, knowing smile. "It was a wonderful night, Jungkook. Truly. But I have a rule: I don't let dates drive me home on the first night. It keeps things... grounded."

Jungkook paused, clearly surprised for a split second, before a wide, boyish grin broke across his face. He let out a soft chuckle, nodding his head in respect. "Grounded. I like that. Honestly, I should have expected that from a friend of Minho’s."

"It’s just a few stops on the Green Line," you added, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. "I'll be fine."

"Promise to text me when you’re inside?" he asked, stepping a bit closer. The scent of his subtle, woody cologne caught in the breeze.

"I'll text you," you promised.

He stood there, watching you as you began to walk toward the glowing entrance of the subway station.

Just before you descended the stairs, you turned back. He hadn't moved an inch; he was still standing under the streetlamp, a lone, handsome figure in a simple shirt and jeans, looking like a dream you might wake up from.

He raised a hand in a small wave, his grin still visible even from a distance.

As you swiped your card at the turnstile and waited for the train, your heart was thumping a rhythm that had nothing to do with the city's pace. You pulled out your phone and saw a message from Minho: 'Is he a dork? Should I come get you?'

You smiled to yourself, typing back: 'Put your phone away, Minho. He's definitely not a dork.'

The train pulled into the station, and as you stepped on, you were already thinking about the way Jungkook’s eyes crinkled when he laughed and wondering if there would be a second time.

Once you were safely inside your apartment, the silence of the room felt loud compared to the hum of the evening. You kicked off your heels with a sigh of relief and immediately reached for your phone.

To: Jungkook Just walked through my door. Thank you again for tonight, the food was amazing, but the company was even better. Sleep well!

You watched the screen for a moment. Almost instantly, the "typing" bubbles appeared.

From: Jungkook Glad you’re safe. I’m still smiling. Sleep well, Y/N. :)

A small, fluttering feeling took hold in your chest. You set the phone down and headed to the bathroom, pulling your hair back into a messy bun. As you swiped a cotton pad soaked in micellar water across your skin, removing the makeup Naemi had helped you perfect, your phone began to vibrate on the counter.

It was Minho. You picked up on the second ring.

"So?" his voice boomed through the speaker, sounding far too energetic for the hour. "Do I need to find a new best friend or a new brother?"

"Hi, Minho," you laughed, leaning against the sink and looking at your bare face in the mirror. "No one needs to be replaced. Yet."

"He texted me," Minho said, his tone shifting to one of pure smugness. "All he said was: 'She didn't let me drive her home. I like her.' You really pulled the first date rule on a global superstar?"

"He’s not a 'superstar' when he’s talking about his dog and burnt ramen, Minho. He’s just a guy. A very polite, slightly nervous guy."

"He was nervous?" Minho sounded delighted. "Good. He should be. But seriously, Y/N... you liked him? The real him?"

You softened, tracing the edge of the sink with your finger. "Yeah. I did. He’s... he’s a lot more than I expected. He’s grounded, despite everything. It didn't feel like a blind date with a celebrity. It just felt like a date."

"I knew it" Minho murmured, and for once, there was no teasing in his voice. "He needed someone who wouldn't treat him like a trophy. And you needed someone who could actually keep up with you."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you warned, though you couldn't stop smiling. "It was just one dinner."

"One dinner that ended with him 'still smiling,'" Minho countered. "I’ve known that kid for years, Y/N. He doesn't say things like that just to be polite. Get some sleep. I have a feeling your phone is going to be busy tomorrow."

After you hung up, you finished your skincare routine and crawled into bed. Just as you were drifting off, your phone buzzed one last time. It wasn't Minho.

From: Jungkook I’m heading to Busan for a few days to see my family. It’s quiet there. I’d love to show it to you properly while I’m there?

You bit your lip, the moonlight filtering through your curtains. The drama of his world felt far away, but the spark of something new was very, very close.

You stared at the message, a playful spark lighting up your eyes. You knew Busan was his sanctuary, a place away from the flashing lights of Seoul, and the fact that he was already mentioning it made your heart do a little somersault.

You typed out your reply, keeping the tone light and just a bit teasing.

To: Jungkook Busan? You’re moving fast, Mr. Jeon. Do you usually take every girl you meet to your hometown after just one dinner? 😉

You paused, then added another line:

But honestly, I’ve always wanted to go to Busan. I’ve heard the ocean air there is different.

You hit send and tossed your phone onto the pillow, rolling onto your side. A few minutes later, the screen lit up again.

From: Jungkook Only the ones who make me forget my own name for a second. And you're right the air is different. It’s better. I’ll start planning.

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, the sound of the city outside your window fading into dreams of crashing waves and pepperoni pizza.

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through your window felt a little brighter than usual. You were lounging on your sofa with a cup of coffee when your phone buzzed. Naemi’s face flashed on the screen. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself; you knew she was going to grill you for every single detail.

"Spill! Everything!" she screamed the moment you picked up. "I stayed up until 1:00 AM waiting for a text! Did he have two heads? Was he a weirdo? Please tell me he was at least handsome."

You leaned back, a small smile playing on your lips. "He definitely didn't have two heads, Naemi. And yes... he was incredibly handsome. Like, 'forget-how-to-breathe' handsome."

"Oh, thank god," Naemi sighed dramatically. "And? Was he boring? Did he talk about his crypto-wallet?"

"Not once," you laughed. "Actually, he was the opposite. He was shy, really polite, and we ended up talking for hours about... normal things. Cooking, his dog, how much he loves gaming. He’s actually a huge dork."

"A handsome dork? That’s the most dangerous kind," she warned, though you could hear her grinning. "So, who is he? Minho acted like he was the King of Korea. Is he a CEO? An actor? A secret billionaire?"

You hesitated. You weren't ready to drop the 'Jungkook' bomb just yet. You wanted to keep this feeling the feeling of him just being a guy you liked a little longer before the reality of his fame crashed in.

"He’s... successful," you said vaguely. "In a creative field. Minho was being dramatic because they've known each other for a long time. But honestly, Naemi, it didn't feel like a big deal date. It just felt like... a connection."

"You're being suspiciously mysterious, Y/N," Naemi narrowed her eyes at the camera. "But I'll let it slide for now because you look happy. You have that first date glow. So, is there going to be a second one?"

"He actually already asked," you admitted, your heart fluttering again. "He’s in Busan right now visiting family, and he suggested I come down there to see it with him."

"Busan?! On a second date?" Naemi shrieked. "Girl, he is not playing around! That’s a serious move. Are you going?"

"I think I am," you whispered, looking at the text from Jungkook still sitting on your screen. "I’ve always wanted to see the ocean there."

"Well," Naemi smirked, "just make sure you pack that black dress. Or maybe something even better. If this guy is taking you to the coast, you need to look unforgettable."

You laughed and chatted for another hour, keeping his identity tucked away like a precious secret. You knew the drama would come eventually, but for now, it was just you, a girl with a crush, and a train ticket to the sea.

The excitement was a low hum in your veins as you pulled your small weekend bag from the top of the closet.

You folded a breezy, sundress in a soft cream color, perfect for the coast, and tucked in a pair of minimalist strappy sandals. A few essentials, a light cardigan for the sea breeze, and your favorite book went in next. As you zipped the bag, you felt a flutter of nerves. This wasn't just a trip to the beach it was a trip into his world.

You pulled up the KTX booking app on your phone, scrolling through the departures from Seoul Station. Once you found a seat on the Saturday morning express, you took a deep breath and opened your chat with Jungkook.

To: Jungkook I just finished packing. I hope you’re ready, because I officially booked my ticket. I’ll be arriving at Busan Station on Saturday at 11:30 AM. Don't worry, I brought comfortable shoes just in case you try to make me hike a mountain.

You stared at the sent icon, feeling a mix of adrenaline and shyness. A minute later, your phone vibrated.

From: Jungkook 11:30 AM. Noted. I’ll be the one waiting at the platform looking way too excited. And don’t worry about hiking the only thing I have planned involves zero cardio and a lot of carbs. See you soon, Y/N. Safe travels.

You leaned back against your bed, clutching your phone to your chest. The reality was setting in: you were going to Busan. You were going to see his home, the place that shaped him before the world knew his name.

As you looked around your quiet apartment, you realized that whatever happened next, the normal life you had before that dinner at The Gilded Lily was already starting to change.

The next morning, the sun was barely over the horizon when you dragged your weekend bag to the front door. You checked your reflection one last time casual, light makeup, and a comfortable outfit for the train ride.

You picked up your phone and dialed Minho. He had insisted on being your official chaperone for this journey, mostly because he wanted to tease you one last time before you left his sight.

"I’m outside," Minho groaned into the phone, sounding like he hadn't had nearly enough coffee. "And you owe me big time for this, Y/N. Driving at this hour is against my religion."

You laughed, heading down the stairs. "You're the one who set this up! Consider this your duty as a matchmaker."

When you climbed into his car, Minho was hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses and a hoodie. He looked over at your small bag and then at your face.

"You look nervous," he noted, pulling out into the quiet Seoul streets.

"I am," you admitted, staring out the window at the passing city. "It’s just... it’s Busan, Minho. It’s his home. It feels like a big step for a second date."

Minho softened, his grip on the steering wheel relaxing. "Look, Jungkook doesn't do things halfway. If he asked you to come down there, it’s because he feels safe with you. Just... keep being yourself. Don't let the BTS stuff get in the way. To his mom and his brother, he’s just the kid who eats too much and leaves his socks everywhere."

"I'll try to remember that," you smiled.

The drive to Seoul Station was quick. As Minho pulled up to the curb, he turned to you, his expression unusually serious. "Have fun, Y/N. And seriously... text me if you need anything. I’m only a couple of hours away."

"I will. Thanks, Minho. For everything."

You stepped out of the car and headed into the massive, glass-walled station. The energy of hundreds of travelers blurred around you, but you were focused on one thing: the platform for the KTX to Busan.

As you settled into your seat and the train began to hum, picking up speed until the Seoul skyline was a distant memory, you pulled out your phone.

To: Jungkook Just left Seoul. Minho says hi, but mostly he just complained about the traffic. See you in a few hours.

You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, watching the green countryside of Korea fly by, wondering what the boy from Busan had waiting for you at the other end of the line.

The train slowed to a rhythmic halt, and as the doors hissed open, the salty scent of the sea seemed to drift through the station, even before you reached the exit. You gripped the handle of your bag, your stomach doing nervous flips as you followed the crowd toward the arrivals platform.

Then, you saw him.

Jungkook was leaning against a pillar, looking remarkably casual. He was wearing loose, comfortable shorts and an oversized black long-sleeve shirt that made him look cozy and approachable. A baseball cap was tucked low over his eyes, but it didn't hide the way his face lit up the second he spotted you.

He didn't wait for you to reach him. He stepped forward, effortlessly closing the distance between you.

"You actually came," he said, his voice warm and filled with relief.

"I told you I’d be here," you laughed, feeling the tension in your shoulders melt away at the sight of his grin.

He reached out, naturally taking your bag from your hand. "I know, but I’ve spent the last twenty minutes pacing this platform thinking maybe I dreamt the whole dinner in Seoul."

"Well, I’m definitely real," you teased, brushing a stray wave of hair behind your ear. "And I'm definitely hungry."

"Good," he said, adjusting his cap. He looked around for a split second, a quick, instinctual check for cameras, before turning back to you with a soft expression. "Because the first stop isn't fancy, it´s just my favorite place"

As you walked beside him toward the exit, his hand occasionally brushed against yours. In the crowded station, no one seemed to realize that one of the most famous men in the world was walking right past them, carrying a girl's weekend bag and talking about the best pizza place in Busan.

After he stowed your bag in the back of his car, he took you to a small, hidden gem of a restaurant tucked away in an alley near the coast. It was the kind of place that didn't have a flashy sign, just the smell of incredible food and the sound of the locals chatting.

As you both sat at a small wooden table, digging into steaming bowls of Dwaeji Gukbap (pork soup), the conversation picked up exactly where it had left off in Seoul. He seemed even more relaxed here, the salt air of Busan doing wonders for his spirit.

"You know," he said, setting his chopsticks down and looking at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. "This lunch... it was just the welcome to my city part. It doesn't officially count as our second date."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Oh? So this is just the orientation phase?"

Jungkook laughed, leaning in across the table. "Exactly. I was thinking... if you aren't too tired from the train ride, maybe we could start the actual date tonight? I have a spot in mind. No fancy suits this time, just the beach, some wine, and the best pizza in the city."

He paused, his thumb tracing the edge of his water glass as he waited for your answer. Even though he was a global star who performed for millions, he looked genuinely nervous about whether you'd say yes to a second night in a row.

"A picnic on the beach with pizza?" you asked, tilting your head.

"And wine," he added quickly. "I checked the weather it’s going to be a clear night. We can actually see the stars out here."

You looked at him, really looked at him and saw how much he wanted to share this quiet side of his life with you. "I think Date Two sounds perfect, Jungkook."

His entire face brightened, that famous bunny-smile making a full appearance. "Great. Then eat up. We have a few hours to kill before sunset, and I want to show you the view from the cliffs first."

As you finished your meal, the weight of his fame felt lighter than ever. In Busan, away from the frantic energy of the capital, it felt like you were finally getting to know the boy behind the name.

And as the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, you realized that you were just as excited for this date as he was.

The afternoon turned into a blur of laughter and salt-crusted air. As you walked along the coastal paths, Jungkook pointed out landmarks from his childhood, telling you stories of how he used to run around these cliffs long before the world knew his name. He was funny, surprisingly clumsy at times, and made you feel so comfortable that you almost forgot he was someone who sold out stadiums.

As the sky began to turn a bruised purple and gold, he pulled the car over near a secluded stretch of the beach, far away from the main tourist spots.

"Stay here," he said, holding up a finger as he turned off the engine. "No peeping."

"Jungkook, it’s a car, not a blindfold," you laughed, but you stayed put, watching his silhouette move around the trunk and head down toward the sand.

Ten minutes later, he jogged back and tapped on your window, looking slightly out of breath but wearing a triumphant grin. "Okay. The VIP lounge is ready."

You stepped out of the car and followed him down to the shore. On a small patch of sand, tucked away between two large rocks, he had laid out a mismatched, slightly frayed blanket.

In the center sat two steaming pizza boxes and a bottle of red wine propped up in a shallow hole he'd dug to keep it from tipping over.

There were no fancy picnic baskets or crystal glasses just a stack of napkins he'd clearly grabbed in a hurry and two plastic cups.

"It’s a bit trashy, I know," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat down and patted the spot next to him. "I realized halfway through that I forgot real wine glasses. And the pizza place didn't have any plates left, so... we're going caveman style."

"It’s perfect," you said sincerely, settling onto the blanket. The contrast was striking the most famous pop star on the planet, sitting on a sandy blanket with a plastic cup of wine and a box of pepperoni pizza. "Honestly, if it were too perfect, I’d think you hired a professional."

"Just me," he smiled, popping the lid of the pizza box. The steam hit your faces, smelling like heaven. "I wanted it to be real. No managers, no stylists, just us."

As you both ate, the atmosphere shifted from the playful energy of the afternoon into something more intimate. The sound of the waves hitting the shore was the only music you needed.

"You know," he said softly, staring out at the dark horizon where the sea met the sky. "People think my life is all gold and lights. And sometimes it is. But sitting here, getting sand in my shoes and eating lukewarm pizza with someone who actually wants to talk to me... this is the only time I feel like I can actually breathe."

He looked over at you, the moonlight reflecting in his dark eyes. The playful dork from the afternoon was gone, replaced by a man who was opening up his world to you, one quiet confession at a time.

The air was getting cooler as the sun disappeared entirely, leaving only the silver glow of the moon dancing on the waves. You shifted on the blanket, drawn to his warmth, and slowly leaned your shoulder against his. To your surprise, he didn't pull away; instead, he adjusted his posture so you could rest your head comfortably against his arm.

"You know, Jungkook," you whispered, watching a distant ship on the horizon. "For someone who has the whole world watching him, you’re actually pretty cool."

He let out a soft, breathy laugh that vibrated through his chest and against your shoulder. He tilted his head slightly, his temple resting against the top of your hair.

"Cool, huh?" he teased, his voice dropping an octave in the quiet of the night. "Most people use words like 'unreachable' or 'intimidating.' I think 'cool' is my new favorite."

He went quiet for a moment, the only sound being the rhythmic pull of the tide against the sand. You felt him shift slightly, and then his hand found yours on the edge of the blanket, his fingers lacing through yours with a gentle, hesitant pressure.

"You're pretty cool too, Y/N," he said softly, turning his face toward you. "Actually, you're more than cool. You’re the first person in a long time who hasn't looked at me like I’m a finished painting. You look at me like I’m still being sketched out. I like that."

You looked up at him, and in the dim light, the distance between you felt non-existent. The pizza was forgotten, the wine was untouched, and for a few minutes, the rest of the world, the fans, the tours, the fame was just noise. Here, on a sandy blanket in Busan, he was just a boy who felt understood, and you were the girl who had managed to see past the gold.

"Do you really mean that?" you asked.

"Every word," he promised, squeezing your hand. "I think Date Two is going even better than Date One. Which is a relief, because I have no idea how I’m going to top this for Date Three."

You smiled, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of the sea and his woody cologne. "Don't worry about topping it, Jungkook. Just being here is enough."

The wine had made you feel light, but the sound of the crashing waves made you feel alive. Without a second thought, you reached down and tugged off your shoes and socks, tossing them carelessly onto the edge of the blanket.

"What are you doing?" Jungkook asked, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I’ve never seen the ocean this close before," you shouted over your shoulder, already sprinting toward the dark, shimmering shoreline. The sand was cool and damp beneath your bare feet, and the moment the icy Busan water swirled around your ankles, you let out a breathless gasp of pure joy.

You turned back to see him still sitting there, silhouetted against the moonlight. "Come on, Superstar!" you laughed, gesturing wildly. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a little salt water!"

That was all the provocation he needed. Jungkook kicked off his own shoes and was on his feet in a second. He was fast terrifyingly fast. You shrieked and began to run along the shoreline, your feet splashing through the shallow surf, but he was gaining on you with effortless, athletic strides.

"You're going to pay for that Superstar comment, Y/N!" he yelled, his voice full of boyish mischief.

You tried to pivot, but the wet sand was slick. Just as you felt his hands reach out to catch your waist, your heel hit a soft patch of silt. You lost your balance, letting out a yelp of surprise as you tumbled backward. Jungkook, unable to stop his momentum, tried to grab you to steady you, but instead, he ended up going down with you.

Splash.

The shock of the cold water hitting your back made you lose your breath for a second. You surfaced, drenched from head to toe, your cream-colored dress clinging to your skin. Jungkook was right there next to you, sitting in knee-deep water, his black long-sleeve soaked through and his hair dripping into his eyes.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, Jungkook pushed his wet hair back and started to laugh a deep, chesty sound that echoed off the rocks.

"I thought we agreed on zero cardio!" he choked out, wiping salt water from his face.

"You pushed me!" you accused, though you were laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

"I tried to save you!" he countered, splashing a bit of water toward you. He looked at you then, his laughter softening into a warm, wet glow. "You're a mess, Y/N."

"We're both a mess," you replied, looking at his dripping clothes.

He reached out, his hand wet and cold but his touch incredibly gentle, and brushed a wet strand of hair away from your cheek. The playfulness lingered, but as you sat there in the surf, the waves bubbling around your waists, the atmosphere shifted.

He was looking at you with an intensity that made the cold water feel like it was simmering.

"Best second date ever" he whispered, his face just inches from yours.

A violent shiver raced through your body. Your teeth began to chatter, the adrenaline of the fall fading into the reality of the freezing water.

Jungkook noticed immediately. His playful expression vanished, replaced by instant concern. "Wait right here," he said firmly, standing up and wading out of the surf with much more grace than before. He jogged back to the car, his own wet clothes clinging to him, and pulled a thick, oversized wool blanket from the backseat.

He was back at your side in seconds. He didn't just hand you the blanket, he stepped behind you and wrapped it tightly around your shoulders, tucking the edges in so that you were completely cocooned in the warmth.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice laced with guilt as he rubbed his hands over your arms through the fabric to generate heat. "I should have been faster. I shouldn't have let you fall."

"It was... worth it," you managed to say through your shivering, looking up at him.

He let out a small, relieved huff of air, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second. "You’re freezing. Come on, let's get you back to the car. I’m turning the heater on full blast."

As he led you back toward the car, his arm stayed firmly around your waist, holding you close to his side. Despite the wet clothes and the shivering, there was a warmth radiating from him that had nothing to do with the car's heater. You realized then that for all the Superstar titles he held, the way he was looking at you right now full of protective, genuine care was the most impressive thing about him.

The moment you stepped into the car, the blast of the heater felt like a warm embrace. Jungkook quickly adjusted the vents toward you, making sure the heat reached your shivering frame. He reached for the console, and a second later, a soft, acoustic melody began to play low enough to be intimate, but loud enough to fill the comfortable silence.

You sank into the leather seat, wrapped tightly in the wool blanket, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Despite the wet hair and the cold sand between your toes, you were genuinely happy.

Jungkook glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he saw you relaxing. "Feeling a bit better?" he asked softly, his hand lingering near the gear shift. "I don't want you catching a cold."

"I'm okay now," you laughed, pulling the blanket closer to your chin. "It’s actually really cozy in here."

He nodded, though his eyes remained focused on you for a beat longer than necessary. "I should probably get you somewhere warm where you can take a hot shower. Where am I taking you, Y/N? Which hotel are you staying at?"

"It’s just a small place near Gwangalli Beach," you told him, giving him the name of the boutique hotel you had booked. "It’s not far from here."

"I know the spot," he said, shifting the car into gear. "It’s quiet. Good choice."

As he drove through the winding streets of Busan, the city lights blurred outside the window.

When he pulled up to the front of the hotel, he turned off the engine and looked at you. "I'll wait here until I see you’re safely inside. And Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Today was... it was exactly what I needed," he said, his voice sincere. "Thank you for not making me feel like a superstar tonight."

You smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly. "Goodnight, Jungkook. Get some dry clothes on."

"I will," he promised. "I'll text you tomorrow."

The hotel room was warm, and the scent of the hotel’s lavender soap lingered on your skin after a long, steaming shower. You were huddled in a plush white robe, drying your hair with a towel, when your phone lit up with a video call request.

Naemi.

You propped the phone up on the desk and hit accept. Her face appeared, illuminated by the glow of her laptop. She was wearing a sheet mask and holding a glass of wine.

A giggle escaped your lips.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, leaning into the camera. "I've been staring at my phone for hours. How is Busan? Did the mysterious creative guy sweep you off your feet, or did he turn out to be a local fisherman in disguise?"

You couldn't help the massive grin that spread across your face. "It was... incredible, Naemi. Better than the first date."

"Ooh, look at that blush!" she teased, pointing a finger at the screen. "Details. I need details. What did you do? Did he take you to a fancy yacht club?"

"Actually," you said, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear, "we had a picnic on a secluded beach. Pepperoni pizza and red wine on a beat-up blanket. It was the most trashy-chic thing I’ve ever done."

Naemi paused, her brow furrowing under the sheet mask. "Wait. A picnic? On a blanket? That sounds... surprisingly normal. I thought you said he was a big deal."

"He is," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "But he’s also just... really grounded. We ran into the ocean well, I ran, he chased meand we both ended up falling into the surf. I'm pretty sure I ruined my favorite dress, and he’s probably sneezing right now, but I haven't laughed that hard in years."

"He fell in the water with you?" Naemi’s eyes widened. "Okay, he’s definitely a keeper. Most guys wouldn't want to mess up their hair. So, what’s his vibe? Is he still being all mysterious?"

"He's just... sweet," you whispered, leaning your chin on your hand. "He wrapped me in a blanket and turned the seat heaters on in his car until I stopped shivering. He’s very protective, but in a quiet way."

"You’re falling for him," Naemi stated, her voice softening. "I can see it in your eyes. Y/N, when am I going to get a name? Or at least a photo? I’m starting to think you’re dating a ghost."

"Soon," you promised, a playful glit in your eyes. "I just want to keep him to myself for a little bit longer. Before the rest of the world gets involved."

"Fine, keep your secrets," she huffed, though she was smiling. "But if Date Three involves a private jet, you’re calling me immediately. Deal?"

"Deal," you laughed. After you hung up, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You knew the secret couldn't last forever especially once you went back to Seoul but for tonight, in this quiet hotel room in Busan, he was still just the boy who liked pizza and his dog.

The sleep that followed was deep, influenced by the salt air and the lingering warmth of the heater, but your mind wouldn't let go of the evening.

In your dream, you weren't at a crowded restaurant or a dark beach. You were in a vast, sun-drenched studio filled with blank canvases. The windows were open, and you could hear the distant, rhythmic crashing of the Busan waves, but the air smelled like expensive oil paints and fresh laundry.

Jungkook was there, but he looked different older, perhaps, or just more at peace. He wasn't wearing a cap or a mask. He was standing by a window, the sunlight catching the gold in his skin, and he was painting. Not a landscape or a city, but a flurry of colors that looked like the way laughter feels.

In the dream, you walked up behind him, and without turning around, he reached back and found your hand, lacing his fingers through yours just like he had on the beach.

"I was waiting for you to wake up," he whispered, his voice echoing as if it were underwater.

He turned then, and his eyes weren't the eyes of a pop star or a "big deal." They were just dark, warm pools of sincerity. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, and you could feel the ghost of a breath against your lips a promise of something that hadn't happened yet in the real world.

Just as his lips were about to touch yours, the scene shifted. Suddenly, you were back in the surf, the cold water splashing against your skin, and you heard him calling your name, his voice fading into the sound of the tide.

You woke up with a start, the morning light of Busan filtering through the hotel curtains. Your heart was drumming against your ribs, and for a split second, you reached out to the empty side of the bed, half-expecting to feel the wool of his blanket.

You sat up, pushing your hair back, the dream still vivid behind your eyelids. You realized then that the "drama" wasn't just the paparazzi or the fame it was the fact that he was starting to occupy the spaces in your head where you usually kept yourself safe.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

From: Jungkook Good morning. I hope you didn't catch a cold. I’m already thinking about Date Three... I hope you like cooking, because I want to show you my 'chef' side back in Seoul.

You smiled, the dream fading as the reality of him took its place. The kiss in the studio had been a dream, but as you started typing back, you had a feeling it wouldn't stay that way for long.

You looked at your phone, a playful spark in your eyes as you sat up in bed. He was certainly confident, wasn't he? You decided to tease him just a little bit, keeping the ball in your court.

To: Jungkook You sound very sure of yourself, Mr. Jeon. Why are you so certain there’s going to be a Date Three? I haven't even given you a review of Date Two yet! 😉

You tossed the phone onto the duvet and walked over to the window, opening the curtains to reveal the stunning view of Gwangalli Beach. The ocean was calm today, a sparkling blue that reminded you of the night before.

A few minutes later, your phone chimed.

From: Jungkook Because I’m a high-achiever. And also because you didn't run away when I accidentally dragged you into the ocean. Most people would have called a taxi right then, but you stayed and shared a blanket with me.

The "typing" bubbles appeared again almost immediately.

From: Jungkook Plus... I haven't made you my signature ramen yet. It’s my secret weapon. You can’t leave me without at least considering it.

You laughed softly to yourself, leaning against the window frame. He was charming, there was no denying that. He wasn't relying on his fame or his status; he was relying on his cooking and his personality.

To: Jungkook A secret weapon, huh? Bold claim. I guess I'll have to stay on my guard. Get some rest, Jungkook. I’ll see you back in Seoul.

From: Jungkook Count on it. Safe trip back. See you soon, Y/N.

As you started to pack your bag, you realized that despite your teasing, you were already looking forward to seeing what his chef side looked like. The transition back to the reality of Seoul was coming, but for now, the warmth of the Busan sun was enough.

As the KTX pulled into Seoul Station, the transition from the quiet, salty air of Busan back to the frantic energy of the capital felt like a bit of a shock. You navigated the crowds with your weekend bag until you spotted a familiar tall figure leaning against a sleek black SUV.

Minho was leaning against the door, checking his watch, looking every bit the high-powered agent. But the second he saw you, he broke into a smirk and waved you over.

"Look at you," he teased as you reached the car, taking your bag and tossing it into the back. "You’ve got sand in your shoes and that I just spent the weekend with a heartthrob glow. I’m almost offended I didn't get a play-by-play text every hour."

"I was busy, Minho," you laughed, climbing into the passenger seat. "Actually enjoying the scenery for once."

"Right, the 'scenery,'" he mimicked, pulling out into the Seoul traffic. "I’m starving. Since I’m the one who provided the shuttle service and the romantic lead, you’re coming with me to get some real food. My treat."

He took you to a quiet, high-end barbecue place in Hannam-dong, a spot where the booths were deep and private the kind of place where people in the industry went to talk without being overheard.

As the waiter laid out the side dishes and started the grill, Minho leaned forward, his playful demeanor shifting into something a bit more curious. "So, seriously. How was it? I know he took you to the beach. He told me he was nervous about the trashy picnic idea."

"It wasn't trashy," you defended, a smile tugging at your lips as you remembered the cold wine and the soggy pizza. "It was perfect. We actually fell into the ocean."

Minho stopped mid-pour of his water, staring at you. "You what?"

"We fell in. Both of us. Completely soaked," you explained, unable to stop laughing at the memory. "He looked like a drowned cat, but he was so worried about me getting cold. He’s... he’s really not what I expected, Minho. He’s so normal when the cameras aren't there."

Minho watched you for a moment, a genuine, soft smile crossing his face. "That’s exactly why I set it up, Y/N. He’s lived in a bubble since he was fifteen. Most people treat him like a god or a product. You treat him like a guy who’s clumsy in the surf. He needs that."

"He asked for a third date," you admitted, poking at a piece of kimchi. "He wants to cook for me back here in Seoul."

Minho whistled low. "The cooking date? Wow. He’s bringing out the big guns. Just a heads up if he makes the ramen, clear your schedule for the next day. He takes that broth very seriously."

He grew a bit more serious then, glancing toward the door. "But listen, Y/N. Now that you’re back in Seoul... it gets trickier. Busan is his fortress, but here? People are always looking. Just be careful, okay? I want this to stay normal for you guys as long as possible."

"I know," you sighed, the weight of the city pressing in. "But for now, I’m just looking forward to the ramen."

Monday morning hits you like a bucket of cold water. You’re back at your desk, the hum of the office and the click of keyboards replacing the sound of the Busan waves. But as you look around, you realize you can’t escape him not even here.

There’s a BTS calendar on your coworker's desk. A Jungkook themed coffee mug sits by the printer. Even the background music in the office kitchen is a remix of one of bts tracks. Before, these were just pop culture artifacts, part of the background noise of living in Seoul. But now? Now it feels crazy.

You find yourself staring at a poster in the hallway, your eyes drifting to the center. There he is Jungkook. He’s wearing leather, his hair perfectly styled, his gaze intense and "unreachable," exactly like he told you people see him.

That’s the guy who forgot the wine glasses.. you think to yourself, a suppressed smile tugging at your lips.

That’s the guy who looked like a drowned cat in the surf and worried about me catching a cold.

It’s a surreal disconnect. To the rest of the world, he’s an icon, a symbol of perfection. To you, he’s a guy who yells at his computer screen when his game lags and talks to his dog like it’s a human being.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, shielding the screen from prying eyes.

From: Jungkook Found a new game last night. It’s terrible, but the graphics are cool. Also, I’m currently staring at a mountain of groceries. Operation: Date Three is officially in motion. Try not to work too hard.

You look back at the Superstar on the poster, then down at the text message. The contrast is almost overwhelming. You realize that you’re holding a secret that millions of people would die for, but to you, the most valuable part isn't the fame it’s the fact that he feels comfortable enough to be terrible at games with you.

"Y/N? Are you okay? You've been staring at that wall for three minutes," a colleague asks, walking by with a stack of papers.

"Oh! Yeah," you stammer, quickly locking your phone. "Just... thinking about what to have for dinner."

"Relatable," she laughs, nodding toward the BTS calendar. "I wish I had a dinner date with one of them."

You just nod and head back to your desk, your heart racing. If only she knew.

You bite your lip, trying to maintain a neutral expression as your colleague, Min-ji, practically vibrates with excitement. She pivots her chair toward you, her eyes wide as she taps frantically on her phone screen.

"Y/N, did you see them? The new high-res shots from the Calvin Klein campaign?" she gasps, turning the phone toward you. It’s a shot of him in denim cool, effortless, and undeniably a global heartthrob. "I mean, how is he even real? Look at that jawline. He’s literally a god walking among us."

You look at the photo, and for a second, you’re paralyzed by the surrealism of it all. This is the man who, just forty-eight hours ago, was sitting on a sandy blanket with you, picking pepperoni off a pizza and laughing about his wet socks.

"He... yeah, he looks great," you manage to say, keeping your voice as casual as possible.

"Great? He looks like a masterpiece!" Min-ji continues, oblivious. "I heard he’s back in Seoul now. Can you imagine just bumping into him at a cafe? I think I’d actually stop breathing. I’d probably faint right on the spot."

You feel a weird mix of guilt and amusement. You want to tell her that he’s actually quite shy and that he worries about his ramen broth being too salty, but you know that would be like dropping a thermal detonator in the middle of the office.

"I don't know, Min-ji," you say, turning back to your computer to hide your face. "Maybe he’s just a normal guy who puts his pants on one leg at a time."

"Please," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Jungkook doesn't do anything normally. Everything about him is legendary."

Your phone vibrates in your lap. You glance down, hidden by the desk.

From: Jungkook Just accidentally dropped a whole bag of flour on the floor. Bam is currently licking it up and now he looks like a ghost. This cooking date might be a disaster. Send help.

A small, genuine laugh escapes your throat before you can stop it. Min-ji looks at you, suspicious. "What’s so funny?"

"Nothing," you say, your heart thumping. "Just... a funny meme. Back to work, right?"

As you type away at your spreadsheets, the legendary image on Min-ji's phone feels like a character from a movie, while the ghost dog story in your pocket feels like home. The double life is officially getting complicated, but as you think about seeing him tonight, you wouldn't trade it for anything.

The tension in the office is the perfect cover for a little bit of mischief. While Min-ji is still gushing over his billboard-sized abs, you decide to test just how much the Superstar can handle when things get a little real.

He’s been blowing up your phone all afternoon, clearly excited about his "Chef JK" debut.

From: Jungkook Okay, the flour is cleaned up. Bam is back to his normal color. Everything is set. So... are we officially on for tonight? Date Three? I need to know when to start the broth.

You wait. Ten minutes. Twenty. You watch the clock tick as you sip your lukewarm office coffee. Finally, you type back, keeping your face a mask of professional boredom.

To: Jungkook I don’t know, Jungkook. I’ve been thinking a lot today... seeing your face everywhere in the city is a lot. Honestly? I’m starting to wonder if we’re even a good match. We live in completely different worlds. Maybe we’re just too different.

You hit send and put your phone face down. You feel a little mean, but you want to know if he’s willing to fight for this "normalcy" he claims to crave.

Five minutes later, your phone starts vibrating. It’s not a text. It’s a call. You decline it. Then another text.

From: Jungkook Wait, what? Y/N, what do you mean? Is it the Calvin Klein stuff? I can explain that, it’s just work! Please tell me you’re joking. I’ll cancel the billboards! (Okay, I can’t do that, but I’ll try!). Did I do something wrong in Busan?

He’s spiraling. You can practically hear the panic in his typing. Suddenly, your phone rings again, but this time the caller ID says Minho.

You step into the hallway to answer. "Hello?"

"Y/N! What the hell did you say to him?" Minho’s voice is frantic, but there’s a hint of suppressed laughter in the background. "Jungkook just called me sounding like the world is ending. He’s pacing his kitchen so loud I can hear it through the phone. He’s convinced you're breaking up with him before the third date even starts!"

"I just told him I wasn't sure if we were a match," you say, struggling to keep your voice flat.

"He’s in full panic mode, Y/N! He just asked me if he should send a truck with flowers to your office. I told him that would definitely make the 'different worlds' problem worse. Are you actually serious or are you just torturing the poor kid?"

"Maybe a little bit of both," you admit, a smile finally breaking through.

"You're dangerous," Minho sighs, though he sounds relieved. "Look, just put him out of his misery soon, okay? He’s currently staring at a pot of water like it’s his last hope for happiness. And for the record? He’s never been this stressed about a girl. Ever."

You hang up, feeling a warm glow in your chest. He isn't the untouchable icon from the posters; he’s a guy who’s terrified of losing the one person who treats him like a human being.

You head back to your desk and pick up your phone.

To: Jungkook Stop pacing, you’ll ruin the floor. And tell Bam I’m sorry for the flour incident. I’ll be there at 7:00. But that ramen better be life-changing, Superstar.

The reply comes back in less than three seconds.

From: Jungkook I hate you. (I don't). 7:00. Don't be late. I'm doubling the garlic just for you.

You stand in front of your mirror, taking a final look. The satin skirt catches the light with every movement, hugging your silhouette before falling elegantly, perfectly contrasted by a simple fitted top and your cleanest sneakers.

Then, the address arrives via text. It’s a luxury complex in Hannam-dong, a place where the air itself seems to cost more.

When you arrive at the massive iron gates, your heart sinks. This isn't just an apartment building; it’s a fortress. Two stone-faced security guards in sharp suits step out of the booth, looking at your casual sneakers with professional disdain.

"I'm here to see... a friend," you say, your voice sounding smaller than you intended. "In the penthouse wing."

The lead guard checks his tablet, his brow furrowed. "Name?"

"Y/N."

He scrolls slowly, his expression hardening. "You aren't on the cleared list for today, Miss. And the resident has strict 'no-visitor' protocols in place."

"Can you check again? Jeon Jungkook? He’s expecting me," you plead, feeling the heat rise in your neck.

The guards exchange a look—the kind of look that says they’ve dealt with a thousand "delusional fans" before. "Look, we get this every day. No name, no entry. You need to move your car; you're blocking the private lane."

The embarrassment hits you like a physical weight. After your joke earlier, this feels like a cold slap of reality. You’re standing outside a literal wall, being treated like a trespasser, while the man inside lives behind layers of protection you'll never truly understand. The "different worlds" argument you used to tease him suddenly feels painfully, hauntingly true.

You turn away, blinking back tears of frustration. You aren't going to beg. You pull out your phone, your fingers trembling as you start to type.

To: Jungkook I’m at the gate, but I’m not on the list. The security is treating me like a stalker. Honestly, Jungkook, maybe this was a mistake. I think I’m just going to go home.

You’re already halfway to the sidewalk, looking for a taxi, feeling foolish for ever thinking a satin skirt and some sneakers could bridge the gap between your life and his.

You are just about to raise your hand to hail a passing taxi, your heart heavy with the realization of how difficult this "normal" relationship actually is, when you hear the frantic scuff of leather shoes on pavement.

"Miss! Wait! Please, wait!"

You turn around to see the lead security guard, the one who had been so cold just moments ago, actually jogging toward you. He looks breathless and, more notably, terrified. His professional mask has completely shattered, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

"I am so incredibly sorry," he gasps, bowing so low it’s almost a 90-degree angle. "There was... a massive oversight. Mr. Jeon just called the main office. Personally."

He looks like he’s just survived a hurricane. "Please, follow me. We have an elevator waiting. Truly, Miss Y/N, we had no idea... he was very clear about your importance."

You walk back toward the gate, feeling a strange mix of vindication and shyness. As you pass the security booth, you see the other guard standing at attention, looking straight ahead as if he’s afraid to even blink in your direction. Whatever Jungkook said over that phone line, it clearly carried the weight of a king protecting his queen.

The elevator ride is silent and swift, whisking you up to a floor that requires a private keycard. When the doors finally chime and slide open, you find yourself standing in a foyer that looks like something out of an architectural magazine minimalist, expensive, and smelling faintly of that same woody cologne from the beach.

Jungkook is standing right there. He’s wearing a simple apron over a white t-shirt, his hair a bit messy, and he’s holding a wooden spoon like a weapon. He looks stressed, but the moment he sees you, his shoulders drop in a massive exhale of relief.

"Y/N," he says, stepping forward and taking your hands. His palms are slightly damp maybe from the steam, or maybe from the panic of almost losing you at the gate. "I am so sorry. I’m such an idiot. I was so focused on the sauce that I forgot to update the registry. I almost ran down there in my slippers to fight them myself."

He looks into your eyes, his expression soft and pleading. "Please tell me you're not still thinking about going home. I've been stirring this broth for three hours, and Bam really wants to meet the girl who 'bullied' his dad today."

You look at him the apron, the spoon, the genuine worry on his face and the frustration from the gate melts away. You realize that while the world builds walls around him, he’s doing everything in his power to pull you through the door.

"The sneakers stay on," you say with a small, teasing smile. "And the ramen better be worth the drama."

"It is," he promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead before leading you into his world. "I promise."

"I've seen enough of the kitchen for now," you say, a playful spark returning to your eyes. "I want to see the real star of this apartment. Where’s Bam?"

Jungkook’s face breaks into a proud, slightly nervous grin. "Oh, he’s been waiting. He knew someone was coming the second the elevator chimed."

He walks over to the heavy glass doors leading into the expansive living room and slides them open. For a split second, there’s silence—and then, a blur of dark fur comes charging across the polished floor. Bam, a massive, energetic Doberman, doesn't just greet you; he practically launches himself at you, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half is wiggling.

"Whoa!" you yelp as seventy pounds of pure excitement hits your legs, nearly sending you stumbling back into the foyer.

Jungkook’s eyes go wide. "Bam! No! Down, boy!" He reaches out instinctively, grabbing your arm to steady you, his face pale with sudden worry. "I’m so sorry, Y/N! I should have leashed him. Is he too much? Did he hurt you? He’s a giant, I know, I should have—"

His frantic apologies are cut short by the sound of your laughter. It’s a loud, genuine sound that echoes through the high-ceilinged room. You’re already down on your knees, despite the satin skirt, letting Bam lick your face while you scratch behind his floppy ears.

"He’s perfect!" you laugh, buried under a flurry of happy nudges and wet nose boops. "He’s just like his dad, a total sweetheart with zero chill."

Jungkook freezes, his hand still hovering in the air. Seeing you on the floor, completely unfazed by the giant dog, seems to do something to him. The tension drains out of his face, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated adoration.

"You're not mad about the skirt?" he asks softly, leaning against the doorframe as he watches the two of you.

"It’s just fabric, Jungkook," you say, looking up at him with a bright smile while Bam tries to climb into your lap. "Besides, I think I have a new favorite Jeon."

Jungkook laughs, a deep, relaxed sound. "Hey, watch it. I’m the one making the food. Bam only offers emotional support and hair on your clothes."

He walks over and crouches down beside you, his hand resting on Bam’s head, but his eyes stay locked on yours. "You’re amazing, you know that? Most people are terrified of him because of his size. But you... you just dove right in."

"I told you," you say, giving Bam one last pat before standing up. "I’m not 'most people.'"

"I'm starting to realize that," he whispers, standing up with you. The kitchen timer beeps in the distance, breaking the moment. "That’s the broth. Come on, let's see if I can actually live up to the hype."

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a spare black apron, stepping behind you to loop it over your head. His hands linger for a second as he ties the strings around your waist, his chest brushing against your back, before he hands you a knife and a pile of green onions.

"Alright, sous-chef," he says with a playful wink. "Show me your skills. And try to keep your fingers intact, Minho will kill me if I send you home with a bandage."

As you both stand side-by-side at the massive marble island, the atmosphere is light and domestic. You find yourself laughing as he tells you a dramatic story about a cooking fail he had during a livestream, gesturing wildly with a wooden spoon. But as the conversation flows, your focus starts to shift from the vegetables to the man beside you.

You pause for a moment, resting your knife, and just watch him.

He’s focused on dicing garlic, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The harsh kitchen lights catch the sharp lines of his profile, but it's his hands that hold your attention. As he applies pressure to the knife, the veins in his forearms and the backs of his hands become prominent, corded and strong. There's a raw, effortless masculinity in the way he moves, a stark contrast to the soft, apron-clad "chef" he’s trying to be.

He looks so incredibly attractive in this lighting, stripped of the stage makeup and the designer clothes, just a man in his kitchen with messy hair and a concentrated gaze.

Jungkook must feel your eyes on him, because he tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth without him even looking up.

"Is my chopping technique that impressive?" he asks, his voice dropping into that low, honeyed tone that always makes your heart skip. "Or do I have flour on my face again?"

"Neither," you admit, your voice a little breathier than you intended. "I was just thinking that the Superstar look has nothing on the Chef look."

He finally stops, turning fully toward you. He leans one hip against the counter, the veins in his arms still standing out as he crosses them over his chest. His gaze is intense, dark, and filled with a heat that has nothing to do with the stove.

"Careful, Y/N," he says softly, stepping a fraction closer. "If you keep looking at me like that, the ramen is definitely going to burn."

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, turning them a deep shade of crimson as you quickly look back down at the cutting board. You start dicing the green onions with a sudden, renewed intensity, trying to hide the fact that your heart is practically doing gymnastics in your chest.

"Just... finish the sauce, Jungkook," you mutter, though you can’t keep the smile off your face.

Beside you, you hear him let out a soft, triumphant chuckle. He knows exactly the effect he has on you, but he mercifully turns back to the stove to give you a moment to recover.

While his back is turned, you feel a heavy weight settle against your leg. You look down and see Bam sitting perfectly still, his large brown eyes tracking every movement of your hand with laser-like focus. He’s the picture of a "good boy," but his tail is thumping a rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the floor.

You glance over your shoulder. Jungkook is busy adjusting the flame under the pot, humming a soft melody to himself.

Quick as a flash, you grab a small, choice scrap of beef from the beef broth. You lower your hand behind your skirt and drop it. Gulp. It’s gone in a literal blink. Bam licks his chops, looking at you with what can only be described as pure, undying devotion.

"What are you two doing back there?" Jungkook asks, turning around just as you pull your hand back up.

"Nothing!" you say, perhaps a bit too quickly, as you toss the onions into a bowl. "Just... bonding."

Jungkook narrows his eyes, looking from you to the suspiciously happy Doberman. "Y/N... did you just feed my dog? He has a very strict diet, you know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you say, reaching over to pat Bam’s head. Bam, the traitor, lets out a small, satisfied burp.

Jungkook bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he walks over to you. He stops just inches away, the scent of garlic and his warm cologne wrapping around you. "First you bully the dad, then you bribe the son. You really are a piece of work, aren't you?"

He reaches out, his thumb catching a stray smudge of flour on your cheek, his touch lingering just a second too long for it to be accidental. "Good thing I like your style."

You freeze, your breath hitching as he steps into your personal space. The distance between you disappears until you can feel the warmth radiating from his chest. He leans down slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes, his hand moving from your cheek to cup the back of your neck. His touch is firm yet incredibly gentle, and for a moment, the entire world, the kitchen, the city outside, even Bam simply ceases to exist.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut as he begins to tilt his head, his nose brushing against yours. You can feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, and you instinctively lean in, closing the final inch between you...

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The oven timer blares with a sharp, piercing shrillness that cuts through the romantic tension like a knife.

Both of you jump, startled. Jungkook flinches so hard he nearly hits his head on the kitchen vent, and you stumble back, your face burning a shade of red that would put a tomato to shame.

"The... the pork!" Jungkook exclaims, his voice an octave higher than usual. He frantically spins around, grabbing a pair of oven mitts and fumbling with the oven door as a cloud of savory steam billows out.

From the corner of the room, Bam lets out a sharp, confused bark, wondering why the mood suddenly shifted from "soulmates" to "emergency response team."

"I, uh... I should probably check that," Jungkook mumbles, his ears glowing bright red as he hunches over the oven. He looks completely flustered.

You lean against the counter, trying to catch your breath and steady your racing heart. You let out a small, shaky laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Saved by the timer, Jeon. I think the universe is telling us that the ramen needs to come first."

Jungkook glances back at you over his shoulder, a sheepish, lopsided grin on his face despite his embarrassment. "The universe has terrible timing, Y/N. Truly terrible."

You move over to the sleek, minimalist dining table that overlooks the sparkling lights of Seoul. Jungkook follows shortly after, carefully carrying two steaming bowls of ramen. The presentation is surprisingly professional, perfectly placed soft-boiled eggs, charred pork belly, and bright green onions.

"Here we go," he says, setting the bowl down in front of you with a nervous pride. "Operation: Date Three is officially served."

"Thank you, Jungkook. It looks incredible," you say, genuinely impressed.

He smiles, the tension from the almost-kiss still lingering in the air, making every movement feel a bit more charged. He reaches for a bottle of red wine and pours two glasses, the deep crimson liquid catching the soft glow of the apartment's mood lighting.

As you pick up your chopsticks, a soft, lo-fi beat begins to pulse through the hidden speakers in the room. You recognize the style it's one of BTS´s unreleased tracks, something raw and acoustic that he’s probably been tinkering with on his soundboard. It’s intimate, like he’s sharing a piece of his private thoughts with you.

"To the chef," you say, raising your glass.

"To the girl who survived the Busan ocean and my security team," he counters, clinking his glass against yours.

The first bite is a revelation. The broth is rich and complex, warming you from the inside out. "Oh my god," you whisper, closing your eyes. "Jungkook, this is... you weren't kidding about the secret weapon."

He leans back, watching you eat with a look of pure satisfaction. "I told you. I don't lose when it comes to ramen." He takes a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "So, does this mean I'm officially 'good enough' for you, despite the billboards?"

You look at him the way the music seems to wrap around both of you, the warmth of the meal, and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world and you realize the different worlds don't feel so far apart anymore.

You lean back in your chair, swirling the last bit of wine in your glass, a playful yet genuine smile on your face. "Alright, I'll admit it," you say, looking at him across the table. "Date Three isn't so bad. In fact, between the ghost dog and this broth, you might actually be winning me over."

Jungkook beams, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks incredibly relieved, the earlier panic of the different worlds conversation finally fading away. "Only 'not so bad'? I’m going to have to work even harder for Date Four then," he teases.

He notices your bowl is empty and immediately stands up. "Wait, you can't stop now. I made enough to feed a small army, and you haven't even tried the extra spicy oil yet."

Before you can protest, he’s already back at the stove, humming along to the low music coming from the speakers. He returns with a second, smaller portion, carefully topping it with another perfectly marinated egg.

"Here," he says, sliding the bowl toward you. "A little extra for the sous-chef."

As he sits back down, the atmosphere in the apartment feels incredibly cozy. The city lights of Seoul are flickering outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, but in here, with the soft beats and the smell of savory broth, it feels like your own private bubble. You realize that despite the fame and the chaos, he’s managed to make this high-end penthouse feel like home for the evening.

"You're going to have to roll me out of here," you laugh, picking up your chopsticks again.

"That's fine by me," Jungkook replies softly, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you eat. "I’m not in any rush for you to leave."

You set your chopsticks down, the warmth of the second bowl still lingering. "You know, it hit me today at the office," you say, shaking your head slightly. "My colleague, Min-ji... she's completely obsessed. She was showing me your new Calvin Klein campaign and talking about you like you're some kind of untouchable myth. It was so surreal sitting there, knowing I was texting the guy who was currently covered in flour and panicking over his dog."

A small, thoughtful smile plays on your lips. "It made me realize just how huge your world is. To her, and to millions of others, you’re this perfect icon. It’s a little intimidating when I actually stop to think about it."

Jungkook’s expression softens, turning a bit more serious. He leans back, swirling the wine in his glass as he looks out at the glowing Seoul skyline.

"I get it," he says quietly, his voice dropping a notch. He nods slowly. "It’s a blessing and a curse, honestly."

He looks back at you, his eyes searching yours. "The blessing is the love, the music, and being able to do what I love on such a massive scale. I’m grateful for it every single day. But the curse..." He sighs, a short, tired sound. "The curse is that the 'myth' usually swallows the person. People stop seeing me. They see the posters, the stage, the 'Superstar.' Sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a gold-plated cage where everyone is watching, but no one really knows me."

He reaches across the table, his fingers lightly brushing the back of your hand. "That’s why Busan was so important. And why tonight is important. With you, I don't have to be the masterpiece your colleague was talking about. I can just be the guy who’s bad at dicing garlic and forgets to update the security list."

He gives your hand a small, reassuring squeeze. "The myth is for the world, Y/N. But the normal guy? He's the one who’s really glad you stayed for the second bowl of ramen."

You stand up and start gathering the bowls, ignoring his protests. He keeps telling you to leave it for the housekeeper or that he'll do it later, but you just give him a firm look. "You cooked, I clean. That’s the rule, Superstar," you tease.

As you stand at the sink, the warm water running over your hands, the soft lo-fi track from his soundboard shifts into a slow, melodic rhythm. The apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the city far below and the gentle clinking of the dishes.

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you.

Slowly, almost tentatively, two strong arms reach around your waist. He doesn't pull you in tight immediately; instead, he rests his hands lightly against your stomach, his touch hesitant, as if he’s waiting for a sign that it’s okay. It’s a side of him that the world never sees the vulnerable man behind the icon, asking for permission to be close.

You let out a soft breath and lean back, resting your head against his shoulder. Taking the hint, Jungkook exhales a long sigh of relief, his grip tightening just a fraction as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel the steady, rapid thrum of his heart against your back.

The two of you begin to sway slowly to the music. It’s not a formal dance it’s just a gentle, rhythmic movement in the middle of the kitchen. There are no cameras, no screaming fans, and no security gates between you. Just the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body, and the quiet magic of the moment.

"This," he whispers into your hair, his voice vibrating through your chest. "This is better than any award show."

You close your eyes, letting the music carry you both. For the first time since you met, the noise of his fame feels miles away, replaced by the simple, beautiful reality of being held by the man who made you ramen. You just stay like that, drifting together in the dark, enjoying a peace that belongs only to the two of you

Slowly, you turn around within the circle of his arms, never breaking the connection. You reach up, lacing your fingers behind his neck, pulling yourself just a little closer. He reacts instantly, his hands sliding down to rest firmly on your waist, drawing you into the slow, rhythmic pulse of the music.

Being this close to him is overwhelming. His scent a dizzying mix of expensive woodsy cologne, clean laundry, and a faint hint of the savory kitchen spices is absolutely undoing you. It’s warm and masculine, and it seems to wrap around your senses until all you can focus on is him.

The lighting in the kitchen is dim, casting long shadows across his face and making his dark eyes appear even deeper, more intense. As you sway together, his gaze never leaves yours. He looks at you with a mixture of awe and raw affection, as if he still can't quite believe you're standing here in his kitchen, in his arms.

"You're making it very hard to focus on the music," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that you feel in your very bones.

He leans down, his forehead coming to rest against yours. The tip of his nose brushes yours, and you can feel the slight heat of his skin. Every time you move, the soft fabric of your satin skirt brushes against his legs, a gentle friction that only adds to the electricity between you.

In this moment, the superstar from the billboards is gone. There is only this man, the weight of his hands on your hips, and the way he’s holding you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched. You find yourself tightening your grip on his neck, pulling him down just a fraction more, completely lost in his scent and the quiet, private world he’s built for you tonight.

The air between you is thick, charged with the kind of tension that makes your skin tingle. Jungkook’s gaze drops to your lips, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle against the satin of your skirt. He starts to lean in, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, that intoxicating scent of his pulling you closer like a magnet. But just as his lips are a breath away from yours, you tilt your head back slightly, a playful, challenging smirk playing on your mouth.

"Just one kiss," you whisper, your voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. "The rest... well, the rest has to be earned, Mr. Jeon."

Jungkook pauses, a surprised but delighted huff of a laugh escaping him. He looks at you, his eyes dark with a mix of frustration and deep admiration. "You really like to make me work for it, don't you?"

"I think you're used to getting things a little too easily," you tease, your arms still looped around his neck. "I like to keep things interesting."

"Fair enough," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, husky register that makes your knees weak. "Challenge accepted."

He doesn't wait another second. He closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is soft, lingering, and tastes faintly of the wine you shared. It’s a gentle exploration, a promise of everything that’s still to come, but it’s over almost as soon as it began.

He pulls back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hitched. He looks slightly dazed, his hands still anchored firmly on your waist.

"One kiss," he repeats, a lopsided, breathless grin spreading across his face. "Okay. But just so you know? I’m a very fast learner, and I’m definitely planning on earning the rest."

He gives you one last, lingering look before reluctantly letting go of your waist, though he keeps one of your hands in his, lacing your fingers together as the music continues to play softly in the background. The boundary has been set, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s more than ready for the chase.

The cool night air of Seoul greets you as he leads you out onto the sprawling balcony. The city stretches out below like a sea of neon lights, but the atmosphere out here is quiet, shielded by the height of the penthouse.

Jungkook sits down on one of the oversized, plush outdoor chairs and gently pulls you down with him. You end up right on his lap, your satin skirt draping over his knees. One of his arms curls around your waist, holding you securely, while his other hand rests on your thigh.

He leans his head back against the chair, looking up at the stars for a moment before letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Okay, I’ve been thinking about it for exactly three minutes," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against you. He looks up at you, his dark eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and genuine longing. "How do I do it? What’s the fastest way to earn another one? Do I need to cook a five-course meal? Learn a new dance? Win a gold medal in something?"

He pouts slightly. "Tell me the criteria, Y/N. I’m very competitive."

You look down at him, watching the way the moonlight softens the lines of his face. He looks so hopeful and so completely focused on you that your "strict" rules melt away in an instant. You can't help but grin at how charmingly desperate he’s acting for someone who literally has the world at his feet.

"Actually," you whisper, leaning down until your face is just inches from his. "I think you just earned one for being cute."

Before he can even process the words, you press your lips to his.

This kiss is different from the one in the kitchen it’s deeper, more confident, fueled by the quiet intimacy of the balcony and the way you’re tucked perfectly into his space. Jungkook makes a low sound of surprise in the back of his throat before his hand moves to the back of your head, deepening the contact, his fingers tangling in your hair.

When you finally pull back, both of you are a little breathless. He looks up at you, dazed and wearing a triumphant, toothy grin.

"If that's the reward for being cute," he whispers, pulling you closer into his chest, "then I'm never acting like a cool superstar again."

You lean your head against his shoulder, watching the tiny lights of the cars moving far below like glowing ants. The silence of the night feels heavy, but in a comfortable, grounding way. You trace the edge of his sleeve with your finger before looking up at him, your expression becoming a bit more soft and serious.

"You know," you say, your voice barely a whisper in the cool breeze. "I actually had a rule. A pretty strict one, actually."

Jungkook tilts his head, his curiosity piqued as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "A rule? About what?"

"About this," you gesture between the two of you. "I told myself I’d never kiss anyone before a fourth date. I always thought you needed that much time to really know if someone was worth the trouble. It was my safety net."

Jungkook stays silent for a moment, his dark eyes searching yours. The teasing smirk he had a moment ago softens into something much more genuine. He shifts slightly, pulling you a little tighter against his chest, as if he’s trying to absorb the weight of what you just admitted.

"So..." he starts, his voice low and incredibly tender. "I broke the safety net on Date Three?"

"You did," you admit with a small, helpless laugh. "I don't know if it was the Busan ocean, the flour-covered dog, or that ridiculous secret-weapon ramen, but... you made me forget about the count."

Jungkook exhales a breath he seemed to be holding, a look of pure, humble pride crossing his face. He doesn't brag or make a joke this time. Instead, he leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"I'm glad," he murmurs against your skin. "Because I don't want to be someone who just fits into a rule, Y/N. I want to be the exception. Thank you for letting me be the one to break it."

He rests his chin on your shoulder, both of you looking out at the city, and for the first time, the "Superstar" doesn't feel like a title he's carrying he just feels like the man who managed to win your heart a little ahead of schedule.

The night stretches on, the frantic pace of the world below feeling like a distant memory.

You talk about the small things your favorite childhood memories, the songs that make you cry, and the things that actually keep you up at night. He tells you about the pressure of always being "perfect" and how he sometimes misses the simple smell of the sea in Busan. You tell him about your dreams, the ones you haven't shared with your colleagues, and how you sometimes feel like you're just playing a role in your own life.

Deepening the Connection, Jungkook opens up about his fears of the future and the loneliness that often comes with fame. You realize that behind the tattoos and the sold-out stadiums is a man who just wants to be understood.

You find out he’s surprisingly good at drawing, and he finds out you have a secret talent for mimicry. He makes you laugh until your sides ache, and you make him feel a sense of peace he hasn't felt in years.

Sometimes, the talking stops, and you both just sit there, listening to the muffled sounds of the city and the steady rhythm of each other's breathing. It’s the kind of silence that doesn't need to be filled the kind that only happens when two people are truly comfortable.

As the clock ticks toward the early hours of the morning, Bam eventually trots out onto the balcony, letting out a soft whine and resting his large head on Jungkook’s knee.

"I think he's jealous," Jungkook whispers, his voice thick with a mix of tiredness and affection. He looks down at you, his eyes reflecting the city lights. "I don't remember the last time I just... sat and talked like this. Thank you, Y/N. For not treating me like that.'"

You reach up, tracing the line of his jaw. "Thank you for the ramen, Jungkook. And for being exactly who you are."

He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. The world is vast and complicated, and tomorrow the security guards and the billboards will still be there but for tonight, in this quiet bubble high above Seoul, it's just the two of you and a very sleepy Doberman.

You shift slightly in his lap, the cozy warmth of his body making your eyelids feel incredibly heavy. As much as you want to stay in this bubble forever, reality is starting to tug at your sleeve.

"Jungkook," you mumble softly, your voice thick with sleepiness. "If I stay here any longer, I’m going to fall fast asleep right on your shoulder. I should probably head home while I can still keep my eyes open."

He doesn't let go immediately. Instead, he tightens his hold for a brief second, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a quiet, reluctant hum. "Just five more minutes?" he pleads, his voice vibrating against your skin. "The city looks better with you here."

"I have work tomorrow, Superstar," you remind him with a small smile, pulling back just enough to look at him. "And unlike someone I know, I can't just show up whenever I want."

He sighs, a dramatic but sweet sound, and finally nods. "Fine. You're right. I don't want you falling asleep at your desk and blaming my ramen for it."

He helps you stand up, steadying you as you find your balance in your sneakers. As you walk back through the quiet penthouse toward the door, the atmosphere has shifted from high-energy tension to a soft, lingering intimacy.

At the door, he grabs his keys and a hoodie. "I'm calling a private car for you, and I’m walking you down to make sure those guards don't give you a hard time again. Actually," he adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I want them to see exactly who they almost turned away."

"Jungkook, you don't have to—"

"I want to," he interrupts gently, taking your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours. "I'll see you all the way to your door."

As the elevator descends, he doesn't let go of your hand. The night might be ending, but the way he's looking at you makes it clear that Date Three was just the beginning of something much bigger.

The elevator ride down is quiet, the digital numbers ticking away the final moments of the night. Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand for a single second. When the doors slide open, the lobby is silent, bathed in soft moonlight and the glow of security monitors.

The guards from earlier snap to attention, their eyes widening as they see the "Superstar" himself personally escorting you out, his hand firmly interlaced with yours. Jungkook doesn't even look at them; his focus is entirely on you as he leads you to the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

The cool night air hits your face, waking you up just enough to realize the night is truly over. He stops by the open car door, turning to face you. The streetlights catch the sparkle in his eyes and the slight, nervous curve of his lips.

"Text me the second you're inside," he says, his voice low and protective. "I won't sleep until I know you're safe."

You look up at him, feeling a wave of warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature. You reach up, cupping his face with your hands, and pull him down for a soft, lingering kiss. It’s gentle a quiet "thank you" for the effort, the honesty, and the way he made a billionaire's penthouse feel like a home.

"It was a beautiful evening, Jungkook," you whisper against his lips, pulling back just enough to see his stunned, happy expression. "Truly."

He looks a little breathless, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Yeah," he breathes out, a dazed smile spreading across his face. "It really was."

He stands there on the sidewalk, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, watching as the car pulls away. As you look through the back window, you can see him waving a lone figure under the streetlights, looking less like a global icon and more like a guy who just had the best night of his life.

The cool sheets feel amazing against your skin as you collapse into bed, but your mind is anything but restful. Every time you close your eyes, you feel the ghost of his touch on your waist and the incredible softness of his lips. You’re still wearing that faint scent of his cologne, and it’s making your heart race all over again.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You don't even have to guess who it is.

Jungkook:

I’m staring at the empty chair on the balcony. It looks lonely. Bam is currently moping by the door because his favorite 'bribing' guest left.

You:

Maybe Bam just misses the snacks. And I'm pretty sure that chair is fine, it’s a very expensive chair.

Jungkook:

It’s not the chair, Y/N. It’s the person who was sitting in my lap. My heart is beating so loud I’m surprised you didn't hear it down the street. Is it weird that I already miss you?

You:

A little bit... but only because I feel the same way. My rule about Date Four didn't stand a chance against you tonight.

Jungkook:

I’m going to spend the whole night thinking about that kiss. And the way you looked in that skirt. And how you laughed at me when I panicked over the security guards. I’m completely gone, aren't I?

You:

We both are, Jungkook. It's a disaster.

Jungkook:

The best kind of disaster. I’m serious, though..I’ve never felt this normal and this crazy at the same time. Get some sleep, beautiful. Dream of me (and maybe a little bit of the ramen).

You:

Goodnight, Superstar. I think the ramen has some serious competition for my dreams tonight.

You set the phone down, clutching your pillow to your chest with a wide, helpless grin. You’re staring at the ceiling, completely lost in him, knowing that somewhere across the city, a global icon is doing exactly the same thing.

The different worlds don't feel like a problem anymore. Tonight, you were just two people, one kitchen, and a kiss that changed everything.

The next afternoon, you're sitting in a small, tucked-away cafe with Naemi. You’ve been trying to act "normal," but you’re glowing so much that even the steam from your latte can’t hide it.

Naemi narrows her eyes at you over her cup. "Okay, spill. You’ve been staring at your phone and smiling like a lunatic for twenty minutes. How was the guy last night?"

"It was... a lot," you say, trying to stay vague. "He made ramen. We sat on his balcony. It felt very real."

"Ramen? On a balcony?" Naemi leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Y/N, is he rich? Does he live in a nice place? Is he a secret CEO?"

"Not a CEO," you laugh, the memory of him in that apron hitting you. "He's just... he’s very intense. And he has this dog, Bam, who is basically a giant teddy bear. We ended up dancing in the kitchen and—" You bite your lip, the words slipping out before you can catch them. "And his kiss was literally the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Naemi’s jaw drops. "You kissed him?! On Date Three? What happened to your legendary Date Four rule? Who is this guy, James Bond?"

You feel your face heating up. "His name is Jungkook, okay? And he’s not James Bond, he’s just... Jungkook."

The name hangs in the air for a second. Naemi’s eyes go wide. She freezes, her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Jungkook? As in... Jeon Jungkook? The Golden guy? The one whose face is currently on a three-story billboard outside my office?"

You realize your mistake instantly. You reach across the table, grabbing her arm. "Naemi, please! You cannot tell anyone. Especially not Min-ji! I wasn't supposed to say his name."

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" she shrieks, then immediately covers her mouth as people turn to look. She leans in so close you can smell her peppermint gum. "You are dating the Jungkook? The superstar? And you're telling me you were making ramen and kissing him on a balcony while the rest of the world is literally screaming for a glance at his tattoos?"

She looks like she’s about to have a physical meltdown. "Y/N, I need details. Everything. Does he smell like heaven? Is he actually that muscular? Oh my god, wait... you meet the dog? The famous Bam?!"

You bury your face in your hands, half-laughing and half-terrified. "Yes, he smells amazing, yes, the dog is huge, and yes, I'm a complete goner. But if this gets out, I’m dead. He’s just a guy to me, Naemi. A very sweet, very panicked-about-security guy."

Naemi just stares at you, shaking her head in disbelief. "A 'guy.' She calls a global legend a 'guy.' I need another coffee. Or a shot of tequila. My best friend is dating the most famous man on earth."

Naemi takes a long, slow breath, visibly trying to bring her heart rate back down to a human level. She reaches across the table and firmly squeezes your hand, her expression turning from pure shock to fierce loyalty.

"Okay," she whispers, her voice low and steady. "I’m locking this in a vault. I promise. I won't say a word not to Min-ji, not to my mom, not even to my diary. Your secret is safe with me."

She looks around the cafe one more time to make sure no one is eavesdropping before leaning back in her chair. "But Y/N... be careful. Not because of him, but because of everything around him. If my brain just short-circuited hearing his name, imagine what the rest of the world would do."

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Having one person know the truth makes the whole thing feel a little more grounded and a little less like a fever dream.

"I know," you say softly. "That’s why he’s so protective. He just wants to be a normal guy for a few hours. And honestly? When he’s pouting because I won't give him another kiss, it’s easy to forget who he is to everyone else."

Naemi giggles, shaking her head. "You’re the only person on the planet who would make Jeon Jungkook 'earn' a kiss. I think that’s exactly why he’s so obsessed with you. You don't see the billboard; you just see the guy who’s bad at dicing onions."

She takes a sip of her coffee, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "But just so we're clear... if you ever need a double date, I am available. I’ll even bring my own ramen."

"Don't push it, Naemi," you laugh, finally feeling like you can breathe again.

Your phone vibrates on the table. A text from him. You don't even have to look to know you're smiling, and Naemi just rolls her eyes. "Go on," she sighs dramatically. "Answer your Superstar. I'll just sit here and pretend my life is half as exciting as a K-Drama."

Four days have passed, filled with endless text messages that kept your phone glowing late into the night. The anticipation for "The Official Date Four" has been humming in the background of your entire week.

True to his word, Jungkook didn't just send a text; he sent a handwritten note delivered via his private driver. It simply said:

The safety net is gone, and I’ve had four days to plan. Wear something comfortable but warm. I’m picking you up at 7 PM. No ramen tonight, I’m taking you to my favorite place in the world.”

When 7:00 PM rolls around, the familiar black SUV is idling outside your apartment. But this time, Jungkook isn't hiding in the back. He’s standing by the car, wearing a bucket hat pulled low and an oversized leather jacket. The moment he sees you, his entire face lights up, that bunny-smile breaking through his incognito look.

"You're on time," he teases, opening the door for you. "I was worried you’d make me wait just to keep me on my toes."

"And miss seeing what you have planned? Not a chance," you reply, sliding into the seat.

As the car moves through the city, you realize you aren't heading toward the glitzy district of Gangnam or his penthouse. Instead, the car winds its way toward the outskirts of the city, eventually pulling up to a private trailhead near the Han River, far from the usual tourist spots.

"A hike?" you ask, looking at the dark path lit only by the moon.

"A walk," he corrects, reaching into the back for a small backpack. "And a view."

He takes your hand, his grip firm and warm, and leads you up a gentle incline. After about fifteen minutes of walking and easy conversation, you reach a small, secluded wooden deck overlooking the river. The entire skyline of Seoul is spread out before you, reflecting off the dark water like a million fallen stars.

There’s a blanket already laid out with a small lantern and a thermos.

"Since I already earned the kiss on Date Three," he says, stepping closer until your shoulders touch, "I decided Date Four should be about this. No billboards, no managers, no security guards within earshot. Just the wind, the river, and us."

He looks down at you, the moonlight catching the silver of his piercings. "I told you I wanted to be the exception to your rule. So, how am I doing so far?"

You let out a soft, surprised giggle as he reaches into his backpack. Instead of more snacks or wine, he pulls out two small, portable canvases and a compact set of acrylic paints.

"Painting?" you ask, eyebrows raised in amusement. "You know I’ve seen your sketches, Jungkook. This feels like a trap. You’re a professional, and I haven't picked up a brush since middle school."

He grins, the moonlight making his eyes sparkle with mischief. "It’s not a competition! Well... maybe a little bit. But the rule is: you have to paint me, and I have to paint you. No looking at the other person's canvas until we're finished."

He hands you a brush and sets up the small lantern between you so you can see your palettes. You sit cross-legged on the blanket, the cool night air nipping at your nose, but the warmth of his presence keeps you perfectly comfortable.

For the next hour, the only sounds are the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees and the soft scritch-scratch of brushes against canvas. You find yourself peeking over the top of your frame, trying to capture the exact curve of his nose and the way his hair falls over his eyes. Jungkook is intensely focused, his tongue poking out slightly in the corner of his mouth a habit he only has when he's deeply concentrated.

"No cheating!" he scolds playfully, catching you staring.

"I’m not cheating, I'm observing my subject!" you defend yourself with a laugh.

Finally, he claps his hands together. "Done. Okay, on the count of three. One... two... three!"

You flip your canvases around at the same time.

Your painting of him is... well, it's spirited. You captured his big eyes and his bunny teeth, even if the proportions are a little wonky. But when you look at his canvas, your breath hitches.

He hasn't painted a realistic portrait. Instead, it’s a beautiful, atmospheric blend of colors—mostly deep blues and purples like the night sky—with a silhouette of you in the center, glowing with a soft, golden light. It captures exactly how you felt on the balcony four days ago.

"Jungkook..." you whisper, touched by the raw emotion in the piece. "It’s beautiful."

He looks at your version of him and lets out a hearty, melodic laugh, pulling you closer until your side is pressed against his. "I love mine too. It really captures my... essence."

He sets the canvases aside and looks at you, his expression turning soft and serious. "I wanted to paint you because I wanted to show you how I see you. Not as a rule, or a date, or a person I met by accident. But as the light in all this darkness."

He leans in, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. "So, did I earn another one yet?"

You nod breathlessly, and before he can even finish his sentence, you close the gap. This isn't the soft, hesitant thank you kiss from the sidewalk. This is the culmination of four days of frantic texting, the tension of the kitchen, and the raw honesty of the night air.

The moment your lips meet, the kiss intensifies. It’s deep, hungry, and slightly desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for all the rules and barriers that have stood in your way. His hand, previously gentle on your jaw, slides back into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands to pull you closer, while his other arm locks around your waist.

With a low, guttural groan that vibrates against your lips, Jungkook shifts, lifting you effortlessly and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, your hands sliding from his neck to his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart through his leather jacket.

The world around the small wooden deck disappears. The city lights, the river, the paintings none of it matters. There is only the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, and the way his hands are now gripping your hips, anchoring you to him.

He pulls back for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes are dark, hooded, and completely focused on you. "Y/N," he rasps, his voice a low, rough shadow of itself. "I told you... I’m a fast learner."

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he’s claiming your lips again, his touch becoming more confident, more demanding. The cool night air is forgotten, replaced by the electric heat radiating between the two of you. In this hidden spot, far away from the cameras and the noise, the Superstar is completely gone, leaving only a man who has finally found exactly what he’s been searching for.

The air on the secluded deck is thick with a heat that defies the cool night breeze. Jungkook’s hands have found their way under the hem of your top, his palms warm and slightly calloused against the sensitive skin of your waist. He pulls you even tighter, lifting you so you’re pressed flush against his chest, leaving no space between your racing hearts.

His kisses transition from your lips to your jawline, trailing fire down to the crook of your neck. A soft, involuntary moan escapes you as his teeth graze your skin, and his grip on your hips tightens, his breathing coming in ragged, shallow hitches. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the raw strength he’s trying so hard to keep in check, but the way he’s holding you tells you he’s just as lost in this as you are.

Every touch feels electric, amplified by the silence of the forest around you. Your hands slide under his jacket, feeling the warmth of his shoulders, your fingers tracing the firm lines of his back. He groans low in his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated want that sends a shiver straight down your spine.

Just as his hand begins to wander higher, seeking more of you, and your head lolls back to give him better access to your throat—

BRRRRRRT. BRRRRRRT. BRRRRRRT.

The vibration is violent against the wooden deck, echoing like a jackhammer in the quiet night.

Jungkook freezes, his lips still pressed against your collarbone. He lets out a frustrated, muffled growl against your skin, refusing to move for a few seconds.

BRRRRRRT. BRRRRRRT.

"Ignore it," he rasps, his voice deep and thick with desire, his eyes dark as he looks back up at you. He tries to lean back in for another kiss, but the phone starts a third round of relentless vibrating.

"Jungkook," you breathe out, your face flushed and your hair a mess. "It might be important. Nobody calls this late unless it’s an emergency."

With a heavy sigh that practically rattles his ribs, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the glowing device. He looks at the screen, and his expression immediately shifts from passion to utter annoyance.

"It’s Namjoon-hyung," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks at you, then back at the phone, then back at you his gaze lingering on your swollen lips. "If he’s calling to ask where I put the studio headphones, I’m actually going to retire."

He answers with a sharp, "Hyung, this better be a life-or-death situation," but he doesn't let you off his lap. He keeps his arm wrapped firmly around you, pulling you back against his chest as if to make sure you don't go anywhere while he deals with the real world for a moment.

The harsh reality of the phone call acts like a bucket of ice water. Even though you’re on a secluded deck, the sudden intrusion of the real world via Namjoon’s voice makes the surrounding shadows feel a little too open. Your heart is still thudding against your ribs, but the spell is broken.

You gently disentangle yourself from his arms, sliding off his lap. The cool air hits your heated skin instantly, making you realize just how far things had escalated.

Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes still dark and dazed, his hand reaching out instinctively as if to pull you back. He’s still holding the phone to his ear, listening to Namjoon, but his focus is entirely on your sudden retreat.

"I... I should eat something," you whisper, smoothing down your clothes and tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You reach for the small container of snacks he’d brought, your fingers trembling slightly as you pick up a piece of fruit.

Jungkook watches you, his expression a mix of lingering heat and sudden concern. He realizes the shift in your energy the way you’re now looking around at the dark trees instead of at him. He speaks quickly into the phone, his tone clipping Namjoon’s explanation short.

"Yeah, Hyung. I get it. I'll check it when I'm back. Okay. Bye."

He ends the call and tosses the phone onto the blanket with a frustrated thud. He doesn't get up immediately; he just sits there, his elbows on his knees, watching you eat in silence.

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice finally losing that rough edge. "We're safe here. I checked it myself. No one knows about this spot."

He crawls forward a few inches on the blanket, stopping just short of your space, respecting the distance you just created. "Are you okay? Did I... did I go too fast?"

You shake your head quickly, wanting to ease the look of worry crossing his face. You reach out, placing a hand on his knee to ground both of you.

"No, Jungkook, it’s not that," you say softly, your voice gaining more confidence. "I enjoyed it. Really. You’re... you're amazing." You feel your cheeks heat up again, but you meet his eyes. "It’s just that the phone call reminded me that we’re not actually in a vacuum. It made me realize where we are."

Jungkook lets out a long, relieved breath, his shoulders finally dropping. He covers your hand with his own, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles. "You scared me for a second," he admits with a small, lopsided smile. "I thought I'd messed up the Date magic."

He reaches for a piece of the fruit you were eating, popping it into his mouth before leaning back on his elbows. The tension has shifted from something heavy and heated into something much more comfortable and sweet.

"I get it," he says, looking out at the river again. "It’s hard to switch it off. One minute I’m just a guy on a date, and the next, I’m BTS Jungkook answering a work call. I hate that it broke the moment for you."

He turns back to you, his eyes soft. "But I'm glad you liked it. Because I've been thinking about doing that since the moment you walked into my kitchen and told me my ramen was okay."

You laugh, the last bit of nerves finally melting away. "It was better than okay, and you know it."

"The ramen or the kiss?" he teases, moving closer again, though this time he just settles next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder, as you both look out at the city lights.

"Both," you admit, leaning your head on his shoulder. "But definitely the kiss."

He kisses the top of your head, resting his cheek there. For the rest of the night, the phone stays face-down on the blanket, completely forgotten, as you finish the snacks and talk about everything and nothing at all.

The walk back to the car is quiet and comfortable, with Jungkook’s hand firmly anchored in yours. But the moment he slides into the driver's seat and pulls off his oversized leather jacket, the comfortable vibe shifts back into something much more dangerous.

He’s wearing a simple, well-fitted black t-shirt now, and as he starts the engine, the dim glow of the dashboard lights up the sharp angles of his jaw and the focused intensity in his eyes. He throws the car into reverse, resting his right arm on the back of your headrest as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the trailhead.

Watching him drive is a complete sensory overload. He drives with a relaxed, effortless confidence, one hand casually on the steering wheel while the other rests on the gear shift.

You find yourself mesmerized by the way the muscles in his forearm flex every time he turns the wheel, and how the light catches the intricate tattoos on his hand.

He catches you staring at him from the corner of his eye and a small, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"You're very quiet over there," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth over the soft hum of the engine. "Something on your mind, or am I just that interesting to watch?"

"You're just... very good at driving," you manage to say, trying to sound casual, though your heart is doing that familiar double-thump again.

He lets out a low, melodic chuckle, his fingers tapping a rhythmic beat against the steering wheel. "I'll take that as a compliment. Just keep looking at me like that, and I might accidentally take the long way back to your apartment."

He reaches over, briefly squeezing your hand before returning it to the wheel, but the look he gives you dark, heated, and full of unspoken promises tells you that even though the date is technically winding down, he's nowhere near ready to let the night end.

The car is stopped at a red light, the interior filled with the soft, rhythmic clicking of the turn signal. The tension from earlier the heat of the balcony and the intensity of his driving finally boils over. You unbuckle your seatbelt and lean across the center console, your hand finding the back of his neck, where his hair is softest.

You kiss him one more time, and it’s deep and lingering, tasting of the night air and the sweet fruit you shared. Jungkook lets out a low, surprised hum of approval, his hand leaving the gear shift to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your lower lip as he pulls you closer into his space. For a few seconds, the high-end SUV feels like the smallest, most private world in all of Seoul.

The light turns green, and a car behind you honks, breaking the moment. Jungkook pulls back with a breathless, boyish grin, looking completely ruffled and thoroughly satisfied. "You're definitely trying to make me crash," he mutters, though he looks like he wouldn't mind at all.

When he finally pulls up to the curb of your apartment building, the playful energy settles into something more tender. He kills the engine, and the silence of the street wraps around the car.

"I'm not leaving until I see your light go on," he says, his voice dropping into that protective, low register. He leans over, brushing his lips against your forehead. "Thank you for tonight, Y/N. Date Four was... everything I hoped it would be."

You step out of the car, the cool air hitting you, and walk toward your entrance. As you reach the door, you turn back to see the dark SUV still idling at the curb. Through the tinted windshield, you can just make out the silhouette of him watching you, making sure you’re safe.

Once you’re inside, you head straight to your window and flick the lights on and off twice, your secret signal. Only then do you hear the low growl of the engine as he finally pulls away, leaving you alone in your quiet apartment, still feeling the heat of his touch and the weight of a night that changed everything.

The next day, you’re back with Naemi, hiding away in the corner of a quiet park with some takeout coffee. You can’t stop fidgeting with your sleeves, the adrenaline from last night still humming under your skin.

"He is so incredibly attractive, Naemi," you breathe out, staring blankly at the grass. "I mean, I knew he was handsome the whole world knows.. but when he’s just there, driving the car or looking at you in the dark... it’s completely different. It’s overwhelming."

Naemi nudges your shoulder with a smirk. "So, I’m guessing Date Four lived up to the hype? You look like you’ve been struck by lightning."

Your smile fades slightly, replaced by a flicker of genuine nerves. You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "It was perfect. But that’s the problem. Things got... intense. And now I’m starting to panic."

Naemi frowns, her playful tone shifting. "Panic? Why? He seems like he’s head-over-heels for you."

"He is, and I am for him too," you admit, twisting your coffee cup. "But Naemi... I’ve only ever been with one person. My experience is basically zero. And look at him. He’s this global icon, he’s confident, he’s powerful... I’m terrified that when the time comes, I’m going to be a total disappointment. What if he expects someone who knows exactly what they’re doing? I’m scared to sleep with him because I feel like I’m going to ruin the magic by being so... inexperienced."

Naemi watches you for a moment, her expression softening into something very grounded and supportive.

"Y/N, listen to me," she says firmly. "That guy didn't spend four days planning a painting date because he’s looking for a 'pro.' He’s looking for you. From everything you’ve told me, Jungkook is the one who’s been nervous around you. He’s the one asking for permission and trying to earn your kisses."

She takes a sip of her drink and looks you straight in the eye. "If he’s as into you as he seems and trust me, he is! he’s not going to care about your 'stats.' He’s going to care about the connection. Just be honest with him when the time feels right. Someone like him probably finds your sincerity way more attractive than some rehearsed performance."

You let out a long, shaky breath, wanting to believe her. "I hope you're right. It’s just hard not to compare myself to the idea of who people think he should be with."

"Forget the 'Superstar,'" Naemi reminds you. "Just focus on the guy who made you ramen. He’s the one who’s waiting for your next text."

You pull your coat tighter against the evening chill as you walk out of your office building, the first thing on your mind being the sound of his voice. You dial his number, and he picks up on the second ring, though the background is filled with the muffled, heavy beat of a bass track and the squeak of sneakers on a dance floor.

"Hey," he breaths out, sounding completely winded. "Y/N. I was just thinking about you."

"Are you still at the company?" you ask, leaning against a lamp post. "I was calling to see if you were free to grab dinner or just... see each other for a bit."

You hear him let out a frustrated groan, followed by the sound of him walking into a quieter hallway. "I’m so sorry. We’re deep into choreography for the new tour. The instructors are being real perfectionists today. I probably won't be out of here for another three or four hours."

You can hear the genuine disappointment in his voice, and for a second, you feel that sharp tug of longing. But you don't want to be the reason he feels guilty for working.

"Oh, Jungkook, it’s no big deal! Truly," you say, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. "You’re a busy man, I get it. I’ll just head home, order some food, and have an early night. Don't overwork yourself, okay?"

"I hate this," he mutters, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register that always makes your stomach flip. "I finally get to call you mine and I’m stuck in a practice room with six sweaty guys instead of with you. Are you sure you're not mad?"

"I'm 100% sure. Go back in there and kill it. We’ll see each other soon."

"Soon isn't fast enough," he sighs. "Text me when you're home? I’ll call you the second I’m in the car, even if it’s 2:00 AM."

As you hang up and head toward the subway, you feel a mix of pride for him and a little bit of that lingering nervousness. Part of you is almost relieved to have a night to yourself to process everything Naemi said but the larger part of you already misses the way he looks at you.

The train ride home feels longer than usual. You stare at your reflection in the dark subway window, Naemi’s words echoing in your head. He’s not looking for a pro. He’s looking for you.

You try to convince yourself of that, but the image of him in the dance studio sweaty, focused, powerful only fuels your intimidation. By the time you get to your apartment, the silence feels heavy. You’ve just changed into your oversized pajamas and a pair of thick socks when your phone pings. It’s a video clip.

It’s only ten seconds long. It’s Jungkook in the practice room, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead, wearing a loose sleeveless shirt that shows the full sleeve of his tattoos. He looks exhausted but incredibly sharp. He looks at the camera, wipes sweat from his brow, and blows a kiss before the video cuts off.

Jungkook:

Thinking of you keeps me going through the 100th run-through of this choreo. Eat something delicious for me, okay?

You spend the next few hours trying to distract yourself with a book, but around midnight, your phone rings. It’s a FaceTime call. You hesitate your hair is a mess and you have no makeup on but you answer anyway.

His face fills the screen. He’s in the back of a car, the streetlights of Seoul blurring past behind him. He looks drained, leaning his head back against the seat, but his eyes brighten the moment he sees you.

"There she is," he rasps, his voice even deeper from exhaustion. "I missed that face."

"You look tired, Jungkook," you say softly, tracing the screen with your thumb. "You should just go straight to sleep."

"I will. But I needed to hear you first." He studies you through the camera, his expression turning curious. "You're quiet tonight. Is everything okay? You didn't sound like this on the phone earlier."

You bite your lip, the familiar wave of insecurity hitting you. "I'm just thinking. About... everything. About how different our lives are. Sometimes I see you in videos like the one you sent, and I remember who you are to the world. It’s a little intimidating."

Jungkook is silent for a moment, his gaze intense even through the digital connection. He leans closer to his phone. "Y/N, look at me. In that video, I’m 'Jungkook of BTS.' But right now? I’m just a guy who’s so tired he can barely sit up, and the only thing making me feel better is talking to you."

He pauses, as if sensing there’s something more you aren't saying. "Whatever you're worried about... we'll figure it out. Together. Okay?"

You nod, feeling a little bit of the tension melt. You don't tell him about your fear of the first time yet, but the way he looks at you even through a tiny screen makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, Naemi was right. To him, you aren't a "stat" or a "case." You're the person he chooses at 2:00 AM.

The anticipation for Date Five is different. It’s not about the thrill of a secret location or the adrenaline of a grand gesture; it’s about the quiet intimacy of just being together.

When you arrive at his penthouse, you’ve opted for a low-effort look. You’re wearing loose, comfortable lounge pants that hang low on your hips, paired with a fitted, ribbed white tank top. It’s casual, but the thin fabric hugs your curves perfectly, highlighting the shape of your breasts in a way that is effortlessly enticing.

The moment the door clicks open, you aren't greeted by the superstar, but by a frantic, tail-wagging Doberman.

"Bam! Hey, big guy!" you laugh, dropping to your knees immediately.

The dog is all over you, his giant paws thumping against the floor as you wrestle with him, scratching behind his ears. Your top shifts as you move, the neckline dipping slightly as you lean over to kiss the top of Bam’s head. You’re so distracted by the dog’s excitement that you don't notice Jungkook standing in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe.

He’s wearing oversized sweatpants and a simple tee, but he’s gone completely still. His gaze is locked on you or more specifically, the way you look on the floor, flushed and laughing, with the light catching the soft curves emphasized by your tight top. He swallows hard, his throat moving visibly.

"I'm starting to think he likes you more than he likes me," Jungkook finally says, his voice a bit huskier than usual.

You look up, still breathless from playing, and give him a bright smile. "Can you blame him? I give better ear scratches."

Jungkook walks over, reaching down to give you a hand up. As he pulls you to your feet, his eyes linger on your chest for a split second longer than intended before he meets your gaze. The air in the room suddenly feels much warmer.

"You look... really good, Y/N," he murmurs, his hands staying on your waist a beat too long after you're standing. "I thought we were just doing a 'lazy' movie night."

"I am lazy!" you tease, gesturing to your pants. "This is my peak comfort level."

"Well," he says, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against the side of your ribs, sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Your version of 'comfortable' is very dangerous for my concentration."

He leads you over to the massive, cloud-like sofa where he’s already set up a mountain of pillows, blankets, and of course an array of snacks. But as you settle in next to him, the movie feels like a very secondary thought. The way he’s tucked you into his side, his arm draped over your shoulders and his fingers tracing patterns on your arm, tells you that Date Five might be the night where all your fears and his patience finally meet.

You’re both snuggled deep into the cushions of his oversized sofa, a glass of red wine in your hand and the glow of the TV flickering across your faces. A Spider-Man movie is playing, and as Tom Holland appears on screen during an action sequence, you lean back and let out a thoughtful hum.

"You know," you say, taking a sip of your wine, "I never realized it, but he’s actually really good-looking. There’s something so charming about him."

Beside you, Jungkook stiffens almost imperceptibly. He reaches for a handful of popcorn, his eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. "He's okay," he mutters, his tone suddenly flat. "I mean, if you like that 'boyish' look, I guess."

You peek at him over the rim of your glass, catching the way his jaw is set and how he’s pointedly not looking at you. He’s actually jealous. The global heartthrob, the man millions dream about, is pouting because of a movie star.

It’s the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

You set your wine glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. The liquid courage is buzzing in your veins, making you feel bold. You turn toward him, looking him dead in the eye, and then slowly crawl across the cushions until you're straddling his lap.

Jungkook’s breath hitches. His hands fly to your waist to steady you, his eyes wide and dark as they search yours. The movie is completely forgotten.

"He's charming," you whisper, leaning in until your nose brushes against his. "But he doesn't look like this."

You trace the line of his tattoos with your fingers before sliding them up to cup his face. You don't give him a chance to respond. You lean down and kiss him deep, slow, and full of the intent you've been hiding all night.

The jealousy vanishes instantly, replaced by a low, hungry groan. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your leggings as he pulls you flush against him. His tongue sweeps against yours, demanding and possessive, as if he's trying to erase any thought of anyone else from your mind.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You can feel his heat through your thin tank top, and for a moment, the fear of your inexperience is drowned out by the sheer, overwhelming pull of him. He tastes like the wine and looks like everything you've ever wanted, and right now, in the dim light of his living room, the rest of the world has ceased to exist.

The movie on the screen is nothing but a blur of flickering light and distant noise as Jungkook’s focus narrows entirely to the woman in his lap. The jealousy from moments ago has morphed into a raw, territorial heat. He pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you, his pupils so blown that his eyes appear almost entirely black. His large, tattooed hands slide from your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your ribbed tank top. The sensation of his skin against yours makes you gasp, his palms warm and slightly rough as they travel upward, molding over the undersides of your breasts. He groans into your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone, while his thumbs rhythmically brush against your nipples through the thin fabric, making them ache with a sudden, sharp need.

He doesn't stop there. One hand remains anchored to your back, pulling you flush against his chest, while the other slides down, disappearing into the waistband of your loose lounge pants. You let out a broken whimper against his lips as he finds the damp heat blooming between your thighs. Jungkook is patient, his long, slender fingers moving with a devastating precision that belies his own frantic breathing. He finds your center, his touch feather-light at first, circling and teasing until you are arching your back against him, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair. He begins to slide two fingers inside you, the length of them filling you so perfectly that your head lolls back, your eyes fluttering shut. He uses his thumb to maintain a relentless, rhythmic pressure above, and the combination sends jolts of electricity through your entire body.

"Jungkook," you sob out, your hands clutching at his shoulders as the tension in your core winds tighter and tighter. He watches you with a fierce intensity, his jaw clenched, as he picks up the pace. His fingers move deep and rhythmic, perfectly attuned to the way your body trembles and clenches around him. The world begins to tunnel, the only thing real being the friction and the heat and the low, encouraging murmurs he’s whispering against your ear. When the peak finally hits, it’s a violent, white-hot explosion that leaves you breathless, your internal muscles spasming around his fingers in a long, agonizingly beautiful release. You collapse against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder as you sob for air, your body still twitching with the aftershocks of the most intense sensation you've ever felt.

As your breathing slowly begins to level out, the vulnerability of the moment hits you, but it’s quickly replaced by a fierce desire to give back the pleasure he just gave you. You shift, sliding off his lap and down onto the plush rug between his knees. Jungkook watches you, his breath coming in ragged hitches, his hands resting on the edge of the sofa as he stares down at you. You look up at him, your lips swollen and your eyes glazed, before your hands reach for the drawstring of his sweatpants. You pull them down, freeing his length, which is already straining and slick with anticipation. You take him into your hands, marvelling at the heat and the weight of him, before leaning forward to take him into your mouth. The sound he makes is a raw, guttural animal noise, his head snapping back against the sofa cushions as his fingers dig into the fabric. You move with a slow, deliberate focus, using your tongue and the suction of your lips to drive him to the same edge he just showed you, relishing the way his entire body trembles under your touch.

The air in the room is heavy and still, the only sound the ragged, uneven rhythm of your shared breathing. As Jungkook reaches his limit, his hands find their way into your hair, his fingers gripping gently but firmly as he lets out a low, shuddering groan that seems to vibrate from deep within his chest. When he finally releases, you stay there for a moment, the intimacy of the act settling over you both like a warm blanket.

You eventually pull back, wiping your lip with the back of your hand, looking up at him through your lashes. Jungkook looks completely wrecked. His head is still resting against the back of the sofa, his eyes half-closed and his skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. He looks down at you, and the sheer tenderness and gratitude in his gaze make your heart swell even more than the physical act did.

"Y/N," he whispers, his voice nothing more than a raspy shadow. He reaches down, hooking his arms under your pits to lift you back up into his space.

You collapse against him, your head tucking into the crook of his neck. You're completely speechless. Any lingering fear you had about your inexperience or "not being good enough" has been incinerated by the last twenty minutes. You feel empowered, connected, and thoroughly exhausted in the best possible way.

"That was..." you start, but the words fail you. You just shake your head against his skin, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the heat of his body.

"I know," he murmurs, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it's as if he's trying to pull you inside his own ribcage. He kisses the temple of your head, his lips lingering there. "Don't say anything. Just stay right here."

He reaches for the discarded blanket on the floor, draping it over both of you, shielding you from the rest of the world. For a long time, neither of you moves. The movie has long since reached the credits, the white text scrolling silently over a black screen, but in the quiet of his living room, everything feels loud and clear: the Superstar and the Rule are gone. There is only this.

You are completely under his spell. Lying there in the quiet aftermath, wrapped in the warmth of his arms and the soft weight of the blanket, everything else feels like a distant memory. You feel a sense of belonging that scares you and thrills you all at once. You are utterly, hopelessly fallen.

The heavy, romantic silence is suddenly shattered by a wet nose poking insistently at your shoulder.

Bam, who had been patiently waiting in the corner of the living room, has decided that the humans-doing-nothing portion of the evening has gone on quite long enough. He lets out a sharp, playful bark and starts zoomie-ing around the massive sofa, his paws thumping rhythmically against the hardwood floor.

He skids to a halt, head tilted, before pouncing on the edge of the blanket and trying to tug it away with his teeth, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half is wiggling.

The sheer absurdity of the moment breaks the tension. You burst into a genuine, tired laugh, your shoulders shaking against Jungkook’s chest.

"Bam! No! Not now!" Jungkook groans, though he’s laughing too, his deep chest-rumble vibrating against you. He tries to grab the corner of the blanket back, but the Doberman is faster, leaping back and letting out a "woof" that sounds suspiciously like a challenge.

"I think he's jealous," you manage to say through your giggles, sitting up slightly and trying to fix your hair, which is a complete disaster. "He wants in on the cuddle pile."

"He's a menace," Jungkook says, but his eyes are full of affection as he watches his dog act like a puppy. He reaches out and ruffles Bam's ears, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he catches the sight of you flushed, messy, and laughing in his living room.

"See?" he whispers, leaning in to give you a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. "Even he knows you belong here."

You look at him, still slightly breathless from the laughter and the lingering heat of the night. As much as you want to stay in this bubble, the habit of being careful is hard to break.

"Will you drive me home?" you ask softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. "It’s late, and I don't want to get in the way of your schedule tomorrow."

Jungkook doesn't move. His grip on your waist actually tightens a fraction, and he looks at you with an expression that is so sincere it makes your breath hitch. He doesn't look like he's ready to let go of the warmth between you just yet.

"Stay," he murmurs, his voice low and a little bit vulnerable. "Sleep here tonight. I have plenty of room, and Bam clearly won't let you leave without a fight anyway."

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, his dark eyes searching yours. "I don't want to drop you off at a cold apartment and then drive back to this big, empty place alone. I just want to wake up and see you there. No pressure, no expectations. Just us, some coffee, and maybe a very confused dog."

He brushes a stray hair from your face, his touch incredibly tender. "What do you say? I have a spare toothbrush, and I promise I’m an excellent cuddler."

The offer is tempting so tempting that the fear of your inexperience or the rules of the relationship feels a thousand miles away. You look at his expectant face, then at Bam, who has finally settled down at the foot of the couch, and you realize there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

"Okay," you whisper, a small smile spreading across your face. "I'll stay."

Jungkook’s entire face lights up with that triumphant, boyish grin. He pulls you into one last, lingering kiss before standing up and offering you his hand. "Best decision you've made all night. Come on, let's get you settled."

The hot water feels like a dream against your skin, washing away the lingering salt and heat of the night, but it does nothing to calm the butterflies in your stomach. After drying off, you spot the oversized black T-shirt he left out for you. You pull it on, and it’s so large it reaches mid-thigh, the fabric heavy and soft, smelling exactly like his signature woody, slightly spicy cologne. It feels like a warm embrace before you’ve even stepped back into the room.

When you finally push open the heavy door to the master bedroom, you’re struck by how perfectly the space is. It’s a sanctuary of dark, moody aesthetics and high-end luxury. The walls are a deep charcoal, the lighting is dimmed to a soft, golden amber, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking, silent view of the Seoul skyline. Everything from the state-of-the-art speakers tucked into the corners to the massive, plush bed that looks like a dark cloud screams comfort and sophistication.

Jungkook is already in bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows with a tablet in his hand, likely checking his schedule one last time. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung black pajama pants. The sight of his bare, tattooed chest and the way the dim light plays over his muscles makes you pause in the doorway.

He looks up, and the moment his eyes land on you in his shirt, the tablet is forgotten. It clatters onto the nightstand.

"Wow," he breathes out, his gaze traveling slowly from your damp hair down to your bare legs. A soft, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips. "I think that shirt looks significantly better on you than it ever did on me."

He reaches out, patting the empty spot beside him. The luxury of the room is intimidating, but the look in his eyes is nothing but warm and welcoming.

"Come here," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "I’ve been waiting to see how you fit in this bed."

You climb in, the silk sheets cool against your skin, but the moment you slide next to him, he pulls you into his side. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady, calm beat of his heart. Out there, he’s the world’s biggest star, but in this dark, luxurious room, he’s just the man holding you tight, finally letting out a long sigh of contentment.

As you settle against him, the steady rhythm of his heart acting like a lullaby, Jungkook reaches for his phone on the nightstand. You expect him to just set an alarm or check a final message, but instead, he angles the camera toward the two of you.

You look up, blinking sleepily at the lens. He’s grinning, looking completely relaxed and smugly happy, while you are tucked firmly under his chin, wearing his oversized shirt and looking soft from the shower.

Click.

"What are you doing?" you mumble, your voice thick with sleepiness as you watch his thumbs fly across the screen.

"Just sending a little update to Minho," he says, his voice vibrating through his chest and into your ear. "He’s been texting me all night asking if 'Date Five' was a success. I think this counts as a pretty definitive 'yes'."

He hits send before you can protest. You can only imagine Minho’s face on the other end the shock, the inevitable teasing, and the realization that his friend is officially, deeply gone for you.

"Jungkook! He's going to never let us hear the end of this," you laugh softly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

"Let him talk," Jungkook murmurs, dropping the phone back onto the nightstand and pulling the heavy duvet up over your shoulders. He wraps both arms around you, locking you into place as if he’s afraid you might float away. "I want the whole world to know eventually. But for tonight, Minho is the only witness."

He kisses the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. "Now, go to sleep, Y/N. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be."

As the silence of the dark, luxurious room settles back in, you drift off to sleep feeling more secure than you ever thought possible, knowing that while he might be a superstar to millions, he’s chosen to share this quiet, private reality only with you.

The sleep you get is the deepest you’ve had in months. Wrapped in the scent of his cologne and the weight of his arm draped protectively over your waist, you don't even stir when the sun begins to peek through the gaps in the heavy blackout curtains.

But peaceful mornings in the Jeon household are apparently a rare luxury.

Suddenly, the mattress dips violently. A heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a tail hitting the duvet is followed by the sound of muffled huffing. Before you can even open your eyes, a giant, wet nose is pressed directly against your cheek, and a massive paw lands squarely on your hip.

"Oof!" you grunt, your eyes flying open to see Bam’s giant Doberman face just inches from yours, his tongue lolling out in a goofy, morning grin.

Beside you, Jungkook groans, burying his face deeper into his pillow. "Bam... no... it’s too early," he mumbles, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. He reaches out a blind, tattooed arm, trying to grab the dog's collar to pull him away, but Bam is too excited. The dog lets out a sharp, playful boof and starts walking over both of you, his paws digging into the mattress as he tries to find a spot right in the middle.

"He's a literal alarm clock," you laugh, your voice scratchy as you try to sit up while a seventy-pound dog treats your legs like a bridge.

Jungkook finally cracks one eye open, squinting at the chaos. When he sees you messy hair, his oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, and his dog trying to lick your face—his grumpy expression melts into a lazy, lopsided smile.

"I told you he liked you," he rasps, reaching out to pull you back down into the pillows, dog be damned. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his morning stubble tickling your skin. "Good morning. Ignore the monster. Stay for five more minutes?"

Bam, feeling left out of the cuddle, lets out another bark and flops his entire heavy body across your feet, effectively pinning you both to the bed. It’s not the quiet, sophisticated morning you’d imagined in a luxury penthouse, but as Jungkook kisses your shoulder and the dog wags his tail against your shins, it feels a lot more like home.

The chaos of the dog alarm slowly subsides as Bam realizes that if he wants to be part of the pack, he has to match the energy. With a heavy, dramatic sigh, he circles three times at the foot of the bed before flopping down, his chin resting right on your ankles.

The weight is grounding, and the room is still cool and dark, shielded from the morning rush of the city outside.

Jungkook doesn't let go. If anything, he pulls you even closer, his front pressed against your back, his breath steady and warm against the nape of your neck. His arm is a heavy, comforting weight across your stomach, his fingers lazily interlaced with yours.

"See?" he mumbles, his voice barely audible, vibrating through your skin. "Even he knows... it’s too early for the real world."

You feel yourself drifting again, the safety of his embrace and the rhythmic breathing of the dog at your feet acting like a powerful sedative. The luxury of the penthouse, the pressure of his career, and your own lingering nerves all fade into a soft, hazy blur.

In this cocoon of silk sheets and quiet breathing, time seems to stop. You fall back into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing that for the first time in a long time, you don't have to be anywhere else. You’re exactly where you belong, tucked between a sleeping giant and the man who makes the rest of the world feel like background noise.

When you wake up the second time, the sun is higher, casting long, golden streaks across the dark floor. Jungkook is still out cold, sprawled across the bed with one arm thrown over where you were just lying, his face looking incredibly soft and peaceful in sleep.

You slip out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb him. You find your clothes from the night before, pull them on, and head out to the living room. Bam is already waiting by the door, his ears perking up the second he hears your footsteps. He lets out a tiny, hopeful whine, his tail thumping against the wall.

"Okay, big guy," you whisper, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Let's give your dad some peace and quiet."

You find his leash near the entrance a sturdy, professional-looking lead and clip it onto Bam’s collar. The dog is surprisingly well-behaved, sitting patiently as you get him ready, though his whole body is vibrating with excitement.

Stepping out of the penthouse and into the crisp morning air is refreshing. The neighborhood is quiet, upscale, and lined with manicured greenery. Walking Bam feels like a glimpse into a completely different side of Jungkook's life the mundane, everyday responsibility he handles when the cameras aren't rolling.

Bam is a dream on the leash, walking proudly by your side, his head held high. You spend about thirty minutes wandering the nearby paths, enjoying the silence of the city as it slowly wakes up. You feel a strange sense of pride, walking his dog through his neighborhood, like a secret part of his world has been handed over to you to look after.

By the time you head back toward the building, you’re feeling energized and far more relaxed about "Date Five" and everything that happened. As the elevator rises back up to the penthouse, you wonder if the sleeping giant in the bedroom has realized his two favorite distractions are missing yet.

When you let yourself back into the apartment, the air is silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. You unclip Bam’s leash, and he immediately trots off toward the bedroom to check on his master. You follow slowly, stopping at the kitchen island to pour yourself a glass of water, feeling a strange but beautiful sense of belonging in this high-tech, silent sanctuary.

You’ve just set the glass down when you hear the heavy thud of footsteps. A moment later, Jungkook appears in the hallway.

He’s a mess of morning-after perfection. His hair is standing up in every direction, his eyes are puffy and half-closed, and he’s still only wearing those low-slung black pajama pants. He’s rubbing his face with one hand, while the other is buried in Bam’s fur as the dog circles his legs.

He stops when he sees you standing there in the light of the kitchen. A slow, relieved smile spreads across his face, and he leans his shoulder against the doorframe, watching you.

"I woke up and the bed was cold," he rasps, his voice even deeper and scratchier than it was earlier. "I thought maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing. Then I saw Bam was gone too and I figured you’d both made a run for it."

"We just went for a little walk," you say, leaning back against the counter. "I wanted to let you sleep. You looked like you needed it."

Jungkook walks over to you, his bare feet silent on the floor. He doesn't say anything at first; he just steps into your space, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his warm, bare chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath of your scent.

"I needed this more," he murmurs against your skin, his grip tightening. "Thank you for taking care of him. And for staying."

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. The intensity in his eyes from last night is still there, but it’s tempered with a new kind of softness—a quiet domesticity that feels even more intimate than the sex.

"Hungry?" he asks, his stomach let out a timely, loud growl that makes you both laugh. "I might not be a Michelin-star chef, but I can make a mean breakfast. Or we can just stay hidden in here all day and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Your choice."

Jungkook is in full "chef mode," moving around the high-end kitchen with a focused energy that is surprisingly endearing. He’s crackling eggs into a pan and toasting thick slices of bread, the morning light catching the muscles in his back as he moves.

You’re perched on the edge of the marble island, your legs swinging slightly, wrapped in the warmth of a mug of tea. You watch the way he handles the spatula with the same precision he uses for everything else, a small, content smile on your face.

"You know," you murmur, taking a slow sip of your tea and glancing at his sleek, professional coffee setup, "for a place this fancy, you’re missing something vital."

Jungkook looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in a challenge. "Oh yeah? What did I forget? I have every gadget known to man in these cupboards."

"A matcha station," you say, gesturing to a clear spot on the counter. "I’m talking the real deal. A traditional ceramic bowl, a bamboo whisk... the whole ceremony. It would fit right in here."

Jungkook pauses, the spatula mid-air, as if he’s actually visualizing it. A thoughtful look crosses his face. "A matcha station, huh?" He turns back to the stove, flipping the eggs with a flick of his wrist. "I usually just go for the strongest espresso I can find to survive practice, but... I like the sound of that. It sounds peaceful. Very you."

He plates the food and slides it over to you, leaning his elbows on the counter so he’s eye-level with you. The smirk returns to his lips, that playful, competitive glint in his eyes.

"Tell you what," he says, his voice dropping into that smooth, intimate register. "Next time you come over, there’ll be a matcha station right there. But on one condition."

"And what’s that?" you ask, leaning in closer.

"You have to be the one to teach me how to use the whisk properly," he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin. "I have a feeling I’m going to be a very slow learner. You might have to spend a lot of time here making sure I get the technique right."

He leans in and steals a quick, breakfast-flavored kiss before you can answer, looking thoroughly pleased with his plan to keep you coming back.

You take a bite of the eggs he prepared, surprised by how perfectly he seasoned them. The kitchen is quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of Bam’s claws clicking on the floor as he hopefuly patrols for fallen scraps.

"So," Jungkook says, leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms over his bare chest. He watches you eat with a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. "Now that I've officially fed you and my dog has accepted you as his new leader, does this mean I get to keep you here for the rest of the day?"

You look up from your plate, a bit of toast halfway to your mouth. "Don't you have practice later? You said last night they were being perfectionists."

Jungkook groans, throwing his head back and looking at the ceiling. "Don't remind me. I have a mid-afternoon session, but that gives us a few more hours." He looks back at you, his eyes softening. "Honestly, I just want to do nothing. No cameras, no choreography, no 'Golden Maknae' stuff. Just... sitting here with you. Maybe you can show me those matcha sets online so I can order the best one?"

He moves closer, sliding into the space between your knees as you sit on the counter. He rests his hands on your thighs, his touch grounded and warm. "I was serious, you know. About the station. I want this place to feel like somewhere you want to be, not just somewhere you're visiting."

The weight of his words hits you. It’s a subtle shift from dating to building something, and it makes your heart do a nervous little dance. You reach out, running your fingers through his messy morning hair, smoothing down the stray strands.

"I think I already want to be here, Jungkook. Whisk or no whisk."

He grins, pulling you forward by the waist until your chest is pressed against his. He kisses you a soft, lingering morning kiss that tastes like coffee and home.

"Good," he whispers against your lips. "Because I'm already planning Date Six, and it involves significantly less Tom Holland and significantly more of me having you all to myself."

He pulls back just enough to wink at you, his thumb tracing the hem of your shorts. "But first, show me this matcha bowl. It better be a nice one."

The morning air eventually shifts from that slow, lazy haze into the reality of his schedule. Jungkook checks his phone and lets out a long, dramatic sigh, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

"The perfectionists are calling," he mumbles, his voice full of mock despair. "I have to be at the studio in forty minutes."

You laugh, sliding off the counter and giving him one last squeeze. "Go. Go be a superstar. I should get going too; I have a mountain of things to catch up on."

The atmosphere changes as you both get ready to leave. The intimate, skin-on-skin warmth of the bedroom is replaced by the rustle of denim and the search for misplaced keys. Jungkook pulls on a hoodie and a bucket hat, the public version of him slowly snapping back into place, though he keeps looking over at you with a soft, private smile that belongs only to the kitchen you just shared.

At the door, Bam is pacing, sensing the departure. Jungkook kneels down to give him a final pat before standing up and turning to you. He reaches out, pulling you into his arms for a long, firm hug that feels like he’s trying to memorize the sensation of you.

"I’ll call you the second I get a break," he says into your hair. "And I meant what I said. By the next time you're here, that matcha station will be waiting."

"I'll hold you to it," you tease, looking up at him.

He leans down, giving you a deep, lingering kiss that tastes like a promise. "I'm serious, Y/N. This wasn't just a one-time sleepover. Stay safe, okay? Text me when you're inside your apartment."

You step out into the hallway together, the heavy door of his penthouse clicking shut behind you. As you walk toward the elevator, you feel a strange mix of emotions a bit of a comedown from the high of the night, but also a solid, grounded sense of security. You’re leaving his home, but for the first time, it feels like you’re leaving a piece of yourself there, too.

When the elevator doors close, you catch your reflection in the mirror flushed, slightly messy, and wearing a look of quiet happiness that even the busiest Monday couldn't ruin.

The high of that morning in the penthouse starts to fade, replaced by a cold, hollow silence that grows heavier with each passing day. At first, you tell yourself he’s just busythose instructors he mentioned must be pushing them to the limit. But when Day 3 turns into Day 7, and Day 7 turns into Day 10, the silence starts to feel like a message.

You check your phone a thousand times a day. Your last few texts sit there, marked as "Read" or sometimes not even acknowledged.

You: "Hope practice is going well! Don't forget to eat." (Sent 6 days ago)

You: "Hey, just checking in. Everything okay?" (Sent 2 days ago)

No reply.

What makes it hurt more is that he isn't missing. You see the updates. Fans post clips of him leaving the building, looking tired but laughing with Jimin. He posts a story of Bam running in a park, captioned with a simple heart. He looks fine. He looks like he’s having fun. He looks like he’s moved on to the next thing, while you’re still wearing the phantom scent of his cologne on your skin.

The thoughts you tried to suppress start to poison your mind. Maybe Naemi was wrong. Maybe I was just a case to him. Maybe I was too much, or maybe, after he got what he wanted on that couch, the mystery was gone. You feel a deep, burning embarrassment when you think about how you looked after his dog and talked about a matcha station. You feel like a fool for thinking you were building a home with a man who belongs to the world.

You don't tell anyone. Not even Naemi. You don't want to hear the "I told you so's" or the pity. You go to work, you come home.

You’ve stopped checking the news, but the notifications still find you.

On the tenth night, you’re sitting in your dark living room, the silence of your apartment feeling deafening compared to the memory of his laughter. You pick up your phone to delete his contact to just end the torture of waiting when your screen finally lights up.

It’s not a text. It’s a call. But it’s not from Jungkook.

It’s Minho.

You stare at the screen, your thumb trembling as you slide to answer. Part of you hopes desperately that he’s calling to say Jungkook lost his phone, that there’s a reason for the radio silence.

"Hello?" you whisper, your voice thin and brittle.

"Y/N! Hey!" Minho’s voice is loud, booming over a chaotic wall of sound. You hear the unmistakable thumping of a club beat, the clinking of glasses, and the high-pitched shriek of laughter. "I wasn't sure if you'd pick up! It's been a while, right?"

"Minho? Where are you?"

"We're at that new place in Gangnam the private lounge!" he shouts, sounding like he’s already had a few drinks. "The guys finally finished the main choreo block, so we're celebrating! You should hear the noise in here, it’s insane."

In the background, a familiar voice yells something indistinct, followed by the unmistakable, boisterous laugh of Jin. Your heart doesn't just sink; it shatters. They are out. They are celebrating. They are fine.

"Is... is Jungkook there?" you ask, the words feeling like shards of glass in your throat.

"Yeah, he’s right over wait, JK! Move your head!" Minho laughs, and you can practically hear the movement of the phone. "He’s right in the middle of it, Y/N. He’s been going hard all night. I think he’s finally blowing off some steam."

You hear Jungkook’s voice then, muffled but clear. He isn't asking for the phone. He isn't asking about you. He’s shouting a lyric to a song, his voice full of energy and alcohol-fueled joy. He sounds... happy. He sounds like a man who hasn't spent a single second of the last ten days wondering why he stopped answering the woman who slept in his bed.

"Listen, I gotta go, tae is trying to start a dance-off," Minho says, oblivious to the silence on your end. "I just wanted to see if you were coming by later? Or... wait, did he not call you?"

"No," you say, your voice finally going cold. "He didn't call. I have to go, Minho. Have a good night."

You hang up before he can respond. You drop the phone onto the sofa as if it burned you. The silence of your apartment returns, but now it’s suffocating.

Ten days of silence. Ten days of you worrying, overthinking, and feeling like you were "too much." And the whole time, he was just... moving on. The matcha station, the morning cuddles, the way he looked at you after Date Five it was all just part of the show.

You walk to your kitchen and look at the empty counter. You feel a wave of nausea. You weren't a girlfriend. You weren't a partner. You were just a temporary stop on his way to a celebration you weren't invited to. You sit down on the floor, pull your knees to your chest, and finally let the first tear fall. The dream hasn't just ended; it’s been demolished.