paradise of dreams *

Her brows shot up, breath fogging slightly as her expression shifted from surprised to amused—and irritated.

“Me?” she said coolly, rising to full height. “You turned the corner like you were on fire.”

His jaw ticked. “Maybe don’t sit in the middle of the hall like it’s your private glacier.”

They locked eyes. Silence. Snow outside the window, the sun just beginning to rise.

Tension snapped between them like dry kindling.

Without another word, Y/N turned on her heel and walked away, robe trailing behind her like ice across marble.

Jungkook stared after her for a second longer than he should have.

What the hell was that?

Who walks around looking like that at sunrise? ...And why the fuck was her voice kind of hot?

Y/N stepped into the common lounge of the Water Tower for the orientation breakfast. It was warm with the sound of chatter and fire-crackling hearths, and students milled about in their tribe’s traditional attire.

Two girls turned at the sound of her entrance.

“Wait—wait,” Amara whispered, elbowing Valkyrie. “Is that…?”

Valkyrie gasped. “It is. That has to be her.”

They rushed over, both waterbenders, daughters of minor dignitaries—warm, excited, and equally curious.

“Oh my god, no one told us you were this gorgeous,” Valkyrie breathed, wide-eyed. “You don’t even have a profile photo yet!”

“Yeah,” Amara grinned. “They kept you locked away like an ice sculpture. For what?! You look like a goddess.”

Y/N laughed softly, flustered but pleased. “My father’s rules. And the council. I wasn’t even allowed to take selfies until last week.”

The girls swooned dramatically.

“We’re obsessed already,” Amara declared.

“Come sit with us,” Valkyrie insisted, pulling her toward their table. “You have to tell us everything. What was it like growing up in the palace? Wait—have you met the Fire Prince yet?”

Y/N froze for a half-second, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with a cool, unreadable smile.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

-------------

Jungkook sat in the high-ceilinged breakfast hall, a carved wooden spoon twirling idly in his hand as Taehyung and Jimin chatted beside him over hot eggs and spiced rice.

But he wasn’t listening.

His mind was stuck on her.

The girl from this morning. The Water Tribe princess. Y/N.

The sharpness in her eyes. The softness in her voice. The way she’d looked at him like she saw him—not the prince, not the firebender, just... him. And didn’t care.

“Yo,” Taehyung nudged him, smirking as he caught Jungkook zoning out again. “You good?”

“You haven’t looked at your phone in like… ten minutes,” Jimin teased. “That’s got to be some kind of emergency.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and stabbed a piece of sausage. “I’m fine.”

Taehyung leaned forward, grin widening. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumored Water Princess finally showing her face today, would it?”

Jungkook didn't answer.

But his silence said enough.

---------------

All first-years were herded out of the castle-like university and toward the trail winding up into the nearby mountains—a “team-building hike,” they called it.

Y/N walked with Amara and Valkyrie, wrapped in a lighter travel cloak with her braids tucked into a soft knit beanie. The air was bright and thin, sunlight bouncing off every snowy surface. Despite being used to cold, she wasn’t used to this—the altitude, the glare, the way the sun felt like it was trying to steal her breath and her strength.

The water inside her felt sluggish, sun-warmed and heavy.

Her body ached in a way it never did under the moon.

About halfway up the slope, her pace began to slow. Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred for half a second.

“Y/N?” Valkyrie turned. “You okay?”

She nodded weakly, managing a smile. “Yeah. Just... too much sun. You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Amara frowned but didn’t argue. “Alright. Just shout if you need us.”

The others moved on, disappearing slowly up the slope with the rest of the first-years, laughter and boots crunching in the distance.

Y/N sat down on a snow-covered boulder, tugging her coat tighter and closing her eyes. She missed the stillness of the moon already. Her body craved darkness, reflection, water.

She felt so far from it all.

And then—

“Hey.” A gentle voice. Calm, steady.

She opened her eyes to find a tall boy crouching in front of her, wrapped in a charcoal hiking jacket with a Fire Nation patch stitched on the sleeve. Soft brown eyes. Faint scars on his knuckles.

“Jimin?” she said, surprised. “Aren’t you a group leader? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

“I am,” he nodded with a soft smile. “But I’m also responsible for making sure everyone’s safe. You didn’t look okay.”

Y/N blinked at him, lips parting in disbelief.

“You... don’t hate me?” she asked before she could stop herself.

His smile faded just slightly, replaced by something more serious.

“I don’t hate people just because history says I should.” He paused. “I know what they say about our nations. But you’re not your government, and I’m not mine.”

She stared at him for a long second, stunned by how… kind he was. No hidden smirk. No sarcasm. Just warmth—like fire without burn.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He stood and offered his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk with you the rest of the way.”

She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His warmth was more bearable than Jungkook’s—it didn’t sting. It just felt… grounding.

They started walking again, slowly, together.

Further up the slope, Taehyung and Jungkook paused at a lookout post under a cluster of frost-covered pines.

Taehyung squinted down the trail. “That’s Jimin, right?”

Jungkook followed his gaze.

His eyes narrowed when they landed on her.

Y/N. Moving slowly, cheeks flushed with effort. And Jimin beside her, guiding her with gentle words and hands that hovered close but never touched.

His jaw tightened.

“She doesn’t look well,” Taehyung said, tilting his head. “Think she’s sick?”

“It’s the sun,” Jungkook muttered, sharper than he intended. “Water tribes draw strength from the moon. She’s probably not used to this much direct exposure.”

Taehyung raised a brow. “Since when are you an expert on her biology?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

His fists were already clenched.

Not from anger. Just... heat.

And he didn’t like that either.

-----------------

The restaurant was tucked into the edge of a mountainside town—a Michelin-starred, glass-walled jewel perched above the icy trees. Inside, golden chandeliers hung from carved cedar beams, casting a warm glow over polished silverware and ivory table linens. The waitstaff wore silk gloves. The wine list had its own zip code.

Students filed in, dressed in formal attire required for the night: tailored coats, evening dresses, polished boots. It was a diplomatic tradition—the first formal dinner of the year, meant to encourage “intercultural communication.”

The universe, however, had different plans.

Y/N slid into her assigned seat at the long banquet table, elegant in a midnight-blue gown embroidered with silver thread. Her braids were gathered to one side, aquamarine jewels glittering softly in the candlelight. She smoothed her napkin onto her lap—and froze.

Across from her, none other than Jungkook dropped into his seat, manspreading slightly in his sleek black formal suit like the chair owed him rent.

Of course.

His hair was pushed back, jaw sharp, golden eyes scanning the room until they landed squarely on her.

He smirked.

“Let me guess,” he said, reaching for his water. “You’re seated alphabetically. I pity the poor soul with a last name starting with Z.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “If I had known the Fire Nation trained in alphabet jokes, I’d have lowered my expectations even further.”

He chuckled, low and smooth. “Relax, princess. I’m just making conversation. Or are you afraid I’ll melt your composure with my oversized ego?”

“I’m afraid it might eclipse the moon,” she replied coolly, sipping her now-frosted water.

He glanced at her glass, then down at his own plate. With an easy breath, he exhaled over his fried rice, warming it just enough to let off steam—literally.

She narrowed her eyes.

“You know, some of us use utensils.”

“And some of us are just efficient.”

Around them, the room buzzed with soft conversation, the clink of glasses, and flirtatious laughter. A pair of girls at the far end of the table kept glancing at Jungkook, giggling behind their menus. He didn’t acknowledge them, but the slight raise of his chin told Y/N he’d noticed.

Across the room, she didn’t miss the way a few first-year boys were eyeing her like they were planning how to flirt with royalty without dying of embarrassment.

Jungkook followed her gaze, then raised a brow. “You’ve got fans already.”

“I don’t blame them,” she said sweetly. “They haven’t heard me speak yet.”

His smirk twitched. “Your modesty is overwhelming.”

“Coming from someone who warms rice with his mouth, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They glared, the corners of their lips betraying the fight to stay serious. If either of them looked too closely, they'd see it wasn't quite hate. It was friction. Hot and sharp and electric.

-------------

After dinner, the students gathered outside, the snow crunching beneath their polished shoes as they waited for the sleek black cars that would ferry them back to the university. Breath turned to clouds in the cold night air.

Jungkook stood off to the side with Taehyung and Jimin, hands in his coat pockets, eyes trained on nothing in particular.

Until—

He saw her.

Y/N stood apart from the crowd, just a few paces away, her back turned, head tilted to the sky. Her eyes were closed, arms relaxed at her sides as she faced the full moon hanging heavy and glowing above them. The icy blue of her dress shimmered faintly under the moonlight. She looked... different like this.

Calm. Still. Powerful.

The air around her almost pulsed—gentle, cool, reverent. As if the night itself bowed for her.

Jungkook’s breath caught.

He knew what this was. He'd read about the moon’s connection to water tribe bending in one of his statecraft briefings. But seeing it? Feeling it?

It was intimate. Sacred.

And she was beautiful.

Moonlit skin, lashes fluttering softly, lips parted just slightly as if she were absorbing strength straight from the sky.

He forced himself to look away. Clenched his jaw.

Taehyung glanced at him. “You okay?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

He felt like he’d intruded on something private, something not meant for anyone else. And worse… He couldn’t stop wanting to watch.

-------------

The cars purred softly as they dropped students off one by one back at the academy’s stone steps. The wind was gentler now, the moon still heavy overhead.

Jungkook climbed the stairs behind a small group of students, jacket slung over one shoulder, his golden gaze flicking lazily forward—until he caught sight of her again.

Y/N.

She was a few steps ahead, walking carefully, her long embroidered skirt and cloak catching on the wind. The icy-blue fabric looked heavy with the weight of tradition, trailing just slightly as she struggled to keep her footing on the slick stone steps.

A hand extended from the crowd.

Minho—broad-shouldered, soft-spoken, Earth Kingdom native with a kind smile—offered it to her shyly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle.

Y/N blinked, then smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand with delicate fingers. “That’s very kind of you.”

Minho flushed a little as he helped her up the last step, his ears turning red under the lamplight.

Behind them, Jungkook scoffed quietly.

Taehyung caught it and leaned over, smirking. “Jealous?”

“He looked like he was gonna propose just from touching her hand,” Jungkook muttered.

Taehyung laughed. “Careful. Your jealousy is showing.”

Jungkook didn’t answer, just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster.

The second day of orientation began with the same silence as the first.

And again, before the sun crested the peaks, Y/N was already in the hall outside her tower, meditating.

This time, though, she wasn’t quite as wrapped in tradition.

She wore loose training pants in icy grey and a sleeveless, high-neck top in soft blue. Her arms were bare, toned and elegant, her back visible where the fabric dipped slightly with her posture. Her skin practically shimmered in the blue morning light, moon-kissed even before the stars faded.

Eyes closed. Breathing even. Calm.

But she could feel it.

Heat. Buzzing, magnetic, stubbornly male heat.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“Take a picture,” she murmured, voice slow and cool. “It’ll last longer.”

Jungkook stood a few paces away, breathing a little harder than before. His morning jog had screeched to a halt the moment he turned the corner and saw her.

“Didn’t realize this was a public exhibit,” he said, trying to force a smirk onto his face, voice thicker than usual.

“It’s not,” she replied, still not looking at him. “But unfortunately, I don’t control the wildlife.”

He snorted, shook his head, and tore his eyes away. “You’re insufferable.”

“Glad you’re keeping up.”

And with that, Jungkook jogged off—faster, harder, more focused. As if he could outrun the image of her in that outfit, bathed in blue light like a goddess with her own gravity.

He couldn’t.

Later that morning, Jungkook sat at a sleek, glass-top café table in the university’s sky lounge with Celina—a girl he’d met during orientation. Blonde, flirty, glitter on her cheekbones and three designer bags on her chair.

“So what was it like growing up in a fire palace?” she asked, leaning forward. “Did they teach you sword fighting? Or like, diplomacy or whatever?”

Jungkook gave a practiced smile. “Both.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, tilting her head. “And your eyes—do all Fire Princes have gold eyes or is that just a you thing?”

He blinked. “It’s... just a me thing.”

She giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

He looked down at his espresso, fingers tapping against the cup. She hadn’t asked him a single real question. Nothing about his thoughts, his interests, his beliefs. Just status, background, power.

He suddenly missed the sharp edge in Y/N’s voice. Missed being challenged.

He set his cup down and gave Celina a polite nod.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said.

She blinked, surprised. “Oh! Yeah—of course. Are we—?”

“I’m not interested,” he said bluntly. Not cruel, just honest.

She blinked again. “Oh. Uh... okay.”

He stood, nodded once, and walked out—ignoring the flashes of confusion and rejection behind him. He didn’t have time for empty flattery.

Especially not when there was someone else who wasn’t impressed with him—and for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

The third day of orientation brought a surprise—a student outing to one of the most exclusive alpine horse tracks in Europe. The snowy valley beneath the university was carved with crystal-clear lanes, the horses bred from royal stables across the globe. The crowd was dotted with diplomats, nobles, and faculty, sipping hot drinks from porcelain cups while wearing coats worth small fortunes.

The students filled the private terrace seating, bundled in school-issue winter cloaks with their house emblems stitched over their hearts.

Jungkook arrived fashionably late, sipping black coffee, his hair tucked into a wool beanie that couldn’t hide the sharpness of his jawline or the smug set of his shoulders. Girls shifted when he walked past. Some fixed their scarves. One actually gasped.

He didn’t look for her. He wasn’t looking for her.

But he found her anyway.

Y/N was seated already in the front row of the terrace, cheeks dusted pink from the cold, lips wrapped around a warm flask of tea. Her cloak was pale silver today, lined with soft navy fur that made her look even more regal. She laughed at something Amara said beside her, then looked toward the track, sharp eyes scanning the horses.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, like her mere existence was smoke in his lungs.

He took the empty seat next to her, dropping down without a word.

She turned her head, looked at him once, and returned her gaze to the field.

“Can’t seem to get rid of you,” she murmured.

“Tell me about it,” he replied.

---------------

The starting bells rang.

The horses lined up at the gate, steaming breath rising into the sky.

Students leaned forward eagerly, many of them whispering to one another.

“Leftmost one’s Firebred,” Taehyung noted from behind them. “Bred in Jungkook’s territory. Fastest on record.”

“He’s not winning,” Y/N said with cool confidence.

Jungkook tilted his head. “You’re betting against my horse?”

“I’m betting against your arrogance,” she said, eyes still on the track.

Jungkook smirked. “What happens if you’re wrong?”

“I won’t be.”

“But if you were?”

She finally turned her head to meet his eyes.

“If I lose,” she said calmly, “I’ll owe you a favor.”

Jungkook raised a brow, intrigued. “And if I lose?”

“I’ll collect a favor. When I choose.”

His heart gave an involuntary thump. Not just from the words, but from the way she said them—controlled, steady, almost teasing. Like she knew she’d win.

“Deal,” he said, offering his gloved hand.

She placed hers in his. The cold of her fingers clashed with the heat of his palm. The handshake lasted one second too long.

Then—

The gates opened.

The horses tore across the snow-packed field, thunderous and wild.

Students shouted, cheered, scrambled for a better view. Jungkook and Y/N leaned forward instinctively, breath held.

And just as the final stretch loomed...

A white-coated mare from the Northern Water territories surged forward, passing the Firebred in the final ten seconds.

The bell rang. The crowd erupted.

Jungkook sat back slowly, jaw tightening.

Y/N turned to him with a victorious smile—not smug, just satisfied.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to collect,” she said sweetly.

He shook his head, trying to fight a smile. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

“So am I.”

The students filed out of the terrace in buzzing groups, still riding high from the race.

Jungkook stayed behind a few moments, watching Y/N disappear into the crowd with her friends—laughing, graceful, offering a polite smile to the steward who opened the door for her.

He hated to admit it, but she moved through the world like she’d been born to rule it.

Not like him.

Jungkook knew he was hot. He knew people liked him—wanted him. He had confidence, charisma, a name that made headlines and a face that broke hearts.

But Y/N? She didn’t try. She just was.

Poised. Natural. Effortless. Kind to everyone—except him.

He’d never met anyone who made him feel simultaneously this annoyed and this off-balance.

She’s the moon, he thought. Untouchable. Cold. But she pulls the tide anyway.

He exhaled hard and stood up.

He was going to need a hell of a lot more wins if he was going to keep up with her.

----------------

The mountain air was brisk as usual—sharp, cold, and biting just enough to remind Jungkook he was alive.

He jogged through the same corridor as always, hoodie pulled low over his brow, music pumping through his earbuds, pace even and strong. He passed a few students on the way, nodded to a few others, but didn’t stop.

Not until her.

Same spot. Same time. Princess Y/N.

Seated on the mat just off the corridor window again, hands resting on her thighs, eyes closed, lips slightly parted in stillness.

This time, she wore a loose, snowy blue top that slid slightly down her shoulder, revealing the smooth line of her collarbone. Her legs were folded elegantly, the morning light pooling across her skin like it belonged there. And on her hand—resting atop one knee—was a delicate silver ring, carved with the moon cycle.

Jungkook’s steps faltered. He kept going—barely—but something about that ring...

His eyes narrowed.

By the time he reached the other end of the hall, he was already pulling out his phone, opening a search tab with quick, frantic fingers.

"Northern Water Tribe moon ring symbolism" "Silver purity ring Water Princess" "Tribe virginity ring customs"

And then it hit.

The results came flooding in, exactly what he feared—no, hoped—he’d find.

It was a purity ring.

One only worn by virgins in the Water Tribe—usually those in the royal family, signifying personal vows of restraint, tradition, and spiritual clarity until they chose a partner to share it with.

Jungkook stared at the screen.

And then...

“Fuck.”

He was half-hard already, pulse slamming in his throat. His jog forgotten. His thoughts suddenly very impure.

He ducked into a shadowed alcove, heart pounding, pressing his back to the wall. One hand still gripping his phone, the other dragging down his face before briefly—desperately—palming himself through his sweats.

Of course she’s untouched. Of course she’s forbidden. Of course she’s driving him insane.

Her calm. Her mouth. Her legs folded so perfectly. That fucking ring.

He cursed again under his breath, fingers tightening.

And then turned abruptly down the hall toward the nearest gym shower room.

The coldest water he could find.

Later that morning, Jungkook sat stiffly at a private corner table in the library café. Across from him was Saejin, another Fire Nation royal—the daughter of a war advisor, all sleek hair and perfect etiquette.

She smiled, flawless and polished, speaking like she was reading from a court-approved script.

“I just think it’s so refreshing to finally be around our own kind, you know?” she said sweetly, stirring her imported tea. “The Fire Nation doesn’t get enough credit for our superiority.”

Jungkook blinked once.

Saejin laughed lightly. “Not to be rude. I just mean… we’re trained better. Smarter. I’m sure the others try their best but—well, the Water Tribe is all superstition and snow.”

He leaned back slowly.

Golden eyes unreadable. Sharp.

She kept going, unaware of the crack in her façade. “Don’t you agree?”

“No,” Jungkook said flatly.

She stopped stirring. “Pardon?”

“I don’t agree,” he repeated. “You’re talking about entire cultures like they’re beneath you. I don’t think I’m better than anyone just because I was born where I was.”

Saejin flushed, eyes wide. “Oh—I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, obviously, I respect diversity—”

Jungkook stood up. Quiet. Steady. Done.

“Thanks for the tea.”

“Jungkook—”

But he was already gone, leaving her red-faced and speechless in the middle of the café.

Outside, Jungkook let the wind hit his face as he leaned against a stone railing, overlooking the snow-covered campus.

I need to stop going on these dates.

They were all the same. Same expectations. Same hollow words. Same attempt to fit into a mold he’d never even shaped himself.

But with her—Y/N—it wasn’t like that.

She didn’t care about who he was. Or what people thought. She challenged him, pushed him, made him feel beneath her in a way that didn’t bruise his ego—it ignited it.

And now that he knew she was untouched, pure, off-limits?

It made it worse.

It made it better.

Jungkook stared at the horizon, biting his lip, jaw tense.

Maybe dating wasn’t the right move.

Not until he figured out what the hell he was going to do about the girl who didn’t even know the hold she had on him.

Y/N lay in bed, the curtains drawn, the moonlight casting soft shadows across her blanket. Her window was cracked open, letting the chill in—a comfort more than a disturbance.

She should’ve been asleep. She had orientation events early tomorrow.

Instead… she was deep in a stalking spiral.

Her thumb hovered over the search bar again.

"Just one more look,” she muttered under her breath, already typing: @JJK.f

His page loaded quickly.

And of course—it was exactly what she expected. And exactly what irritated her.

Not a single selfie. Just candids—clearly taken by someone else, likely friends, staff, maybe even admirers. Photos from exotic places: volcano ridges, black sand beaches, underground raves lit by lava, firelight warming his smug face.

There were shirtless ones too. Obviously. One at a coastal cliff, him half-drenched from the sea, abs glistening like he knew what he was doing. Another one lounging in a hot spring, steam curling around his collarbones, eyes half-lidded and dangerously flirty.

Y/N scoffed and tossed her phone down, only to pick it back up 2 seconds later.

"Show-off," she muttered, face hot.

She clicked off his profile and opened her camera roll instead.

There was a pause. Then a breath. Then… a decision.

She tapped the little plus sign, selected a recent picture—one snapped just a few days before she left for school.

It was her and her older brother, standing at the palace gate. She had her arm looped through his, both of them laughing, crowns tipped askew from a snowball fight they'd gotten into minutes before. His robes were pristine despite the cold. Her cheeks were pink from the frost and joy.

The caption was simple.

“My favorite person.” ❄️👑

She hit post.

And within minutes, the notifications started pouring in.

💬 “Omg princess reveal?? You’re so pretty!!” 💬 “Royal siblings supremacy 🩵” 💬 “Cold beauty, no wonder the Fire Nation’s threatened” 💬 “Can she freeze me next pls?” 💬 “Protect her at all costs.”

Y/N turned her phone face down and smiled to herself. Just a little. Just once.

Taehyung was the first to see it. He nearly choked on his tea.

“Hey, uh,” he said, scrolling, “Y/N just posted.”

Jimin glanced over. “Really?”

Taehyung turned his phone. “Yeah. First one ever.”

The three of them were seated in the common area, students scattered all around, winding down from another long day.

Jimin smiled. “She looks really happy there.”

Jungkook didn’t even glance up. He was leaned back on the couch, arms folded, pretending to nap.

Taehyung grinned. “You’re not even a little curious, Jungkook?”

Jungkook scoffed. “She’s not that interesting.”

“Mhm,” Taehyung drawled, unconvinced. “Totally. That’s why your whole jaw just clenched.”

“I don’t care what she posts.” But even he didn’t believe his voice when he said it.

Jungkook made it exactly three minutes before giving up the act.

Back in his dorm, door locked, lights dimmed, he opened his phone and typed in her handle.

@yn.wtr

Her profile was quiet. Elegant. No posts before today. The display name simply: Princess Y/N of the Northern Water Tribe.

And the photo…

There she was. In full color. Radiant in a way he hadn’t expected. Not posed. Not calculated. Not seductive. Just… warm.

The way she clung to her brother. The genuine laugh. The wind teasing her hair. The grace in her smile. The cold in her cheeks. Her eyes, so deep they looked like they held the whole sea.

And she was calling him her favorite person.

Jungkook’s thumb hovered over the like button. He didn’t press it.

He stared at the photo longer than he meant to.

This is just research, he told himself. She’s an enemy nation’s heir. I should know more. It’s strategic curiosity.

But his heart thudded louder in his chest.

And the only thing burning inside him… was the truth.

--------------

The sun was high as the students walked the gardens of the Academy, gravel paths winding through meticulously arranged flora from every elemental nation. Minho had chosen the Earth Pavilion as their resting spot, lush with mossy stone benches and shaded by towering trees with twisting trunks.

Y/N sat gracefully beneath the largest tree, sipping warm tea despite the summer heat. Her posture was perfect. Regal, without effort. Around her, a few students chatted quietly, but Minho leaned in, clearly curious.

“Can I ask you something?” he said gently, eyes kind and cautious.

Y/N tilted her head. “Of course.”

“How do you feel… about the Fire Nation?”

The question made a few heads turn. The group hushed just slightly, enough to feel the weight of silence. Even Jungkook, who had been walking past behind a hedge of flame lilies, froze in place—unseen but very much listening.

Y/N didn’t flinch.

She took a breath, let the breeze comb through her white-blonde hair, and looked Minho straight in the eyes.

“I think history is important,” she said. “It should never be forgotten—what happened between our nations. The war was horrific. My great-grandparents lost their lives in it.”

Minho nodded solemnly. So did several others.

“But,” she continued, “I also think hatred is a poison. One that gets passed down if we’re not careful.”

Jungkook’s brows lifted, his chest going still.

Y/N pressed her cup into the grass beside her, voice calm but sincere.

“The war ended long before we were born. Generations have passed. And honestly? I’m tired of the narrative. I don't want to spend my life hating people I’ve never met based on things they didn’t do. That helps no one.”

A few students looked at each other, thoughtful. Minho seemed visibly moved.

“I believe both our nations have a lot to offer each other,” Y/N added. “The Fire Nation’s innovation, drive, and strength—combined with the Water Tribe’s patience, healing, and connection to nature… we could be powerfultogether.”

A beat.

“And I know not everyone feels the same. But… I don’t want to keep telling the same story of hate. I want to write a new one.”

From behind the hedges, Jungkook stared at the ground.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, his heart caught somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t even sure why he cared so much—why hearing her say it made something twist in his chest like a flame curling inward.

Maybe because… he agreed. Deep down, he always had.

But growing up in the Fire Nation, you weren’t allowed to say that out loud.

He’d learned about the war in school like it was a legacy. He'd heard whispers at home about what the Water Tribe took from them. Was taught that peace was a fragile tolerance, not a genuine future.

But now…

Here was the princess of that tribe. His supposed enemy. Saying everything he’d always secretly hoped.

And it didn’t make him angry.

It made him… ache.

Later that afternoon, during weapons demonstrations in the training field, Y/N was standing alone, tying her hair up into a high knot. The wind swept past her face, pulling stray strands from her braid, sunlight catching the delicate blue shimmer of her robe.

Jungkook approached from the opposite side, not planning to talk to her—but his eyes flicked up on instinct.

She looked at him briefly. Not with challenge. Not with disdain. Just… acknowledgment.

Jungkook, usually armed with a smirk, had nothing.

No comeback.

No insult.

He simply gave a nod.

A small one.

And Y/N, after a pause, returned it.

Like maybe… just maybe… they could be on the same side of history someday.

-------------

The halls of the Academy were still half asleep—bathed in pale morning light, with shadows stretched long across the polished floors. Most students wouldn’t rise for another hour. But Jungkook was already out, muscles aching from his morning lift, hair dripping sweat as he jogged shirtless through the west corridor, earbuds in but music long since paused.

It wasn’t like he meant to look for her.

But when he passed the meditation garden and saw the empty stone bench—her bench—he slowed. Eyes scanning the spot as if her absence disrupted some delicate balance in his morning. A frown tugged at his brow.

Weird.

Y/N was never late. She moved like clockwork.

He kept jogging, rounding a quiet corner—only to stop short when he spotted her. Pacing frantically down the hall in a soft robe, eyes wide and filled with panic, hair loose around her shoulders.

Even breathless and flushed, she looked like royalty.

“Lost something?” he called, trying to sound casual, but his heart kicked a little harder when she startled and looked up at him.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah—I… I lost my ring.”

Jungkook blinked. “Your… ring?”

She nodded, clearly distressed. “I took it off for meditation last night, and now I can’t find it. It was a gift. A really important one.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

There was only one ring he’d seen on her finger lately—thin, silver, engraved delicately. The one he’d Googled two nights ago while still hard and spiraling. A purity ring.

He forced a shrug. “Tough break,” he said, then jogged past her without another word.

But his chest was tight.

And when he turned the next hallway and caught a glint of silver against the floor by a water fountain, he paused.

The ring sat in a pool of light, small and innocent—mocking him with everything it symbolized.

She really meant it, he thought, scooping it up. She’s untouched.

Jungkook let out a frustrated breath, closing his hand around the metal. He stood there for a long second, debating if he should just leave it on a ledge or pretend he hadn’t seen it at all.

Instead… he turned back.

Y/N was still searching the base of a wall when Jungkook returned, quiet footsteps padding behind her. She straightened when she noticed him, eyes narrowing.

“You come back to mock me?” she muttered.

“Relax, your highness,” he said dryly. “I found it.”

He extended his hand and dropped the ring into her palm, watching the immediate relief wash over her face.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Thank you. Seriously, I—thank you.”

Her fingers curled around it like it was sacred.

But as she looked up to thank him again, her breath caught.

Jungkook was close. Too close. His chest bare and sweat-slicked, his necklace bouncing lightly against his sternum. His hair dark and damp, falling over his forehead. And now that she was really looking—really looking—she realized how tall he was compared to her. How… broad.

Jungkook didn’t miss the flicker in her eyes.

He tilted his head, lips curving slow. “You okay, princess?”

She blinked fast, like she’d caught herself staring. “Fine,” she said quickly. “Totally fine.”

His smirk widened.

“What’s this ring about anyway?” he asked, glancing pointedly at her fist. “Some kind of magical protection spell?”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s… none of your business.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, leaning down slightly—his breath hot against her ear. “You can trust me with a dirty little secret.”

Y/N gasped and shoved at his chest, eyes wide. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m honest.”

She spun on her heel, walking away fast, flustered. Jungkook watched her go, grinning like a devil.

Finally. She’s not made of ice after all.

Far down the hall, Y/N slowed, heart pounding. The ring was cold in her hand, but her skin? Her skin was burning.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her neck where heat lingered, trailing all the way down her spine to—

She didn’t even want to think about it.

Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t even stress.

It was her.

The image of her flushed face, the way her hand had closed around that damned ring, how she’d looked up at him—small, breathless, affected—kept replaying in his head like a loop designed to torment him.

He hated how much power that moment had over him. How her wide eyes had stayed with him long after she’d stormed off. He told himself it was just curiosity. Biological. Hormonal.

Not attraction.

Definitely not that.

But as he lay awake, the darkness of his dorm room wrapping around him, Jungkook’s thoughts turned filthy in ways he didn’t know he was capable of when it came to her.

The bratty little princess.

So perfect. So untouchable. So damn righteous.

He wondered how long she could keep that attitude if he had her underneath him, hands pinning hers, his mouth finally shutting her up. Would she keep talking back if he pushed her to the edge again and again? If he found that sweet, untouched spot between her thighs and -

Jungkook sat up and cursed, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He needed a distraction. Fast.

----------------

The Academy held mandatory cultural nights once a week, where students from all four nations were expected to attend a viewing or lecture that explored different facets of the post-war alliance.

Tonight was a historical dramatization.

A war-era film between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe, one that depicted the gruesome realities of the past—and eventually, the fragile peace born between a prince and a captured healer. It was tense, political, and deeply romantic.

And then... the sex scene happened.

Not crude or explicit, but sensual enough to draw awkward coughs and shuffles from the younger students. On-screen, the prince pressed kisses along the healer’s neck, whispering confessions against her skin, fingers trembling as they undressed one another in soft candlelight.

Jungkook didn’t react.

At least—not outwardly.

But the moment he turned his head slightly and saw her, everything changed.

Y/N sat a few seats over, eyes fixed downward at her lap. She wasn’t watching. Her jaw was tight, ring spinning nervously on her finger, her cheeks visibly red even in the dim light of the auditorium.

She looked like she wanted to disappear.

And Jungkook? He could barely look away.

Oh, princess. You’ve never even been touched, have you?

His thoughts took a dark turn—sinking lower, hotter.

He wondered how long it would take for her to start panting under him. If she’d sob from being overwhelmed or try to act composed even when her body betrayed her. What sounds she’d make if he kissed down her stomach and told her to open her legs.

Would she be shy?

Or would the brat in her fight it—make him earn every reaction until he completely ruined her for anyone else?

Jungkook clenched his fists in his lap, nails digging into his palm.

Get it together. he hissed internally. She’s not yours. She’s not even someone you like.

But it didn’t stop the ache.

Or the jealousy that crept in, uninvited.

Because someday… she would marry. Someone her rank. Someone clean and regal, with boring, practiced hands and a pristine family tree. Someone worthy of royal heirs.

And that man—whoever he was—would get to see her. All of her. Would get to pull off those long layers of silk and find out what was underneath.

Jungkook swallowed hard and looked back at the screen.

But his mind was no longer on the war.

-----------

The thing about your enemies is that you know them better than your friends.

You study them. Watch them. Understand their patterns. Their tells. Their habits.

Jungkook knew Y/N.

He knew that she tied her hair differently depending on how much sleep she got. That she added exactly two drops of honey to her tea, even when no one else was looking. That her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve seam of her robe when she was nervous. And that—despite her poise—she hated being the center of attention.

So when lunchtime arrived, and he heard her ask for the fish, Jungkook didn’t expect her reaction when the kitchen worker gave her an apologetic smile.

“We’re all out of fish, Princess. Only the beef remains.”

She blinked once, then smiled politely. “No worries. Beef is perfectly fine.”

Except it wasn’t.

He watched her carry her tray like it weighed a hundred pounds. Watched her sit down three tables away, smile at Minho who said something, and take her first bite of vegetables with the same grace she did everything else.

But she didn’t touch the meat.

Not once.

Jungkook stared at his own plate—the flakey grilled fish, seasoned perfectly, steaming gently beside his rice. He wasn’t even that hungry.

He glanced at her again. Her fork glided around the meat like it wasn’t even there, never once piercing the beef.

If he remembered correctly from his cultural studies as a kid, the Water Tribe’s traditional diet didn’t include red meat. Not because they were opposed to it, but because they simply lived off the sea.

Fish. Shellfish. Seaweed. Broth.

His jaw clenched.

Just eat, he told himself, stabbing the fish without looking at it.

But he couldn’t.

His stomach turned. His fork stayed still.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked, nudging him gently. “You’ve barely touched your lunch.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook muttered.

Jimin followed his gaze and immediately picked up on it. Without a word, he stood up, walking calmly across the cafeteria.

“Princess Y/N,” he said with a gentle bow. “Would you allow me to trade meals with you?”

Y/N looked up, caught off guard. “What? Oh—no, that’s really not necessary. I don’t mind at all.”

“But I do,” Jimin said kindly. “You’re not eating. Please. Take the fish.”

She blinked, then softened. “Well… thank you. That’s very kind.”

They switched plates.

She smiled, quietly grateful, and Jimin returned to the table with the beef.

Jungkook stabbed a piece of rice and shoved it in his mouth like it had personally offended him.

“You could’ve just offered,” Jimin said, not unkindly, as he sat down.

“I didn’t notice,” Jungkook lied.

Jimin gave him a look like you’re full of shit, but said nothing else.

Across the room, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She took a bite of the fish and closed her eyes for a brief second—just enough to let Jungkook know it mattered. That she really wanted it. That she’d almost endured a whole meal pretending she didn’t.

He looked down at his plate again.

Why did it bother him so much?

Not just that she hadn’t eaten.

But that he’d known—really known—and hadn’t done a damn thing about it.

He told himself it wasn’t about her. That it didn’t mean anything.

But somewhere deep in his chest, a little voice whispered:

You want to be the one who notices her. Before anyone else.

And that scared the hell out of him.

---------

The dorm room was dim, curtains drawn, the only sound the dull ticking of the clock on the wall. Jungkook sat at the edge of his bed, hands cradling his face, elbows on his knees, breath slow and heavy. His chest ached—not with pain, but with pressure. The kind that built from years of expectations. Years of pretending.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung’s voice was quiet, careful. “You okay, man?”

Jungkook didn’t look up.

A beat passed before Taehyung walked in fully, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and leaned against the wall, arms folded, studying his best friend with a furrowed brow.

“What happened?”

Another long pause.

Then Jungkook exhaled and dropped his hands, finally raising his head. His eyes were tired.

“…What do you think of the Water Tribe?” he asked.

Taehyung tilted his head. “That’s out of nowhere.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

“I’m serious.”

Taehyung’s face softened. “Honestly? I think the war was a tragedy. But it’s history. We should move forward.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, staring at the floor. “But I’m not just anyone, Taehyung. I’m the prince. Everything I say or feel… means something. It represents something.”

Taehyung stepped closer. “Maybe. But it also means you have the power to change things.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

Taehyung sat beside him on the bed, letting the silence sit for a moment.

“…This isn’t really about the Water Tribe, is it?” Taehyung asked gently.

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. He didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Taehyung smiled faintly. “It’s okay to not feel hatred, Jungkook. Even if you were taught to. Even if it’s what your father expects.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I know. But you’re not your father.” Taehyung leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “He might be king now. But one day… you’ll be the one on that throne.”

Jungkook swallowed hard.

“And when that day comes,” Taehyung continued, “you’ll have to make choices for your people, not his ghosts. Not his grudges. You think the weight of that makes you less human, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes your feelings more important.”

Jungkook sat back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I don’t want to hate her,” he admitted quietly. “But it feels wrong not to.”

Taehyung looked at him. “Y/N?”

Jungkook nodded once.

“She’s smart. Honest. Kind to people who don’t deserve it. She drives me insane,” he added, almost bitterly. “And I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Taehyung grinned softly. “Sounds like trouble.”

Jungkook laughed under his breath, finally.

“She’s not what I thought she’d be,” he said. “None of this is.”

Taehyung nudged his shoulder. “Then maybe… you’re not what you thought you’d be either.”

Jungkook looked over at him, blinking.

“It’s okay to be curious, Jungkook,” Taehyung said. “It’s okay to be wrong. To change. To feel something that doesn’t fit into a speech your father would’ve approved.”

Jungkook let out a long breath.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Anytime,” Taehyung said, standing up. “Also—if you do end up falling for her? At least make it interesting. Keep the drama level royal.”

Jungkook groaned, tossing a pillow at him as Taehyung laughed and ducked out of the room.

But long after he was gone, Jungkook stayed where he was.

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering if the future he’d been raised for could somehow make room for the girl he wasn’t supposed to want.

---------------

The forest air was crisp, the canopy above casting golden dappled light onto the trail. Laughter echoed through the trees—Y/N and Jimin walking ahead, chatting easily, their steps light over the uneven ground. Behind them, Jungkook and Taehyung followed at a more relaxed pace, the latter sipping from a water bottle while Jungkook stayed mostly quiet, his eyes trailing up ahead.

He wasn’t eavesdropping.

He was watching.

Not that it mattered.

The conversation was harmless—Jimin cracking jokes, Y/N grinning, her eyes shining. Still, something gnawed at Jungkook’s stomach like a dull burn.

Then he saw it—Y/N’s foot catching on an exposed root, her balance tipping precariously. Before he could think, his body moved.

“Careful—” Jungkook muttered, stepping forward and grabbing her by the arm.

His hand caught her just in time, steadying her before she could fall. But in doing so, the back of his knuckles scraped harshly against a rough strip of bark on a nearby tree.

“Ah—damn,” he hissed softly, retracting his hand.

Y/N turned quickly. “Oh—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, more brusquely than intended.

Still, her hand lingered on his arm for a second longer before she gently pulled away, murmuring, “Thanks.”

Back at the academy grounds, the sun had dipped lower, golden hour stretching long shadows across the marble courtyards. Students filtered indoors for dinner or study, but Jungkook sat alone on the low stone wall near the meditation garden—her spot. His legs were stretched out lazily, one hand scrolling on his phone, the other resting palm-up, scraped and reddened.

He didn’t notice her until she was standing in front of him.

Y/N.

Arms folded. Unreadable expression.

He blinked up at her.

“What?” he asked, setting his phone down.

“I was going to walk by,” she said, “but then I remembered you saved me from face-planting into the forest floor.”

Jungkook smirked. “That would’ve been entertaining.”

She rolled her eyes, but her gaze dropped to his injured hand.

“Let me see it.”

He hesitated, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m being nice, and you’re making it really hard.”

Jungkook scoffed, but slowly offered her his hand, watching as she knelt beside the fountain. With a wave of her fingers, water lifted gracefully into the air, suspended in a rippling orb. Her other hand took his—cool and light—and gently wrapped around his fingers.

Jungkook’s usual snark froze on his tongue.

Her hands were warm. Steady. Confident.

The water shimmered between their palms, glowing faintly as it touched his scraped knuckles. It tingled—not painful, but soothing, like warm sun after a chill.

And then—

It was gone.

The sting. The cut. The blood.

Completely healed.

Jungkook stared down at his now perfect skin, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“I thought that kind of healing was a myth,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to her.

Y/N stood, brushing off her skirt, a small satisfied smile on her lips. “My grandmother was a master healer. I was taught by the best.”

She turned on her heel.

Jungkook stared after her, completely thrown off his usual axis.

“Wait—” he called, suddenly.

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Hm?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“…Thanks.”

Her smile deepened. “Don’t mention it, Your Highness.”

And then she disappeared down the path, her presence leaving behind the faint scent of water lilies and peppermint.

Jungkook looked down at his hand again, still half-expecting the cuts to return.

But they didn’t.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

“…She’s going to be the end of me.”

Y/N shut the door to her dorm room quietly, the click of the latch echoing in the stillness. The light from the hallway slipped away, leaving only the soft glow of the moon filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She leaned against the wood, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling a little too fast.

She couldn't stop seeing him.

That moment by the fountain, the way his skin warmed under her hands. The way he looked at her—reallylooked at her—as if he’d never been touched like that before. His expression had been somewhere between awe and curiosity… and something darker. Something she shouldn't be thinking about.

But gods, was he beautiful.

Y/N exhaled shakily and crossed to her bed, slipping out of her outer robes, folding them neatly even as her mind wandered.

His eyes—sharp and cutting but deep, always watching her like he was trying to figure her out. The tension in his jaw when he was annoyed, the smirk when he teased her. The muscles in his arms, the ink-black hair damp and curling against his forehead after training. The sheer height of him towering over her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.

She never used to notice things like that. She was supposed to be composed. Dignified. Pure.

And yet…

As she curled up beneath the covers, her fingers drifted down her stomach on their own. Hesitating. Remembering the exact sound of his voice when he’d leaned down and whispered—

“You can trust me with a dirty secret.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t supposed to think of him like this. Wasn’t supposed to feel this ache in her belly, this restless longing that settled deep between her thighs. But when her fingers brushed lightly against her clothed center, she gasped, her body arching just slightly off the bed.

Her other hand pressed to her lips, silencing her moan.

It’s just me, she told herself. Just relieving pressure. Just a release. Not about him.

But her body knew better.

She imagined the weight of Jungkook’s body above her, his voice low and rough in her ear. His hands sliding down her hips, those perfect lips on her throat, the scent of sweat and cedarwood thick in the air. His voice in her mind—so bratty today, Princess. Maybe I should shut you up.

Y/N whimpered, her fingers moving slowly now, teasing herself the way she imagined he might. Rough at first, then gentle. Her body trembled under her touch, thighs tightening as the pleasure built, as heat twisted tighter and tighter through her limbs. She was close—too close—and her breath grew ragged.

“Jungkook…” she whispered before she could stop it.

She came with a soft cry, legs shaking, chest heaving.

And then—

Silence.

Shame bloomed quickly. She rolled over, pulling the covers up to her chin, heart still racing.

What the hell was happening to her?

Why was it him she thought of, when she shouldn’t even like him?

Y/N closed her eyes tightly.

He’s the fire nation prince. Your supposed enemy. A cocky, annoying, arrogant menace.

But even that couldn’t stop the traitorous smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Because Jungkook had also been gentle.

Thoughtful.

And worst of all—he made her feel something.

------------

Jungkook stared at his communicator for a long time before finally pressing the call button.

It was late—too late for most students to be awake—but his father would be expecting one of his check-ins. This time, it wasn’t about grades or how well he was fitting in at the academy.

When his father’s face appeared, regal in his robes, framed by the golden lighting of the palace, Jungkook straightened unconsciously.

“Father,” he said, voice a bit tight.

“Jungkook,” the king replied. “You’re calling late. Is something wrong?”

Jungkook hesitated. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about. Something that’s… been bothering me.”

A beat of silence passed.

“I’ve been taught my whole life to hate the Water Tribe,” Jungkook continued, keeping his gaze steady. “To see them as lesser. As enemies. But ever since I came to this school… it’s not like that. The students here, they’re not my enemies. Most of them don’t even care about what happened generations ago.”

His father’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not with anger. More like calculation. “Go on.”

Jungkook swallowed. “I don’t think I believe what I was taught anymore. I mean… how can I hate people I don’t even know? People who haven’t done anything wrong? The war ended decades ago.”

The king let out a low sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like your mother.”

Jungkook blinked.

His father looked away for a moment. “I didn’t always hate the Water Tribe either. But my father—your grandfather—he was filled with rage. He watched friends die in the war. He lost his brother. So I was raised on that anger. I inherited it without ever questioning if it was truly mine.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “So you don’t hate them?”

“I suppose I don’t,” the king admitted reluctantly. “Not personally. But you must understand, diplomacy is complicated. The Water Tribe may seem friendly now, but politics change in an instant. Trust the wrong person and it could cost your nation dearly.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. He knew what his father was really warning him about.

“The people might not like it,” the king went on. “If you’re seen growing close to someone from that side—especially someone of status—there’ll be whispers. Some might even call you a traitor.”

Jungkook looked down for a moment, thumb brushing the edge of the communicator. Y/N would never use me.He didn’t say it aloud. Not yet.

“I just think… maybe people have moved on more than we give them credit for,” Jungkook said instead. “And maybe the problem isn’t them. Maybe it’s us. If we don’t show forgiveness, how can we expect them to?”

His father’s expression shifted—tired, worn. “You’re still young. Idealistic.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

The king didn’t answer for a moment. Then he sighed again and said, “For now, just focus on school. Learn what you need. Make allies. The world outside will be waiting when you’re ready.”

Jungkook nodded, but in his heart, something had already shifted. His father’s words were permission, in their own quiet, reserved way.

When the call ended, Jungkook leaned back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of Y/N’s smile, the warmth of her hands wrapped around his, the conviction in her voice when she spoke of peace.

He wasn’t just imagining it anymore.

And now that he had a sliver of his father’s blessing—however cautious—it felt even harder to resist where his heart was leading him.

------------

The house was packed, the bass from the music vibrating through the wooden floorboards. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, and the warmth of so many bodies, drinks, and laughter made the place feel almost alive. One of the rich students rented an off campus house for a huge party.

Amara hooked her arm through Y/N’s and practically dragged her inside. “Tonight’s the night.”

Y/N gave her a skeptical glance. “What night?”

“The night you find a cute boy to obsess over for at least two weeks,” Amara declared. “Your aura is too serious. We’re fixing it. Immediately.”

Y/N blushed, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Nope. I’m just trying to save you from dying of repression.”

They made their way inside, the room buzzing with activity. On the couch, Jungkook lounged beside Taehyung, beer bottle in one hand, phone in the other, looking devastatingly good in black. His eyes were low-lidded, distracted, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he scrolled. Y/N didn’t see him.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called. She turned to find Minho—a fellow student with kind eyes and a lopsided grin. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Glad you made it. Want to grab a drink with me?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure, I’m parched.”

He walked with her to the kitchen, chatting easily about classes and their upcoming practicals. She laughed a few times, especially when he admitted to flubbing his latest firebending exercise so badly that he singed off half his eyebrows.

Y/N scanned the table full of drinks and grabbed a can with strawberries on it, popping it open. “This looks harmless.”

Minho smiled but didn’t say anything.

They rejoined the party for a bit, dancing lightly before Amara found Y/N again. “Hey” she whispered. “I’m heading out.”

Y/N blinked. “Already?”

“Yeah…” Amara smirked. A tall guy—someone from the Earth Kingdom, broad and handsome—was waiting behind her. “Don’t wait up.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “You dragged me here and now you’re ditching me for a boy?”

“You’re welcome,” Amara winked. “Minho’s cute and clearly into you.”

Y/N flushed, waving her off. “We’re just friends.”

Amara disappeared into the crowd, and minutes later Minho did too—murmuring something about needing to check on a friend, promising to come back, but never did.

Y/N stayed a bit longer, drinking more than she meant to. She wandered, looking for Amara, then for Minho, but neither was anywhere to be found.

Eventually she gave up, pulled off her heels, and slumped onto the staircase, letting out a deep, tired sigh. Her head buzzed lightly, and the house was starting to spin in slow motion.

She didn’t see Jungkook until he sat down beside her, the heat of his body instantly noticeable.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, not looking up.

“You’re drunk,” he replied, glancing at the can in her hand. “That has alcohol in it.”

“No it doesn’t. It has strawberries.”

He let out a low laugh. “Right. Because strawberries mean safe.”

She pouted. “It tastes like juice.”

He handed her his water. “Drink this instead.”

She accepted it without question, and for a moment, they sat in silence. Then:

“Why do you care?”

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Why do you care what I’m drinking? Or if Minho’s into me?”

“I don’t,” he snapped too quickly.

“You clearly do.”

“Forget it,” he muttered, getting up. “Just make sure Taehyung gets you back to the school safely.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The next morning, Jungkook didn’t eat. He barely looked up from his tray.

But when he saw Amara laughing outside with a group of girls, he stood up and made a beeline toward her.

“Hey,” he said sharply. “Got a second?”

Amara looked startled but followed him away from the crowd.

He didn’t sugarcoat it. “You left Y/N last night.”

“I—what?”

“She was tipsy. Alone. Sitting on the stairs barefoot. You were supposed to be with her.”

Amara looked immediately guilty. “I didn’t know she was still there. I… I left with someone.”

“Yeah, I figured that out.”

“I thought she was with Minho,” she tried, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Minho ditched her too.”

Amara’s face dropped. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Then don’t let it happen again,” he said, low and pointed. “She’s not just some girl you can forget about when something better walks by.”

Amara looked genuinely remorseful now. “I’m sorry.”

He turned without another word.

-------------

The sun had barely risen when Jimin collapsed on the grass beside Jungkook and Taehyung, stretching after morning drills.

"Alright," Jimin said between breaths, grinning. "Spill. Did you hook up with anyone at the party?"

Jungkook didn't even look up from his water bottle. "No."

Taehyung smirked, tossing a pebble between his fingers. “He hasn’t hooked up with anyone in a while, actually.”

Jungkook shot him a look, but Taehyung only raised a brow, silently daring him to deny it.

Jimin let out a quiet, knowing hum. “Ah.”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “What.”

“Nothing,” Jimin said, lips twitching. “Just... explains a lot.”

Taehyung snorted, not even trying to hide the amused glance he threw Jungkook’s way.

Later that day, Jungkook found Y/N in the garden path near the training courts, alone, running her fingers along a line of frost forming on a tree root. She hadn’t noticed him approach, but when she turned and caught his eye, her smile dropped.

He got straight to the point. “You need to be more careful with what you drink. Especially as a princess.”

Y/N blinked. “Excuse me?”

“At the party,” he clarified. “You didn’t even know it had alcohol in it.”

She crossed her arms. “So what? It was one drink. I was fine.”

“You’re the princess of the Water Tribe,” he said tightly. “You can’t afford to be careless.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“Then stop acting like one,” he snapped.

Her mouth fell open slightly. “You’ve got some nerve,” she muttered, stepping closer. “One minute you’re being sweet, giving me water, checking on me. The next, you’re lecturing me and acting like I’m some burden. Which one is the real you, huh?”

Jungkook scoffed and turned to leave.

“Don’t walk away from me,” she snapped, grabbing his wrist.

His breath caught slightly at the contact. He turned halfway back toward her, jaw clenched.

“Why do you care so much?” she demanded, searching his face. “Is this just some power trip? Do you feel responsible? Or is it something else?”

He stared at her for a long second. Then he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if annoyed at himself.

“You’re the most inconvenient person in the whole damn world for me to fall for.”

Y/N’s hand dropped from his.

“What?”

Jungkook took a step closer. His voice was low but steady, eyes burning into hers.

“Princess of the Water Tribe. Me, prince of the Fire Nation. We were raised to stay away from each other. To see each other as rivals, enemies even. And yet—here you are.”

Her lips parted, eyes wide.

He chuckled bitterly. “But the universe loves irony, doesn’t it?”

Without giving her time to respond, he walked past her, leaving her stunned—alone in the garden with her heartbeat thundering in her ears and a truth she wasn’t ready to face.

-----------------

The sun was high when the class arrived at the local fruit farm. Woven baskets were handed out, and the students were split into groups to learn about sustainable agriculture. Laughter filled the warm air, the scent of ripe strawberries and apples hanging sweet and thick in the breeze.

“Princess,” Minho said, appearing at Y/N’s side with a charming grin. “Would you like to pair up for the cherries?”

Y/N smiled politely. “Sure.”

They wandered off toward the orchard, the soft rustling of the trees muffling their conversation. Jungkook watched them go with a furrowed brow, his hand tightening around the basket handle. Taehyung elbowed him.

“She’s allowed to pick cherries with someone,” he said under his breath.

Jungkook said nothing.

Twenty minutes later, Y/N returned alone. Her braid was looser than before, her lips pressed in a thin line. Jimin noticed instantly.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in front of her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

But she wasn’t. Her usual spark was gone, her fingers nervously twisting her sleeve. She barely spoke for the rest of the trip, hovering near Jimin but not really present.

Jungkook kept glancing over, unsettled by her quietness, by the way Minho had returned looking just as frustrated and sour.

Later, near the truck loading area, Jungkook overheard Minho talking to one of the other boys, voice too loud to ignore.

“I don’t get it,” Minho muttered. “I tried kissing her, and she flinched back like I hit her or something. Told me she wasn’t ready—please. She’s playing hard to get. She’s been all over me for days.”

Jungkook’s blood went cold.

“She’s just messing with me,” Minho continued. “Acting like a princess—”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

Minho froze as Jungkook stepped into view, eyes burning.

“She’s not playing with you. She said she wasn’t ready, and that’s where it ends. If you had any brain cells left, you'd take that seriously.”

Minho scoffed. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you—”

Jungkook stepped closer, voice low and lethal.

“I’m telling you to fuck off and never speak to her again.”

Minho raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, man. Chill.”

Jungkook turned on his heel, seething. But as he stepped away, he stopped cold.

Y/N was there.

Standing just behind the truck crates, a half-full basket of blueberries in her hands. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But her eyes—wide, stunned, glassy—said she’d heard everything.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then she turned and walked quickly toward the others.

Jungkook didn't follow.

He wanted to. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

----------------

The lake was hidden deep within the forest, surrounded by tall pines and warm sunlight breaking through the branches. The water glimmered like glass, still and quiet—inviting.

Students rushed in, splashing and laughing, but Y/N moved with ease and grace, gliding into the water like she belonged to it. Because she did.

She floated on her back, eyes closed, skin glowing under the sun, completely at peace. The lake wrapped around her like it knew her name. The way the water cradled her body, how her hair spread like a halo—it was art. Untouchable. Sacred.

Jungkook sat on the ledge just above the shoreline, swim trunks low on his hips, legs spread and arms propped behind him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His dark eyes were locked on her—unblinking.

He never liked swimming much. It made him feel unstable, like the ground could be pulled out from under him at any second. But sitting here, watching her command the water without even trying? That was something else entirely.

He tilted his head slightly, resting his jaw against his knuckles, still staring. Drinking her in.

Y/N felt it—eyes on her.

Her brows drew slightly, lashes fluttering open as her body remained still, barely breaking the surface. She slowly dipped herself below the water, eyes scanning just above the surface like a panther.

Then she saw him.

Perched on the rock like a flame in the shadows, not even pretending to look away.

Their eyes locked.

Neither of them moved. The lake. The air. The whole forest seemed to still with the quiet force of the tension stretching between them.

Jungkook’s stare was intense, unreadable. Y/N’s brows rose, silently challenging him to blink first.

He didn’t.

A distant voice broke the moment like a knife— “WATER FIGHT!!”

Screams and splashes erupted across the lake. Y/N rolled her eyes and stood, slowly walking toward the shore. The water clung to her body, droplets sliding down her thighs, her one-piece hugging every curve like it was painted on.

Jungkook didn’t even try to hide it now—his eyes dragged from the dip of her waist to the slope of her collarbone, to the water glistening between her thighs.

She caught him.

Y/N turned to face him fully, hands on her hips.

“You’re still looking,” she said with a small, breathless laugh.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. “I’m not hiding it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re practically undressing me with your eyes.”

He smirked, leaning back even further. “Then maybe you shouldn’t look so good wet.”

Y/N’s heart kicked against her ribs.

She rolled her eyes and turned, but she was smiling.

And Jungkook—he couldn’t stop.

-------------

It was still dark when Y/N stepped into the corridor. The halls were quiet, the world outside still sleeping. She had hoped for a moment of peace, maybe clarity.

Instead, she found Jungkook.

He leaned against the wall near the end of the hallway, arms crossed, bathed in pale moonlight, as if waiting for her.

“You’re up early,” she said softly.

“I could say the same to you,” he replied, voice low and unreadable.

She hesitated. Something was off in the air. Thicker. Heavier.

“Can’t sleep?”

Jungkook pushed off the wall and walked toward her. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Why?”

“Because you’re… challenging everything I’ve ever known. Everything I was taught.” His voice was quiet, raw. “They said we were supposed to hate each other. But you—”

He let out a humorless laugh, stopping just short of her. “You proved that hate is taught. And sometimes… not justified.”

Y/N looked up at him, something sparking in her chest. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, surprised.

She shook her head, voice cracking. “You walk around so confident. So sure of yourself. And I don’t know how to be around you. I don’t know what to do with myself when you look at me like I’m… like I’m not off-limits.”

Jungkook moved closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.

“You’ve got it all twisted,” he whispered. “You’re the perfect princess. Everyone loves you. You say the right things, do the right things.”

He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m the one who was never meant to be tamed.”

She backed up until her spine touched the cold wall behind her. He followed, not touching her, but caging her in with his presence alone.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice deep and teasing, “do you know what it’s like… to be selfish?”

Her throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”

His mouth brushed near her ear, breath hot. “To do something just for yourself. Something no one can control or dictate.”

She swallowed, body frozen. “Like what?”

His eyes flicked down to her lips. Then lower. Then back up.

“Like pleasuring yourself.”

She gasped.

The silence between them cracked open like a fault line. Her eyes went wide, face flushing. She opened her mouth to object but couldn’t form words.

Jungkook smirked slowly, predator-like. “You’ve done it, haven’t you? Touched yourself thinking about something… forbidden?”

Y/N pushed him hard in the chest, scandalized. “That’s highly inappropriate.”

“Relax,” he said casually, catching her wrist before she could walk away. “Everyone does it. Maybe if you did it more, you wouldn’t always look like you're one second from bursting into tears.”

Her mouth fell open, offended, her hand lifting for a slap—

But Jungkook caught it mid-air.

In one fluid move, he twisted her wrist gently and turned her, pressing her front to the wall, his body hovering behind hers, not quite touching—but close enough that her breath stuttered.

He leaned in, lips by her ear. “Nice try.”

His fingers trailed to her hand, his thumb brushing over the ring she always wore.

“I know what this is,” he murmured, examining the crest. “You wear it like a shield. Like I’m not supposed to react.”

He smirked, voice dropping into something that made her knees weak.

“But I see it. I see you. The royal family didn’t consider one thing…”

His breath tickled her skin.

“That the perfect princess might have forbidden dreams. Dreams about what it would feel like to be wrecked—by the right man.”

Y/N gasped, struggling in his hold, breathless. “Let me go—”

He released her instantly, stepping back with infuriating calm.

Her body was trembling, her heart racing so loud it echoed in her ears.

Jungkook’s voice was soft now, but sharp like flint. “You can keep pretending, princess. But we both know what’s underneath that crown.”

And then he walked away, leaving her flushed, stunned, and furious—mostly at herself.

------------

Jungkook stirred softly under the duvet, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your back was flush against his chest. He buried his nose in your hair, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck with a sleepy sigh, not ready to wake up yet.

You gently pushed his shoulder until he rolled onto his back then turned to face him properly. Jungkook blinked awake slowly and turned his head, his gaze fell onto yours and the sight of you already watching him with that sweet look in your eyes, hair messy from sleep made him smile.

"Morning," he mumbled and without thinking, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

You scrunched your nose, pushing Jungkook’s face away with your palm "What was that for?"

Jungkook kissed you so naturally like it was the easiest thing in the world. You knew he hooked up with other girls casually but you wondered: Was he like this with every girl? Did he always wake up and kiss them without thinking? Call them pretty? Ask them to stay the night?

He hooked up with Jihyo. You may have heard that they were seen leaving the club together last week, and the Jihoon mess at the party proved it. Whatever, it’s not like you wanted Jungkook to be your boyfriend… not really. 

This arrangement worked for you but a tiny part of you hated how much you cared about that.

Jungkook blinked, a little dazed from the kiss.  "Because I wanted to," he said simply. Then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Real cute," you muttered sarcastically before sitting up fully, the sheets pooling around your waist.

The bed creaked as you swung your legs over the side, heading toward his dresser to find something to wear for breakfast.

Jungkook’s gaze trailed after you, he propped himself up on his elbows, watching you slip on one of his old t-shirts. 

"I love this view."  

You shot him a look over your shoulder, "Shut up," you said lightly with no real bite behind your words.

Then he rolled out of bed too, he stretched his arms above his head before standing up. "Alright, alright," he chuckled. Grabbing a pair of sweats from the floor and pulling them on without bothering with underwear, they hung loosely on his hips as he padded barefoot down the hallway.

He yawned and ran a hand through his messy hair, “Pancakes for my girl,” he mumbled to himself while you cleaned up in the bathroom. The kitchen light flickered on as he entered, opening cabinets and digging out the pancake mix from behind some ramen cups. 

You emerge from the bathroom, hair tied up and you peeked into the kitchen, arms crossed.  “Can I help with anything?” 

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "You can mix this."

"You use box mix?" you asked, feigning shock. "I thought you made these from scratch."  

"Gotta keep you coming back somehow," he teased as you started stirring the batter.

"You don’t need pancakes," you teased, "You just like having an excuse to see me in your kitchen."  

You both knew the sex was really good, but Jungkook also genuinely believed that you kept coming back because of moments like these, the quiet domesticity of having  breakfast together.

He liked making you food, he liked seeing you in his kitchen at 9AM, hair up and wearing his clothes. It felt good. It wasn’t just your guys hooking up anymore (not to him at least).  

He poured the batter into the hot pan. "Yeah, and?” he flipped a pancake with ease and shot you a grin, "I like seeing you in my space." 

Jungkook turned fully toward you, he closed the distance between you, his face just inches from yours. "But I like being in your personal space even more," 

His eyes flicked to your lips for a split second before meeting your gaze again. His head tilted slightly "You gonna let me kiss you, sweets?" he smirked; he already knew you’d say yes.

Letting the whisk slip from your fingers, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. He kissed back instantly, one hand cradling your jaw while the other pressed against your lower back to pull her closer.

This was easy, kissing him like this, wearing his clothes, maybe you should stop being so careless. Maybe it was time to stop pretending it meant nothing— but when Jungkook’s hand slid down and squeezed your ass possessively you couldn’t think straight anymore. 

Jungkook moaned into your mouth and backed you up against the kitchen counter, hands gripping your hips before lifting to set you on it. The cold surface pressed into the backs of your thighs as he stepped between your legs chasing your lips, he couldn’t get enough. 

Teeth grazing your bottom lip, fingers trailed up your thigh, under the hem of the oversized shirt you borrowed from him. He kissed down your jaw to your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive spot he knew drove you crazy.

Jungkook’s fingertips brushed against bare skin, you weren’t wearing panties? The discovery sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin. "Fuck," he muttered

"You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?" he murmured against your lips between kisses

Instead of answering, your hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly to tilt his head just right, nipping at his bottom lip before sliding your tongue into his mouth. 

Jungkook’s moan vibrated against your lips as his fingers glided up your slit. You were already wet, without breaking the kiss, he circled your clit with one finger then dipped lower to gather slickness before pressing a single finger inside. 

You gasp into the kiss as Jungkook’s finger slid in slowly. He curled his finger slightly to brush against that sweet spot inside. He watched your face, lips parted, eyes half-lidded "You feel so fucking good," he praised, thumb brushing over your clit as he added a second finger slowly. "So perfect."  

Jungkook’s fingers moved with practiced rhythm, every soft whimper from you fueled him to keep going "Look at you," he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, "Taking my fingers so well."  

His fingers were still working inside you, the wetness running down his palm as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "You’re my girl, aren’t you?" 

You should have been annoyed by the possessiveness because you heard a lot of guys say things like this to you, but today it felt different and it sent a thrill through you.

"Ngh… Jungkook," you whined, arching into his touch. That nasty wet sound of his fingers moving in and out made you lose it, hands gripping the counter edge for balance as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach.

"That’s it, baby cum on my fingers," he coaxed, gaze locked on your face watching you unravel. 

Your entire body tensed—your thighs clamping around Jungkook’s hand as your orgasm crashed over you. A breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you held onto his bicep. 

The loud beep beep beep of the smoke alarm blared through the kitchen, startling both you and Jungkook. His gaze snapped to the pan on the stove. There was smoke swirling over the pan, and the pancake was completely burned.

"Shit!" he cursed, yanking his hand away from you to rush to turn off the stove.

You burst into laughter as he flailed, frantically waving a towel over the smoke alarm. Going from making out to nearly have to put out a fire was absurd. "Can’t cook and fuck at the same time, huh?" you teased, nodding toward his disaster of a pancake. 

Jungkook shot you an offended look, tossing the ruined pancake into the trash with an exaggerated sigh. "Excuse me," he said dramatically, "Multitasking is hard when you’re this distracting."  

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the bowl of batter, "How was I being distracting?" you asked innocently, "I was helping you mix the batter."  

Jungkook pointed the spatula at you accusingly, "You were distracting with your face," he declared, "And your lips, and how you look in my shirt."  

You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up in defence, “Well you kissed me first," you shot back, "So technically… this is your fault."  

Even though your heart did this stupid little flip whenever Jungkook kissed you. Deep down, you liked his confidence, his stupid face, his hands on you and the way he looked at you.

You liked him… maybe even more than she should. 

You told yourself it was just physical attraction that you didn’t have feelings for him that's why you went out with San in the first place. 

"I asked if I could kiss you," he corrected, stepping closer, "You didn’t even let me finish talking—just grabbed my face and went for it."  

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you hopped off the counter. "I’m going to go shower," you announced, already striding toward the bathroom.

"Can I join you?" he asked, already following you down the hallway before you could even answer. 

You pressed your palm flat against Jungkook’s chest—stopping him in his tracks. "No," you said softly, "Go finish making the pancakes. I’ll be out soon."  

Jungkook didn’t argue, just nodded. He turned on his heel without another word and walked back to the kitchen, focusing on salvaging breakfast like it was his life mission.

There was something almost sweet about how eager he was to please you, the sizzle of fresh pancakes filled the kitchen as he flipped them gently, the sound of running water from the bathroom reached Jungkook’s ears and his mind instantly wandered. 

Jungkook’s gaze flickered toward that direction for a brief second, he could already see the steam fogging up the mirror, water falling off your skin… and damn, he wished you’d let him join you. 

If you’d let him join he would’ve washed your back, would’ve had you pressed against the tiles by now bent over with his hands gripping your hips. The mental image had his cock stirring—already imagining what it feels like. 

He shook his head slightly, refocusing on the pancakes before they burned again.

—

Twenty minutes later, Jungkook had plated a perfect stack of fluffy pancakes. The kitchen smelled like maple syrup and butter now. 

The water clicked off, and you stepped back into the kitchen, dressed in clothes you had left at his place weeks ago, a denim skirt that hugged your hips and was just above mid-thigh. Paired with a red top that had delicate lace detailing along the back giving a sexy, effortless look. The fabric clung in all the right places, and he couldn’t help staring as you walked into the kitchen.

"I didn’t know I left this here," you said, smoothing the fabric of the skirt.

Jungkook had definitely hidden that skirt on purpose—tucked deep in his drawer, thinking you’d never find it again. His memory flashed back to that night when you showed up past midnight, dressed in this exact outfit. 

He was so horny that he couldn't wait to take it off, so he hiked it up and fucked you right by the— he looks away and clears his throat. A grin spread across his face, his gaze dragged over you slowly taking in how good you looked.

“Coffee?” He offers, holding out the mug to you. 

“You made coffee?” You ask, not grabbing the mug right away like you usually would when he offered you some. 

“Didn’t I tell you I quit caffeine?” Your brows furrow, trying to recall if you mentioned anything to him.

Jungkook pauses, confusion flashing across his features at your words. ”Wait, you’re quitting coffee?” He asks, the mug still in his hand.  “You didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, thought I did.” You’re sure you mentioned it to someone, but now that you think about it, it must have San. “I just realized I was having too much coffee” you say, “You know working at the café and all…”

Jungkook nods, understanding where you’re coming from, working at a café meant easy access to coffee. “Yeah, I get it.” He says, an awkward smile tugging on the corners of his lips. 

“So no more coffee then?” He sets the mug down on the counter, his eyes roaming over you again. 

“I’ll have some you made, though.” You say, eyeing the mug. You knew he made it just how you liked it and you didn’t want it to go to waste. 

Jungkook’s smile widens, glad that you made an exception for the coffee he made. He pushes the mug toward you across the counter and you mumble a soft thank you

"You look really good."  He said, voice low and appreciative, reaching for his own mug to take a sip, forcing himself to focus on the coffee and not the skirt. 

You smile at his compliment and take a sip of your coffee. “Mmm, just the way I like it.”

It makes him feel a little proud that he remembered how you liked your coffee. He bets that the other guys you went out with didn't know how you likedf your coffee or made you breakfast.

He leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. "The mocha creamer is what really makes it good," he says softly, hoping you would notice.

Recognizing the taste of your favourite creamer, you say, “You got the creamer I told you about.” 

Jungkook nods, he remembered the time you mentioned the creamer you loved and he made a mental note to buy it the next time he went grocery shopping. He pushes off the counter and walks over to the fridge, opening it and grabbing the creamer

“Yeah, I got it just for you.” He says, turning around to face you while holding up the creamer bottle for emphasis. 

“Wow,” you say, “You really are obsessed with me.” You tease him, watching as the tips of his ear turn red.

Jungkook scoffs at your words, his eyes glancing at the ceiling but the flush creeping up his neck betrays his true feelings. 

“Obsessed?” He echoes, raising an eyebrow as he places the creamer back in the fridge. “I’d say I’m attentive.”

He slid the plate of pancakes toward your spot before rounding the kitchen island.  He pulled out his own chair right next to you—close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. Sitting down, he grabbed his coffee and took a sip, watching you take the first bite.

"Mmm… so good," you hummed, eyes fluttering shut for a second in bliss.

That small praise meant more to him than it probably should’ve. His lips curled into a soft smile as he watched you eat. 

"You have a game today, right? The spring fair thing." you asked between bites. 

Jungkook nodded, swirling his coffee absently. "Yeah," he confirmed, "Game’s at 3. It’s that spring fair thing—Yonsei vs. Seoul National."  

It was an exhibition match, sponsored by both schools as part of the annual spring festival. Scouts from professional teams would be in the crowd today. Not for formal evaluations, but to scout talent casually. It was their chance to see players like Jungkook up close and maybe even get noticed. 

Jungkook took a few bites of his pancakes before glancing at you "You gonna come watch the game?" he asked, licking syrup off his lip. "I need my good luck charm."  

"I have to be at work by 11," you said apologetically, "I can’t make it… I’m sorry."  

Jungkook’s smile faded just a fraction, disappointment flashing across his face before he masked it, leaning closer to you. "Well… maybe I can convince you to sneak out early," he murmured, as he brushed his thumb over your wrist.

You arched an eyebrow, playing along with his flirting but not making it easy for him. "Oh really?" you teased back, tilting your head, "And how exactly are you gonna convince me? Hm?"  

Without warning, he grabbed your chair and spun it toward him. He leaned in and captured your lips—kissing you slowly, syrup still sweet on his tongue. His hands slid up your thighs under that skirt making his intentions VERY clear.

You broke the kiss, pushing him back by his shoulders before things could escalate. "You should get ready," you said calmly, though your cheeks were flushed pink, "It’s almost 10."  

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. His eyes flicked down to your thighs that skirt riding up slightly  "Right," he muttered, standing up and grabbing his plate to wash it.

Clearing your own plate as you walked to the sink beside him, "We need to get going soon," you reminded him gently, "And you still haven’t showered."  

"Alright, I’ll go take a quick shower," he mumbled, sulking as he shuffled toward the bathroom. 

—

You both clean up before leaving his apartment. Jungkook walks beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets as you both make your way to campus. He glances at the time on his phone it was 10:15am. 

He lets out a soft sigh, knowing he’s running a little late. Normally he’s punctual, almost never late for anything—especially baseball. But this morning had been….eventful. 

He steals a glance at you, his eyes checking out your silhouette and the way your hair moves with the breeze. 

“I might get chewed out for being late,” he comments.

“Sorry, I thought pancakes would be a good idea.” You apologize, feeling guilty about making him late. 

Jungkook shakes his head. He bumps your shoulder playfully with his. “No, breakfast was delicious. Totally worth being late for.”

He can’t be mad at you for making him late. Heck, he can’t be mad at you for anything especially not when you look so good in that skirt he likes so much. 

Once you both reach campus, Jungkook glances over at you, realizing he probably won’t see you at the game later. He tries to ignore the disappointment that crawls up his chest. 

Then he remembers—the spring fair. You would probably be going to that, it was open until late. 

“Are you going to be at the fair later?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant, hoping he doesn’t sound too obvious he wants to see you there. 

"I was thinking about it," you say, toying with the ends of your hair.

It wasn't like you were going to be busy after work, so the spring fair would be fun. You didn't have any final plans with your friends yet, and you finished all your assignments on time, so technically you were going to be free.

Jungkook’s heart races at your reply. He hides it well though, keeping his expression neutral as he responds as casually as possible, “You should come.” He says, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “I heard they’re gonna have some pretty cool stuff this year.” 

"I know," you said, laughing lightly, "I’m on the planning committee. I helped pick all the games and stuff." 

You had helped pick the games, food vendors, and even designed some of the carnival booths and flyers.

"Then you have to be there," he teased, "It’s your baby." Jungkook wasn’t directly inviting but he clearly hoped you'd show.

"Maybe I will," you shrugged, "Depends if I’m up for it after work."  

Jungkook nods, trying not to sound too excited. “Cool.” He manages to say before looking away. 

He hesitates for a second and then adds, “I’ll be at the booth with the baseball team if…you know, you wanna stop by.” He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything else.

"You guys going to run the whole booth after the game?" you ask with a laugh.

Jungkook hums, confirming that the baseball team would, indeed, have a booth at the fair after the game.

 “Yeah, Coach wanted to do something fun for the community. So, it’s going to be a bottle knockdown type of game.” He explains, watching you smile. 

You think back to your bad luck tied to these kind of games and how you always end up spending more money than necessary.

"That sounds fun," you say. "But I'm not very good at carnival games.”

He shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Doesn’t matter if you’re good or not.” His voice drops to a whisper, even though no one else was around. “If you want, I could just rig it for you.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly joking. 

You giggle at his words “I’ll see if I’m up for it la—“ You’re interrupted by one of Jungkook’s teammates yelling at him from afar.

Namjoon yells just clearly enough for both of you to hear, “Hey, stop flirting and get your ass over here!” 

You take a step back from Jungkook, even though his teammates have seen you two together on multiple occasions before, you still tried to keep it friendly. 

Jungkook groans, rolling his eyes at the sound of Namjoon’s voice. He glances back to find and a few other teammates waiting impatiently by the field. “I’ll be right there!” He hollers back at them, shaking his head before turning back to you. 

“Duty calls.” He smiles apologetically, clearly annoyed by Namjoon’s timing. 

“Good luck at the game,” you wave at him before turning on your heel to head home.

"Thanks.” He waves back in return, watching you walk away. His smile fades as soon as you're out of sight. 

He turns back to the field, where his teammates are still waiting for him, their expression ranging from annoyed to amused. 

Namjoon has a knowing smile on his face as Jungkook approaches. “Took you long enough,” he quips. “Flirting with your girl on the field again?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at Namjoon’s comment, shoving his arm playfully. “Shut up,” He mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets as they start walking toward the field. “We were just talking.” 

“Yeah, ‘just talking’.” Hoseok teases, using air quotes “We can all see the heart eyes from here.” 

“She’s not my girl, alright?” He huffs, “we’re just friends.” 

Namjoon lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh? So you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out on a d—”

Before he could finish, Jungkook immediately glared at Namjoon. “Don’t even think about it.” 

He can see the rest of the team snickering at Namjoon’s comment, they knew about his situation with you.  “Whatever, man,” Namjoon says, patting him on the back. “Let’s just get started already.” 

Jungkook huffs, shaking his head following everyone else but his mind is still stuck on you, wondering if you’ll actually show up at the fair later. 

03 / 05

The walk through the park had stirred memories that were equal parts comforting and painful—memories that would forever remain frozen in the past.

As you crossed the street toward the entrance of your apartment building, you noticed your suitcases were no longer where you had left them. Someone had carefully moved them just inside the small entryway, away from the sidewalk and the lingering afternoon heat.

You paused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

It was such a small gesture, yet it filled you with an unexpected sense of warmth. You had missed this quiet consideration—the unspoken kindness people showed one another, even in the smallest of ways. No one had taken your belongings. Instead, a stranger had simply made sure they were safe until you returned.

Still lost in your thoughts, you stepped inside the apartment building, immediately welcomed by the cool air conditioning—a welcome contrast to the heavy midsummer heat waiting outside.

You rolled your suitcases across the polished floor toward the elevator. Once inside, you pressed the button for the fourth floor and watched the doors slide shut.

The building itself wasn't particularly large. Six stories, with only four apartments on each floor. It was quiet, save for the soft hum of the elevator as it climbed steadily upward.

A gentle chime announced your arrival. The doors slid open, revealing a clean, brightly lit hallway.

You wheeled your suitcases toward your apartment, stopping in front of the familiar door. The landlord had mentioned that once you had settled in, you could change the keypad code to something easier to remember. For now, the temporary code was still fresh in your mind, and so you pressed the digits just as you had memorized.

A soft beep confirmed you had entered the code correctly. The lock clicked, and the door eased open just enough for you to catch your first glimpse of the apartment beyond.

You didn't step inside. Instead, you found yourself standing there for a moment, one hand still resting on the handle.

This was it.

The place where your new life would begin.

After seven years away from the country you had always called home, you had finally found your way back.

Home.

The word settled quietly in your mind, carrying a warmth you hadn't realized you had been searching for all this time.

Taking a slow breath, you finally stepped across the threshold, quietly closing the door behind you. The soft click of the lock echoed through the apartment before fading into silence, leaving you alone with the unfamiliar space that would now become your home.

It was exactly as the pictures had shown. A modest apartment with a small entrance opening into a bright living room where the afternoon sunlight streamed through wide windows, painting long golden shapes across the wooden floor. The furniture was simple but well maintained—a gray sofa facing a low coffee table, a dining table tucked neatly beside the kitchen, and shelves that stood completely empty, waiting to be filled. Nothing about the apartment felt particularly luxurious, yet something about its simplicity immediately put you at ease.

You slipped off your shoes, instinctively placing them beside the entrance before slowly wandering through each room. The apartment still carried the faint scent of fresh paint mixed with the clean, almost sterile smell of a place that had remained unoccupied for some time. It felt unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. Rather, it reminded you that no one else's memories lingered within these walls. Whatever laughter, tears, celebrations or quiet evenings this place would one day witness had yet to happen.

The bedroom overlooked the street below, offering a clear view of the tops of the trees lining Bonghwang Park. Even from this distance, watching their branches sway gently beneath the warm summer breeze brought an unexpected sense of comfort. You found yourself lingering by the window for a few moments before quietly drawing the curtains halfway shut, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to continue spilling into the room.

Only then did you return to the living room, where your two suitcases still stood patiently in the middle of the floor. Unzipping the first one, you began placing your belongings where they belonged, hanging clothes inside the wardrobe, stacking books neatly onto the shelves and arranging the few kitchen utensils your mother had insisted you bring into cupboards that looked almost too large for the amount you owned.

The more you unpacked, the more you realized how little of your life had actually followed you back to Korea. A few changes of clothes. A laptop. Several books you had reread more times than you could count. Two mugs. A handful of personal belongings collected over the years. Once everything had been put away, half the wardrobe remained empty, while most of the shelves and cupboards still looked as though they had never been touched.

It had taken less than half an hour to unpack nearly seven years of your life.

The thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind as you folded the now-empty suitcases closed. For so many years, you had imagined returning home with countless stories, friendships and memories gathered from the life you had built abroad. Instead, it seemed as though you had come back carrying little more than the necessities.

As you reached into the second suitcase one last time to make sure nothing had been left behind, your fingers brushed against a small metal box tucked carefully beneath a folded sweater.

You frowned slightly.

You didn't remember packing it. Yet the moment your eyes fell on the small metal box, you knew exactly what it contained before you had even lifted the lid.

Time had left its mark on it. The once pale blue paint had faded in places, exposing the dull metal beneath, while tiny scratches covered the surface, each one a reminder of years spent forgotten at the back of a cupboard. An old sticker bearing your initials was still clinging to the lid, its edges curled and yellowed with age.

Your fingertips brushed gently over the worn paper, absentmindedly smoothing its creases before unclipping the small latch.

The familiar metallic click echoed softly through the apartment.

Inside lay fragments of a childhood you hadn't realized had been carefully preserved all this time.

There was a friendship bracelet, its once vibrant threads now faded and brittle with age. You smiled as you picked it up, remembering how the three of you had spent an entire afternoon sitting beneath the trees in Bonghwang Park trying to braid matching bracelets for one another. None of you had known what you were doing. Eunji had somehow managed to tangle nearly every thread, while Jungkook had grown impatient halfway through and declared that his looked "abstract." Yours had been the only one that looked remotely like a bracelet.

A quiet laugh escaped your lips at the memory.

Beside it rested a tiny keychain shaped like a sleeping cat. The little charm had lost some of its paint over the years, but it was unmistakably the same one Jungkook had proudly handed you after school, insisting that spending nearly all of his allowance on it had been worth it because it would bring you good luck. You had tried to refuse, knowing how little pocket money he received, but he had stubbornly crossed his arms and told you that lucky charms only worked if they were given away.

You wondered if he still believed things like that.

Carefully setting the keychain aside, your attention drifted to a slightly bent class photograph tucked beneath the other keepsakes.

You lifted it from the box, smiling as soon as you looked at it.

There you were, standing shoulder to shoulder with Eunji in the front row, both of you grinning so widely that your eyes had nearly disappeared. Jungkook wasn't in the picture, of course. Being a few years older than the two of you, he had already moved on to middle school by then. Even so, you remembered how he had insisted on walking the two of you home after classes whenever his own schedule allowed, claiming that someone had to make sure you didn't get yourselves into trouble.

Whether he had actually believed that or had simply enjoyed pretending to be the responsible one, you had never been quite sure.

A soft chuckle escaped you as you traced the edge of the photograph with your thumb before carefully placing it back inside the box.

There were a few other keepsakes tucked away beneath it—small trinkets whose stories had long since faded from your memory. You looked through them one by one, hoping they might awaken another forgotten moment, but they remained little more than quiet reminders of a childhood that had slipped gently beyond your reach.

With everything unpacked—though the apartment still felt far too empty to truly look lived in—you found yourself wondering whether the neighborhood still felt the same after sunset as it had when you were a child.

Did the warm glow of the streetlamps still flicker to life one by one as evening settled over the streets?

Did the elderly couple who owned the little restaurant still slip extra servings of tteokbokki onto the plates of neighborhood children when they thought no one was looking?

Did the convenience store down the street still blast those wonderfully awful old trot songs through its speakers?

And did your old elementary school still stand behind the same weathered yellow brick walls that had once seemed impossibly tall?

The thought lingered only for a moment before you found yourself reaching for your phone to check the time. It was only a little after seven. The sun had yet to disappear beneath the horizon, bathing the neighborhood in the warm amber light of a summer evening. You had nothing waiting for you inside the apartment, and the silence that had felt comforting only minutes ago was beginning to remind you just how alone you were.

Perhaps a walk would do you some good.

After slipping your wallet and keys into your pocket, you locked the apartment behind you and made your way downstairs. The air that greeted you outside was still warm, though the oppressive heat of the afternoon had begun to soften into something far more pleasant. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the trees lining the street, carrying with it the familiar scents of dinner being prepared in nearby homes and restaurants.

You had forgotten how alive Korean neighborhoods became in the evening.

People who had spent the day indoors slowly emerged as the temperature cooled. Elderly residents occupied the benches outside the apartment buildings, chatting with neighbors they had probably known for decades. Office workers made their way home with tired expressions, ties loosened and jackets draped over one arm. Children darted through the sidewalks on scooters and bicycles, their laughter echoing between the buildings while parents called after them to stay close.

You couldn't remember the last time you had walked through a neighborhood that felt so... lived in.

Without really deciding where to go, your feet carried you along streets that had once been as familiar as your own bedroom. Some buildings had changed beyond recognition, replaced by newer apartment complexes and cafés with modern storefronts. Others looked almost untouched, as though time had somehow forgotten about them.

The little stationery shop where you and Eunji used to spend far too much time comparing colorful pens was gone. In its place stood a minimalist flower shop, its windows decorated with carefully arranged bouquets that spilled onto the sidewalk. You paused for a moment, trying to picture where the old shelves had once stood, but the memory refused to match what stood before you now.

A few streets farther, you slowed your pace again.

The restaurant was still there.

Its wooden sign had been replaced, and the faded orange awning you remembered had given way to a newer one, but the familiar smell of simmering broth drifted through the open doorway exactly as it always had. You found yourself peering inside almost instinctively.

The elderly couple was gone.

In their place stood a younger man and woman, moving quickly between the kitchen and the dining room while greeting customers with practiced smiles. You wondered if they were the couple's children, quietly carrying on the family business after their parents had finally decided to retire.

For a brief moment, you remembered the old woman pretending not to notice whenever Jungkook convinced the three of you to share a single bowl of tteokbokki because none of you had enough pocket money to order your own. She would always disappear into the kitchen, only to return a few minutes later with extra rice cakes she insisted had been "left over."

Looking back now, you doubted there had ever been any leftovers.

A smile found its way onto your face as you continued walking.

The convenience store at the corner, however, hadn't changed nearly as much. The bright signs above the entrance had been replaced with newer ones, but the familiar melody drifting through the open doors made you laugh under your breath.

Somehow, they were still playing old trot songs.

Some things, it seemed, refused to change.

Your stomach chose that moment to remind you that you hadn't eaten since arriving. A quiet growl escaped it, almost as if the sight of the convenience store had awakened not only old memories, but the same hunger that always seemed to claw at your stomach after long afternoons spent running around the neighborhood as a child.

The familiar chime echoed softly as you stepped through the automatic doors, the cool air conditioning immediately replacing the lingering warmth of the summer evening. Very little seemed to have changed inside. The shelves had been stocked with newer products, many of the snack brands you remembered had disappeared altogether, yet the store itself remained strangely familiar. The refrigerators still stretched along the wall opposite the entrance, the candy aisle still occupied the center of the shop, and the cashier's counter remained cluttered with chewing gum, lighters and neatly stacked cigarette packs. It was comforting in a way you hadn't expected, as though this tiny convenience store had quietly refused to move on while everything else around it had.

You wandered aimlessly between the aisles, picking up a few snacks almost out of habit before eventually stopping in front of the refrigerated section. Rows of brightly colored drinks lined the shelves behind the glass doors, offering far more choices than you remembered. You hadn't come looking for anything in particular—just something cold after the walk—but as your eyes drifted from one bottle to another, they eventually settled on a familiar yellow container tucked neatly between rows of flavored milk.

A smile found its way onto your face before you even realized it.

The banana milk looked exactly the same.

The rounded bottle, the bright green cap, the playful lettering printed across the front... even after all these years, it hadn't changed. You reached for it almost instinctively, your fingers wrapping around the cool plastic as memories resurfaced with effortless clarity.

You and Jungkook had shared what could only be described as an unhealthy obsession with banana milk. Neither of you ever left the convenience store without buying one, and whenever there happened to be only a single bottle left in the refrigerator, it somehow became the most important thing in the world. Jungkook, despite being older than you, never seemed willing to admit defeat. He would insist he had seen it first, while you argued just as stubbornly that reaching it first should have counted for something. Eunji, who had never particularly liked banana milk in the first place, usually watched the two of you with an exasperated sigh before declaring that you were both behaving like children.

Looking back, she had probably been right.

The arguments had become so predictable that the elderly woman working behind the register eventually started keeping an extra bottle beneath the counter whenever she spotted the three of you walking through the door together. She never said much as she handed it over, merely shaking her head with an amused smile while muttering that the two of you were impossible.

You couldn't help but wonder whether she had finally retired alongside so many of the other familiar faces in the neighborhood, or if she still stood behind that very same register, quietly watching another generation of children grow up.

With two small bottles of banana milk tucked beneath your arm and a handful of snacks balanced on top, you eventually made your way toward the register. To say you were disappointed when the elderly woman wasn't standing behind the counter wouldn't have been entirely true. You had expected it. Seven years was a long time, more than enough for retirement to have found her somewhere along the way. Even so, seeing someone else in her place served as another quiet reminder that life in the neighborhood had continued without you.

The young man behind the register couldn't have been much younger than you. He greeted you with a polite smile before beginning to scan your purchases one by one, the familiar electronic beeps echoing softly through the small convenience store.

You had just reached into your pocket for your wallet when a voice rose from somewhere behind you.

"Y/N?"

Your hand froze.

For a brief moment, you didn't react. It wasn't that you hadn't heard it. Quite the opposite. Hearing your own name spoken so naturally caught you off guard. Ever since stepping off the plane that morning, no one had addressed you by name. To hear someone say it, here of all places, felt almost impossible.

Slowly, you turned around.

A young woman stood a few steps away, a shopping basket hanging loosely from one arm. She looked to be about your age, her dark hair resting just above her shoulders, framing features that had long outgrown the softness of childhood. You searched her face instinctively, trying to place where you might have met before, until your gaze settled on the tiny beauty mark resting high on her cheekbone.

It was all it took.

"...Eunji?" you asked, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice.

For a second, she simply stared back at you, her eyes growing wider and wider until a grin spread across her face.

"No way."

The basket slipped from her hand and landed on the floor with a dull clatter that earned a curious glance from the cashier, but Eunji didn't seem to notice. In three hurried steps she was standing right in front of you, looking you up and down as though trying to convince herself you weren't some elaborate prank.

"No way! It is you!" she blurted out, lightly grabbing your forearms before pulling back again. "You've actually come back?" Her eyes narrowed almost immediately. "Hold on... when?"

"This morning."

"This morning?" she repeated, her voice climbing an octave. "You've been back in Korea for an entire day and didn't tell me?"

A quiet laugh escaped you.

"I wasn't exactly trying to keep it a secret."

"Oh really?" she replied, folding her arms with exaggerated offense. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks suspiciously like you forgot your best friend existed."

"I didn't forget you."

"Mm-hm."

"I didn't."

"Then explain yourself."

The familiar sharpness in her voice made something inside you loosen. Seven years had changed her appearance, but not the way she spoke. She still fired questions without waiting for answers, still wore every emotion plainly across her face, and still managed to sound both accusing and delighted at exactly the same time.

"My number changed years ago," you admitted. "I figured yours probably had too. We hadn't spoken in so long... I didn't even know if you still lived around here."

You hesitated briefly before continuing.

"I guess I thought life had already moved on."

Eunji's expression softened almost immediately.

"...Mine changed twice," she admitted with a sheepish smile. "I probably wouldn't have answered an unknown number anyway."

The two of you laughed quietly, the awkwardness dissolving almost as quickly as it had appeared. Neither of you had meant to let seven years pass in silence. Somewhere between changing schools, growing older and learning how quickly adulthood demanded your attention, keeping in touch had simply become something the two of you always meant to do tomorrow.

The cashier cleared his throat politely, his eyes flicking toward the small queue that had formed behind you.

Eunji glanced over her shoulder before pressing a hand dramatically against her forehead.

"Oh my God..." she groaned. "We're holding this poor man hostage."

The young cashier smiled awkwardly, clearly too polite to agree.

"Come on," Eunji said, picking up her basket before gesturing toward the door. "Let's pay before he starts charging us rent."

A few minutes later, the two of you settled around one of the small plastic tables outside the convenience store, each taking one of the faded stools that had undoubtedly witnessed hundreds of similar conversations over the years. The evening had begun to settle comfortably over the neighborhood, carrying with it the distant chatter of families walking home after dinner, the occasional buzz of scooters passing through the streets, and the familiar melody of another old trot song drifting outside every time the automatic doors slid open.

You placed your shopping bag on the table before pulling out one of the banana milk bottles, while Eunji retrieved a small carton of grape juice from hers.

Your eyes drifted toward it, and you couldn't help smiling.

"You still drink grape juice."

She followed your gaze before looking back at you with mock indignation.

"And you bought two banana milks," she shot back. "Let's not pretend either of us grew up."

You laughed as you twisted open the cap of your bottle.

"I suppose some habits are harder to leave behind than others."

"Exactly." She pierced the little foil seal with her straw before taking a satisfied sip.

"Besides, if I suddenly started liking banana milk after spending my entire childhood telling you two it tasted like melted candy, you'd think I'd been replaced by a clone."

You simply nodded, a small huff resembling a laugh slipping past your lips before fading into the quiet that had settled between the two of you.

It wasn't awkward. Awkward implied discomfort, an urge to fill the silence with meaningless words simply because silence itself felt unbearable. This was different. Unfamiliar was perhaps a better way to describe it. Seven years had a way of turning even the closest friendships into something that needed to be rediscovered, as though the two of you had been handed an old book whose pages you remembered by heart, yet somehow no longer knew where to begin reading.

It hadn't always been like this.

When you first moved away, the distance hadn't seemed so impossible to overcome. Messages were exchanged almost every day. You and Eunji would send each other pictures of anything remotely interesting—a stray cat sleeping beneath a parked car, a funny-shaped cloud, the first snowfall of the year. There had been phone calls that stretched late into the evening despite the time difference, and countless promises that nothing would change simply because an ocean now separated you.

Then life quietly found its way in between.

The messages became weekly conversations, then monthly check-ins, until eventually they were reduced to birthdays and the occasional "I was thinking about you today.". Somewhere along the way, even those disappeared. Not because either of you had stopped caring, but because days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and reaching out somehow became more difficult with every passing year.

At first, you had simply missed them.

You would catch yourself seeing something funny on your way home from school, instinctively reaching for your phone before remembering there was no one to send it to anymore. Sometimes you would wonder what Eunji was doing at that exact moment, whether Jungkook had finally outgrown his terrible habit of pretending he wasn't cold in winter, or if Bonghwang Park still looked the same when spring arrived. Those thoughts always lingered for a while before quietly slipping back into the corner of your mind where homesickness had learned to live.

Then came the guilt.

You wondered if you should have tried harder, if one more message or one more phone call could have somehow kept the friendship from drifting away. On the days when guilt became too heavy to carry, it gave way to anger instead—anger directed almost entirely at your parents for taking you away from the people who had once been your entire world.

And when even that anger began to fade, it inevitably circled back to you.

Perhaps blaming yourself had always been easier than accepting that sometimes people didn't grow apart because they wanted to. Sometimes life simply carried them in different directions.

Your fingers absentmindedly turned the small bottle of banana milk between your hands, watching tiny droplets of condensation slowly gather on the yellow plastic.

"I used to wonder if you'd forgotten about me," Eunji admitted suddenly, her voice much quieter than it had been since recognizing you.

"Not because I thought you wanted to... it just..." She let out a small sigh, searching for the right words.

"After a while, it became easier to tell myself you were probably too busy."

You looked up at her.

"I never forgot."

"I know that now."

"No." You shook your head gently. "Even back then."

Eunji remained silent, giving you the space to continue.

"I thought about texting you more times than I can count." A faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips, though it carried more melancholy than amusement.

"But every time I picked up my phone, it felt like too much time had already passed. I kept telling myself I'd do it tomorrow."

"And tomorrow became seven years."

"...Yeah."

Eunji clicked her tongue before leaning across the table just enough to lightly bump your shoulder with her closed fist.

"You're an idiot."

You blinked.

"But so am I," she added with a crooked grin. "Because I did exactly the same thing."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

The weight that had quietly followed you since leaving Korea didn't disappear all at once, but for the first time in years, it felt a little lighter simply because someone else had been carrying it too.

You took a sip of the banana milk, the familiar sweetness coating your tongue exactly as you remembered it. It tasted just as artificial as it had seven years ago, yet somehow that only made it better.

By now, night had fully settled over the neighborhood. The last traces of sunlight had disappeared behind the apartment buildings, leaving the streets bathed beneath the warm glow of the streetlamps you had wondered about only an hour earlier. Their soft yellow light spilled across the pavement just as you remembered, illuminating the narrow streets where conversations drifted lazily between neighbors enjoying the cooler evening air. Somewhere farther down the road, the faint chirping of cicadas still lingered, refusing to surrender to the night.

The conversation between you and Eunji had become easier too.

The initial awkwardness brought on by seven years apart had slowly melted away, replaced by something much more familiar. You found yourselves talking about everything and nothing at once. She told you about the café where she had been working part-time while finishing university, complained about the impossible customers she met on an almost daily basis and laughed while recalling how she had once accidentally served an iced americano to someone who had specifically asked for it hot. In return, you spoke about the country you had spent your teenage years in, carefully choosing the stories worth telling while leaving out the loneliness that had accompanied most of them.

Listening to Eunji felt strangely comforting.

She still jumped from one subject to another without the slightest warning, speaking with her hands as much as with her mouth, each story somehow leading to three others before the first had even reached its conclusion. Some people changed with time.

Eunji, apparently, simply became a louder version of herself.

"So..." she began after a comfortable silence had settled between the two of you, lazily spinning the small carton of grape juice between her fingers. There was a glint in her eyes that immediately made you suspicious. "Did you come back to check if your crush on Jungkook still exists?"

The question caught you completely off guard.

You inhaled at precisely the wrong moment, the banana milk going down the wrong way and sending you into a fit of coughing that had you turning away from the table in a desperate attempt not to spray the poor convenience store with artificially flavored milk.

Across from you, Eunji stared for exactly one second before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter.

"I didn't even get an answer!" she managed between laughs. "You practically answered for me!"

Once your coughing finally subsided, you reached for a napkin lying on the table, pressing it lightly against your lips before shooting her an unimpressed look.

"I never had a crush on him."

Eunji didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she leaned back on the little plastic stool, crossing her arms as though she were a lawyer preparing to dismantle the weakest argument she had ever heard. One eyebrow arched so high it was almost theatrical, while the amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth told you she wasn't about to let the subject go.

"As if."

"I didn't."

"Y/N," she sighed dramatically. "I've known you since we were four."

"And?"

"And I have eyes."

You couldn't help rolling yours.

"Jungkook was older than us."

"By three years."

"He practically babysat us."

"He walked us home."

"Our parents trusted him."

"Our parents trusted him because they knew you would follow him around like a lost puppy."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

You opened your mouth to argue before realizing you couldn't immediately come up with a convincing counterargument.

Your silence was all Eunji needed.

She pointed at you triumphantly, nearly spilling her grape juice in the process.

"See!"

"I walked beside him because we were going in the same direction."

"You somehow always managed to be walking in the same direction."

"We lived on the same street."

"Mhm."

"He was just..."

You frowned, searching for the right words.

"...Jungkook."

Eunji's grin softened ever so slightly.

For the first time since teasing you, she didn't immediately throw another joke your way. Instead, she watched you quietly for a moment, as though realizing you hadn't actually been trying to avoid the question.

You genuinely had never thought about it.

As children, Jungkook had simply... existed. He had always been there, waiting outside the school gates whenever his classes ended earlier than yours, reminding the two of you to look both ways before crossing the street, climbing trees you weren't supposed to climb and pretending not to notice whenever you and Eunji copied everything he did.

Back then, you had never stopped to question whether those feelings had been admiration, affection or the innocent attachment children naturally formed toward someone they looked up to.

You had simply been happy whenever he was around.

Eunji let out a quiet chuckle before taking another sip of her grape juice.

"...See?" she murmured.

You looked at her, confused.

"You still get that look on your face whenever you talk about him."

No words came to your lips after that.

There was little point in arguing anymore. Whatever feelings you might have carried as a child belonged to another version of yourself, one who had climbed trees without worrying about scraped knees and believed seven years could pass without changing anything. Looking back now, those memories felt too distant, too blurred by time for you to confidently give them a name.

Perhaps Eunji was right.

Perhaps she wasn't.

You weren't even sure you wanted to know anymore.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, each absentmindedly nursing your drinks while the neighborhood carried on around you. Every now and then, the automatic doors of the convenience store slid open with their familiar electronic chime, releasing a brief gust of cool air before closing again. Across the street, the owner of a nearby restaurant was stacking empty chairs outside, while a pair of middle-school boys hurried past with convenience store ramen balanced carefully in their hands, laughing loudly over something that neither of you could hear.

The neighborhood hadn't become quieter after sunset.

It had simply slowed down.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the condensation gathering around the bottle of banana milk. There was another question lingering stubbornly at the back of your mind, one you had spent the entire evening carefully avoiding. Every memory you had revisited since returning seemed to lead back to him eventually. The friendship bracelet. The tiny cat keychain. The park. Even the banana milk.

You weren't sure whether asking would satisfy your curiosity or only leave you wondering even more.

"...Do you still talk to him?"

The question left your mouth almost absentmindedly.

You hadn't planned on asking it. In truth, you weren't even sure why it had been the first thing to come to mind. Perhaps because hearing his name spoken aloud for the first time in seven years had quietly reopened a door you had spent years convincing yourself had been closed. Or perhaps because, despite everything, some small part of you still pictured the two of them exactly as you had left them—walking home together after school, bickering over something completely insignificant while you inevitably found yourself caught somewhere in the middle.

The quiet hum of the convenience store refrigerators drifted outside each time the automatic doors slid open. Somewhere farther down the street, a group of teenagers laughed loudly before disappearing around the corner, their voices slowly swallowed by the warm summer evening.

Life continued around you just as it always had.

Eunji remained silent for a moment.

She lowered her eyes to the little carton of grape juice resting between her hands, slowly turning it between her fingers as though the answer required more thought than either of you had expected. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. If anything, it felt strangely familiar. The two of you had always been comfortable sitting together without speaking, letting the world fill the empty spaces between your conversations.

Finally, she looked back up.

"Not really."

The smile she offered wasn't sad.

If anything, it carried the quiet acceptance of someone who had already made peace with the passing of time.

"I don't think we've actually had a proper conversation in... maybe two years."

You couldn't help the surprise that briefly crossed your face.

Somehow, throughout the entire day, you had kept expecting to hear that everyone else's lives had remained connected while yours had been the only one interrupted. That Eunji and Jungkook had simply continued where the three of you had left off, only waiting for you to eventually find your way back. The thought had never truly made sense. Yet it had lingered somewhere in the back of your mind all the same.

"I thought..." You hesitated before quietly correcting yourself. "I don't know... I guess I thought you two were still close."

"We were."

Eunji smiled softly.

"For a long time."

She leaned back on the small plastic she had been sitting on, lifting her gaze toward the apartment buildings surrounding the convenience store. Several windows had begun glowing with warm yellow light as families settled down for dinner, while televisions flickered behind half-drawn curtains.

"It wasn't really anyone's fault," she continued after a moment. "We both started working. Our schedules stopped matching."

She shrugged lightly.

"At first we'd tell each other we'd meet next week."

Another small shrug followed.

"Then next month."

Her smile turned almost amused.

"And before we realized it... two years had passed."

The words settled quietly between you.

There wasn't any bitterness behind them. No resentment. Just the simple reality of growing older.

It was strange how friendships could slowly fade without a single argument ever taking place. No dramatic falling out. No final goodbye. Just two people walking in slightly different directions until one day they looked back and realized they had lost sight of each other somewhere along the way.

You knew that feeling better than anyone.

"Do you know where he is now?"

Eunji nodded.

"Around Seoul."

The answer came with far less certainty than the ones before it.

"I know he moved a few years ago."

She frowned slightly, trying to remember.

"It was for work, I think."

You waited for her to continue.

She didn't.

A faint laugh escaped her instead as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"...That's actually all I know."

The confession surprised you more than it probably should have. Years ago, the three of you had known everything about one another. Which teacher had given Jungkook detention. Which bakery Eunji's mother preferred. Which homework assignment you had forgotten to finish. Nothing had ever remained a mystery for very long.

Now... neither of you even knew which neighborhood he lived in.

"I just know it was somewhere closer to the city center," Eunji added. "I remember seeing pictures of moving boxes on his story one day."

She laughed quietly.

"After that, all his pictures suddenly stopped looking like Jungnang-gu."

Her words painted a surprisingly vivid image in your mind.

You found yourself wondering what kind of apartment he lived in now. Whether he still left clothes scattered across his bedroom floor like he used to. Whether he still skipped breakfast whenever he woke up late.

The questions came so naturally that they almost made you laugh at yourself.

You knew nothing about the man he had become. Only the boy you had left behind.

"I still follow him, though."

Eunji's voice pulled you back to the present.

She reached into her pocket before placing her phone onto the little plastic table between the two of you.

"He barely posts anything."

The screen lit up beneath her fingertips.

"But his reposts..."

A laugh escaped her before she even finished the sentence.

"They're endless."

You leaned forward slightly as she opened Instagram. The first thing that caught your attention wasn't his profile picture. It was the grid of colorful reposted content stretching across the screen.

"...Those are all his?"

"Mhm."

She sighed dramatically.

"I don't even think he knows Instagram has a limit."

One repost followed another.

A motorcycle weaving through mountain roads, someone unsuccessfully attempting to cook ramyeon, a gym video, a stray cat demanding attention from strangers, a song, a sunset, a dog wearing tiny shoes, another motorcycle.

"It's completely random," you observed, smiling despite yourself.

"I know."

Eunji laughed.

"Every morning I wake up wondering what personality he's going to have that day."

She tapped through another handful of reposts before finally opening his profile.

Compared to the endless stream of reposts, it looked almost empty. Only a few carefully chosen photographs filled the page, months stretching between each upload as though he only remembered to post every once in a while.

"He'll disappear for half a year," Eunji explained, "then suddenly post four pictures in the same evening."

Your eyes slowly wandered across the photographs. The ocean. A motorcycle. A late-night bowl of ramyeon. A blurry concert.

Then...

A picture of Jungkook himself.

Someone else had clearly taken it. He stood beside a convenience store, a bottle of banana milk resting casually in one hand while he laughed at something happening beyond the frame.

You found yourself staring at it longer than you intended.

"He still drinks banana milk," you murmured almost to yourself.

Eunji looked down at the picture before smiling.

"That..."

She chuckled softly.

"...that hasn't changed."

She rested her chin against her hand, her eyes lingering on the photograph for a moment.

"The last time I ran into him, we ended up stopping at a convenience store before going our separate ways."

A quiet laugh escaped her.

"I didn't even have to ask what he wanted."

Your gaze drifted from the screen to the bottle of banana milk resting beside your hand.

"He walked straight to the refrigerator," Eunji continued, "grabbed one of those, paid for it and acted like it was the most normal thing in the world."

Another small silence settled between the two of you.

It wasn't the tattoos you found yourself looking at anymore. Nor the piercings. Nor the broader shoulders adulthood had given him.

Instead...

Your eyes kept returning to the tiny yellow bottle resting so casually in his hand. Some things, it seemed, remained the same. And somehow, that simple realization made the years separating the boy you remembered from the man staring back at you feel just a little less impossible.

The conversations that followed wandered effortlessly from one subject to another, never lingering on anything long enough to grow heavy. Seven years was far too much time to fit into a single evening, and yet neither of you seemed particularly concerned with telling everything all at once. There would always be another story to remember, another question to ask, another memory waiting patiently around the next corner.

At some point, the empty bottles and snack wrappers had quietly disappeared into the convenience store's trash bin. Remaining seated no longer felt natural. The neighborhood itself seemed to invite the two of you to keep walking, as though its familiar streets had been waiting just as patiently as the people who still called them home.

Without discussing it, your feet naturally found the sidewalk.

The air had cooled considerably since sunset. The oppressive humidity of the afternoon had given way to the kind of summer evening you remembered so fondly, where every apartment window stood open in search of a passing breeze. Conversations floated down from balconies. Somewhere nearby, a television played louder than it probably should have, accompanied by the laughter of a family gathered around dinner. The scent of grilled meat drifted from a restaurant preparing for its last customers of the night, blending with the earthy smell of the trees surrounding Bonghwang Park.

Everything felt alive.

You hadn't realized how much you had missed that.

"I still can't believe you actually came back, you know?"

Eunji glanced sideways at you as the two of you waited for the pedestrian light to change. There was no accusation in her voice, only genuine disbelief, as though she still expected this entire evening to turn out to be some elaborate dream she'd wake up from.

"I honestly thought you'd stay there."

The green figure finally lit up.

You crossed the street together, neither of you rushing despite the countdown ticking away above your heads.

"So did I."

The answer came more quietly than you had expected.

For years, coming back had existed somewhere between a promise and a fantasy. You had repeated the words often enough that they eventually lost some of their meaning.

I'll come back one day.

You had whispered it to yourself while staring out of rain-covered bus windows in a city that had never truly felt like yours. You had thought it during birthdays, holidays and quiet evenings when homesickness settled somewhere deep inside your chest for reasons you couldn't quite explain.

But every year, something had found a way to postpone it. University, work, money, responsibilities… there was always another reason to wait just a little longer.

"I think..." You smiled faintly to yourself.

"...I got tired of waiting for the perfect moment."

The street fell quiet around you for a while.

Not because the conversation had ended, but because neither of you felt the need to immediately fill the silence. It reminded you of your childhood, when the three of you could spend entire afternoons wandering through the neighborhood without speaking much at all. Back then, companionship had never depended on constant conversation. Simply being together had always been enough.

Eunji eventually broke the silence with a quiet laugh.

"You know..."

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before looking at you.

"I used to wonder what you'd look like when you came back."

That made you laugh.

"You really thought about that?"

"Of course."

She looked almost offended that you would ask.

"I'd see someone from behind with hair that looked like yours and think..." she paused dramatically, mimicking her younger self, "'Oh my God, she's finally back.'"

You laughed harder this time.

"And?"

"It was never you."

The two of you continued walking, shoulders brushing every now and then whenever the sidewalk narrowed.

"I guess I always imagined I'd recognize you immediately."

"You didn't."

"I absolutely did not."

She pointed toward you with an exaggerated grin.

"You looked at me like I was a complete stranger."

"I thought you were."

"Rude."

"You've changed."

"So have you."

The words were spoken lightly, yet they lingered between you longer than either of you expected.

You had changed.

Not only physically. Life had quietly shaped both of you into people who carried responsibilities, routines and worries that hadn't existed seven years ago. The little girls who used to spend entire afternoons arguing over which ice cream flavor to buy had disappeared somewhere along the way, leaving two women who were slowly trying to figure out what adulthood was supposed to look like.

And yet...

Walking beside Eunji still felt familiar enough that it seemed impossible all those years had truly happened.

Without warning, Eunji stopped walking.

"What?"

She didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she rummaged through her small shoulder bag before triumphantly pulling out her phone.

"We need a picture."

You blinked.

"A picture?"

She looked at you as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I've been waiting seven years for this."

Before you could protest, she was already stepping closer, lifting her phone above the two of you.

"Come on."

"Eunji..."

"Nope."

She grabbed your wrist before you had any chance of escaping.

"Smile."

You sighed dramatically.

"I literally just got here."

"Exactly."

Another grin.

"So this is your 'I literally just got back to Korea' face."

A reluctant laugh escaped you.

"You are unbelievable."

"I've been told."

The camera shutter clicked. Then again. And one last time for good measure.

Eunji immediately lowered the phone, already scrolling through the pictures with the same level of concentration people reserved for life-changing decisions.

"No."

Swipe.

"No."

Another swipe.

"Oh."

Her face brightened.

"This one."

You leaned over her shoulder.

It wasn't a particularly posed photograph.

Your hair had been caught by the breeze, a small laugh still lingering across your face as you looked somewhere between the camera and Eunji herself. She stood beside you flashing an unapologetically ridiculous peace sign, smiling so brightly that it was impossible not to smile back.

It looked... real.

"I actually like it."

"I know."

She was already opening Instagram.

"You don't mind if I post it?"

You shook your head.

"I don't think anyone who follows you even remembers who I am."

Eunji laughed.

"They're about to."

Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.

Guess who finally came home?

She tagged your account before hitting Share without another thought.

"There."

She slipped the phone back into her bag as naturally as if she'd merely checked the time.

"Officially welcomed back."

You smiled, shaking your head.

"I forgot how dramatic you are."

"I prefer emotionally expressive."

"You would."

The two of you resumed walking, your conversation effortlessly finding another subject before either of you gave the picture another thought.

Neither of you noticed the phone vibrating softly inside Eunji's bag barely a minute later.

Nor could either of you know that, several districts away, someone else had absentmindedly unlocked his phone during a break, thumb automatically tapping through the endless stream of Instagram stories that had accumulated throughout the evening.

Most of them disappeared before he paid them much attention. Friends, advertisements, dogs, food, another meme.

Then...

His thumb stopped.

For the first time in several stories, he didn't tap to skip, the screen remained perfectly still beneath his fingertips.

A familiar smile stared back at him from beside Eunji.

He blinked once. Then again. For a brief second, he genuinely wondered if exhaustion had finally started playing tricks on him.

Because unless he had completely lost his mind... Y/N was standing in Jungnang-gu.

After seven years...

She was home.

☘︎ ☘︎ ☘︎

“Oh, Jungkook!” the scream echoes through the tin walls, clearly letting you know what activities your neighbor is up to.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “Here we go again.”

The bed's headboard hammers against the wall, and damn, you’re about to kill your neighbor. It almost feels like you’re in the bedroom with them. They are loud as fuck. This isn’t new at all, because your cheeky neighbor, Jungkook, is all charming and brings women quite often. The problem here is that he woke you up.

you: bro, it’s fucking 2am

You know you’ll get an answer later—if he doesn’t come after two minutes—but he’s so damn annoying. In four hours, you need to be up for work, and the shitty head is ruining your night of sleep. The urge to knock at his door and cockblock him is like burning you, but as much as you’d love to do that, you still care about your friendship. Jungkook is like the only friend you've made since moving here.

A year ago, you moved into this small apartment, seeking some freedom from your parents, but quickly realized that the building's thin walls would complicate your life. Thankfully, the neighbor sharing your bedroom wall is fun to be around.

Although Jungkook sometimes has some fun with ladies he finds in very questionable bars, he’s very nice and funny. He seems to know every gossip from your neighbors and tells them all to you the second he finds out. He also loves to bother you, as if it were his life mission.  

With your pillow in your head, you try desperately to fall asleep, but the girl’s voice keeps getting higher, her moans piercing through the pillow over your head. Jungkook’s deep voice grunts and says something you can’t understand, but it only makes her moan louder. The bed bangs harder against the wall.

This can’t keep going. As a barista, you need your eight hours of sleep, otherwise there’s no way you’ll survive the rude clients. If anything goes wrong at work after this, you’ll definitely kill Jungkook, who’s the only one to blame for it.

With a deep groan, you leave the warmth of your bed, heading straight to his apartment. The second you bang on his door, everything stops before footsteps are heard. Your heart stammers in your chest, too scared he might hate you.

When the door opens, an almost naked Jungkook stands in front of you. His toned and sweaty chest is on full display while his bottom is hidden in loose grey sweatpants. His chest also moves at a crazy fast pace, and his breathing is all over the place, just like his tousled hair. If he wasn’t your friend, you might have found your way to his bed because he looks devastatingly hot.

His intense dark gaze scares the hell out of you, but you couldn’t care less. “What are you doing here?” he says with clear frustration.

Jungkook takes the time to look down at you, clearly taken aback to see you here, and he can’t help but find you absolutely cute. Your cute and short pajamas leave little to the imagination.

“It’s 2 fucking am, Kook,” you tell him with some anger. “Can’t you both shut up and let me sleep?”

A smirk appears on his face, while a chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Why would I do that?” he raises an eyebrow. “I’m having fun.”

“I don’t care!” you almost yell at him. “I need to sleep.”

“You never complained before…”

Your eyes dramatically roll, which only makes him chuckle more. Even though you love him, right now you don’t, and he’ll pay for it. You ignore how yet, but you’ll get revenge.

“Please choke her or whatever, but make her shut up,” you say. “Otherwise, I’ll do it myself.”    

“I’d love to see that,” he teasingly says with his damn smirk growing bigger.

“Jungkook,” you warn him, “I’m not joking.”

Your neighbor takes a deep breath, his hand running through his hair while he closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, there’s something in them that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, the guy down there is dead,” he gestures to his dick, and your eyes inevitably look down. There’s nothing, just as he mentions. “Somebody decided to ruin all the fun.”

“Ask for a blowjob or something else to wake your little guy,” you reply as if it was damn obvious.

“Are you for real?” he narrows his eyes. “Just go back to your place and sleep. We won’t be bothering you anymore.”

You nod before going back to sleep. As promised, silence follows, allowing you to return to sleep peacefully. When you wake up hours later, you feel so damn exhausted, and somehow, you don’t even find the energy to hate him. Probably, he hates you right now for cockblocking him, but you know it won’t last long.

After getting dressed and ready for work, you head to the elevator. Surprisingly, Jungkook is already waiting for it at the lobby.

“Good morning, Kook,” you smile at him.

“Only good morning to you, Voldemort,” he mumbles.

Anyone would be surprised by the nickname Voldemort, but it always makes you smile like an idiot. At first, Jungkook was saying it to bother you because you’re a mega fan of Harry Potter, but over time, it became a sign of affection.

“You’re mad?” you ask.

“Don’t know yet,” he honestly replies, his eyes finally looking at you.

“Will a super good breakfast prepared by your fantastic neighbor convince you not to be mad?” you try to sway him.

In order for you to get proper revenge, you need first to gain his trust again, so it’ll piss him off when you do it. A sly smile stretches across his face, and you know right there and then that you just won. Jungkook loves your breakfasts.

“Might help,” he smiles.

As promised, his breakfast was served at the coffee shop where you work, and in the blink of an eye, he devoured everything like a starved man. He definitely was starving, and even though you’re preparing your little revenge, it made you smile to see him eating everything.

The next day, Jungkook shows up unannounced at your place when a couple living next to you starts arguing very loudly. Melissa and Carter seem to enjoy arguing over the smallest things. For example, a week ago, it was because he bought the wrong tomatoes, and she made a big deal out of it. It’s funny, honestly.

“What are the popcorns for?” you ask when Jungkook steps inside your apartment.

“Their argument is juicy today,” he says, heading straight to the kitchen to place the popcorn in a bowl. “Apparently, she’s cheating,” he screams.

You laugh, shaking your head as your feet guide you to the kitchen. Jungkook is way too noisy for his own good. The two of you sit at the table, the bowl of popcorn between you, and you listen to Melissa and Carter arguing. Your kitchen connects with theirs.

“I saw you with him,” Carter yells. “How dare you deny it?”

“Because he’s just a friend!” she claps back. “Can’t I speak with friends now? Or are you the only one who gets the right to speak with women?”

This is so childish, even your nieces and nephews have more interesting discussions. But there’s nothing else really to expect from these two; they always argue over the silliest things. If they fight over tomatoes, they can’t possibly have a good conversation.

“A friend you kiss?” Carter’s voice gets incredibly higher.

Both you and Jungkook laugh with popcorn in your mouths.

“Gosh, she’s quite shameless,” you say with your mouth full. “Wouldn’t have expected it from her.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jungkook piles on, his eyes quickly looking at you with a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if the roles were reversed. Melissa left me speechless here.”

For a second, your eyes glance over to the man next to you. The memory of him, all sweaty and almost naked, comes up, and damn, your legs squeeze at the thought. You have to bite your tongue to push those thoughts away. He’s your friend—at least it’s what you’re trying to convince yourself.  

“Stop lying!” Carte yells all over again. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Maybe you should consider wearing glasses,” she fights back.

This time, none of you holds back the laughter. This Melissa is really bad at lying or finding excuses. She could have done better.

“She could have found better,” Jungkook says while laughing like an idiot.

“She could just admit it,” you add.

Somehow, this feels like watching a telenovela with him. There’s always something going on with your neighbors, and they quite entertain you a lot. You’ve laughed a lot over them, and the even funnier part is that they totally ignore how everyone is able to hear their silly arguments. Meeting them in the elevator or somewhere in the building makes it hard to hold back.

“For fuck’s sake,” Carter swears before a loud door slams.

“This time, they’ll for sure split,” Jungkook speaks with a mouth full of popcorn. “He can’t stay with a cheater.”

“I wouldn’t stay if I was him.” Who would stay with a cheater? It’ll be like accepting to torture yourself over and over again. Lucky for you, remaining in a relationship is the last of your wishes, which tends to annoy your parents.

Just like Jungkook, you tend to find rather questionable men, but as long as they give you an orgasm, it’s not important. Truth be told, sometimes, they’re absolutely bad at it, which can be frustrating, but it’s very rare.

“Me neither,” he says, his eyes meeting yours. “But first, we’d need to get into a relationship.”

You chuckle, shaking your head and grabbing a handful of popcorn. “That’d be a tragedy.”

Jungkook hates relationships, to say the least. In fact, he runs away from them as if the plague was following him. Hookups are his favorite, which you perfectly understand. The thing is that he might have a tiny little crush on you. How couldn’t he? His entire soul was drawn to you since the very first time he met you.

The thing is that he isn’t fully ready to acknowledge his crush, and he values your friendship way too much. Those moments with you, like this one, are what fill his soul. He always looks forward to being with you, and deep down, he knows he’s always finding an excuse to spend time with you.

For example, two days later, he shows up at your door because he’s absolutely bored, and doesn’t even try to hide it.

“I’m not your personal entertainer,” you tell him, not letting him in.

“Yes, you are,” he replies without even thinking. “So let me in.”

“No,” you shake your head.

The man waiting for you in the living room would clearly not be happy to see another gentleman barging in. Who would? Especially when you’re that close to getting into the warmth of your bedsheets to fuck.

“Please leave,” you tell him with gritted teeth.

“Yn?” the man calls for you while his footsteps get closer.

A bright smile grows on Jungkook’s face as he understands what the matter is here. Can he blame you? No, but man, he also definitely wants to bother you. However, he’s not going to do it because he doesn’t want you to hate him.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” he surrenders before letting you go back to your hookup. Jungkook still takes a peek inside, trying to see who the lucky guy is. “He’s a solid eight, by the way,” he says when he notices the blond man. “Have fun, dearest neighbor.”   

The two of you have this habit of rating your hookups whenever you get a look at them. His choices are sometimes not the best, but they never look too bad—as long as he has whatever he wants, it’s just fine for you.  

What Jungkook ignores is how loud you pretend to be when this blond guy fucks the shit out of you. This might be one of your revenges, and the fact that he’s bored makes it even better. He’ll have to listen to you while you spend a blissful moment with another man.

And man, you got loud. Jungkook even has to play some random video game, with the sound blasting in his ear and almost making him deaf, but at least your moans are lessened. Somehow, he understands why you disturbed him while he was busy with another woman a couple of nights ago.

The next few days are calmer, no hookups, and your neighbors are way too calm, but you still spend some time with Jungkook.

“Love your new haircut,” you tell him when you step inside the elevator next to him.

“Thanks,” he genuinely smiles.

“You’re trying to impress a new girl?” You narrow your eyes playfully.  

A sly smirk appears on his face, and you already know some shit is going to come from his mouth. Nothing good ever leaves his mouth when that smirk shows up. You already mentally prepare yourself to roll your eyes heavily.

“Maybe…” he whispers, shrugging.

Before you can roll your eyes, he steps closer and presses a gentle kiss on your cheek, causing shivers to run down your spine.   

“You’re unbearable,” you mutter, trying to ignore how your body reacts to him.

“And yet,” he says smugly as the elevator doors open, “you keep talking to me.”

This time, you definitely roll your eyes and scoff as you follow him out of the elevator. This man is clearly unbelievable. Sometimes, you even wonder how you manage to keep up with him, as he always acts bratty.

“That can change very quickly if I want to,” you say, crossing your arms.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder, walking backward down the hallway with that stupidly confident grin. The urge to slap his face tickles your hands, and if he keeps going, you might not be able to hold it back.

“You’re going to ignore me now?” he asks once in front of you.

“What if I do?” you stop in front of him, your bodies a breath away from each other.

“Yn,” he lets out a laugh, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You always forget half of your groceries every single time and then make me rescue you.”

Well, he’s absolutely right. Without him, you’d spend your time going back and forth between your place and the grocery store. You’ve tried everything to buy all you need, but it’s useless. Luckily for you, Jungkook always has what you need at his place.

“I’ll find a solution…” you say, but it doesn’t sound convincing.

“Looks like Melissa is rubbing off on you,” he begins, his fingers running from your hair to your cheek, making you shiver even more. “You’re starting to lie as badly as her.”

For sure, it’s a lie. You won’t ever be able to find a solution as efficient as Jungkook, but what can you do? If he keeps being this cocky, you might really stop talking to him. There’s no way you’ll feed his ego more.

“It’s not the same, and you know it,” you try to defend yourself. “She cheated on Carter, and this is about me and my shitty memory.”

“Not wrong, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a terrible liar,” he says with that annoying smirk still on his face.

“If you keep going, I’ll really stop talking to you, and you’ll have to find a new personal entertainer.” You push his hand away from your face so you can resume walking to your apartment.

Jungkook sighs before running after you to catch you up. Fuck, he probably messed up.

“Sorry,” he says behind you. “I still need my personal entertainer and my partner in hearing Melissa and Carter’s silly fights.”

A chuckle leaves your lips as you turn around to face him. He looks cute when he apologizes, and to be honest, this new haircut makes him look way too hot for his own good.

“Apologies accepted,” you say. “On one condition.”

“I’m all ears,” he replies.

Your lower lip is caught between your teeth. This is the perfect moment to get revenge for the sleep disruption and for the nonsense he just threw in your face. He’ll probably kill you, but you don’t care. You have to try.

“No girls for a month,” you say with a sly smile.

Jungkook instantly shakes his head, “Absolutely no.”  

His face is absolutely hilarious. His eyes are incredibly wide, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his cheeks are taking on a pink shade. Is he embarrassed or shocked? Good question, but you hope for both.   

“Then, you’ll have to find a new neighbor to bother,” you immediately turn around and walk to your apartment.

“Wait,” he comes after you, his hand grabbing your wrist to prevent you from walking away. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you tilt your head. “Did I look like I was joking?”

You definitely are, but you’re trying to see if he’ll just surrender. This will be the biggest cockblock ever.

“You’re asking me to go a full month without sex…” he runs his fingers through his hair. “You know I barely survive a week.”

“I know,” you say with the biggest teasing smile on your face. “But you compared me to Melissa and basically implied I couldn’t survive without you, which is deeply hurtful.” It isn’t, but you’re not going to say it. “It’s either your questionable chicks or me.”

“You can’t be serious,” he mumbles under his breath.

“You still have your hand to help you out,” you suggest, trying to offer him a solution.

“As if my hand could ever be like a pussy,” he shakes his head, completely defeated. You clearly handed him a dilemma, and it’s funny to watch. Even better than Melissa and Carter’s telenovela.  

“Maybe you can find something better at a sex shop,” you offer.

For sure, you’ll be the death of him before the end of the day. How can you just throw things like that as if you weren’t asking him to go without sex for an entire month? There’s no way he’ll survive that much. But he values your friendship way too much. If he has to go a full month without sex to keep hearing your bullshit when he bothers you, so be it.

“Okay,” he agrees with your crazy condition. “I’ll do it.”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You were expecting a lot of begging and bargaining, but definitely not him giving up that easily, especially when it comes to his mindblowing sex.

“Really?” A smile stretches on your face. “You’d choose me over your hookups?”  

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he rolls his eyes. “I’d rather use my hand for a month straight than be forever deprived of your stupid comments over our neighbors.”

You shake your head, taking whatever he says while you perfectly know that he cares about you, and even though you don’t want to admit it, it genuinely pleases you that he chooses you.

To both your surprises, you wrap your arms around him, pushing him into a warm embrace. None of you has ever been this close—unless you consider trying to put a drunk Jungkook to bed as closeness.

However, this is just the beginning of your revenge…

In the following days, you make sure to be as loud as possible whenever a man is between your legs. Damn, you’ve probably never moaned that loud, despite it being completely fake. None of the men actually manages to make you properly come.

Jungkook keeps wandering around you, as if nothing ever happened. Carter and Melissa never broke up, but they still argue like kids every day. The two of you playfully listen to their arguments. Now, you also have a new neighbor who’s like the biggest cheater in the world. He brings in multiple girls but keeps sweet-talking with his supposed girlfriend.

This is new entertainment for you and Jungkook.

jk🔥: no man tonight?

A smile appears on your face when you see the message.

you: too exhausted to open my legs 🥱

Through the thin walls, you manage to hear his contagious chuckle.

jk🔥: you sound like a whore

you: learned from the best

That isn’t true—you started long before meeting him. One-night stands have been part of your frequent vocabulary for a long time now. The sad part of it all is that you’re never satisfied. One could think that with all those guys, you’d find a way to be fulfilled, but it’s the opposite.

Sleeping with them only creates a bigger hollow inside you. Most of the time, it feels like you’re chasing after the unknown. You’ve no clue what you want, so sleeping with guys seems to make it easier.

What truly fills your soul is the time spent with your friends and family. There’s no feeling like laughing loudly at a friend’s joke, or playing with your nieces and nephews in your parents’ house, or even bothering Jungkook with the eggs you forgot to buy. Those moments are what truly nurture you.

jk🔥: you might have surpassed your teacher

You genuinely smile, but you don’t know how to feel. Is it a good thing you’ve been having all these men in your bed? Is it even worth it? Well, your body will definitely say yes, but your brain wouldn’t know what to think.

you: i’m the perfect student then 🤗

jk🔥: a tiny bit too loud student

Even though the purpose was to torture him a bit, you somehow feel a bit guilty. You’re not playing fair with him.

you: isn’t it too hard?

The three dots dance on your screen while you patiently wait for his reply.

jk🔥: no, except when you fake it

You gasp at his message. How can he tell that? Then, as you were typing your answer, Jungkook calls you.

“How do you know?” you straightforwardly ask.

“I just know,” he replies.

“You cannot say things like that,” you reply, as you shift onto your side, staring at the wall.

“But it’s true,” his voice lowers, somehow sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re unbelievable.” A little smile makes its way to your face.

“No, you’re the one being unbelievable,” he counters immediately. “Do you have any idea how torturous these past days have been?”

“That’s not what you said on your message,” you say.

He sighs deeply on the other side, and you can tell it’s been hard for him. Well, if it was the other way around, you’d be dying. No sex for a month, and hearing your neighbor going wild would definitely be torture.

“And you agreed to the deal,” you let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, and now I’m stuck listening to you through the wall every night while you sound like you’re auditioning for an Oscar,” he teasingly replies.

Honestly, the thought of it being terrible never crossed your mind. For sure, you’ve been faking it a couple of times or exaggerating it to annoy your neighbor, but you thought it was fine.

“Oh my god,” you bury your face into your pillow with some embarrassment. “You’re insane.”

Jungkook chuckles on the other side, amused by your comment. Honestly, since he agreed to this whole no sex for a month, hearing you has definitely been driving him insane. If he’s honest, it actually turns him on. He has even dreamed once of being on top of you and giving you as much pleasure as you want with his mouth, fingers, and cock.

“And you’re a terrible liar,” he adds.

Or maybe Jungkook knows you well enough to be able to say it. Over the past year, he’s hung out with you more than he has with his own friends, so there’s no doubt that he knows you quite well.

“When you fake it, your voice changes,” he says softly.

Sometimes, he wishes he didn’t know when you’re about to come or when you’re faking it. It can be embarrassing to a certain level.

Before you even get the chance to ask him how he knows all of it, he says, “The walls are way too thin, we can hear everything even if we don’t want to. It’s not our fault if we know how the other sounds in bed. I’m absolutely sure you know when I’m about to come.”

Of course you do, and like him, sometimes you wish you didn’t. Those are your most intimate moments, and it’s weird that the person you consider a friend knows about them. Although at this stage, your friendship is taking another turn.

“You’re saying you know me that well?” you whisper.

“I do, even if I don’t want to admit it,” he says softly. “Like I just know that you’re absolutely loving to drive me crazy.”

You try to ignore the warmth spreading through your stomach. He noticed it. He knows you’re doing this all on purpose.

“Maybe you’re just easy to mess with.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, his eyes glued to the ceiling while he runs his free hand through his hair. “You’re too dangerous,” he whispers with the deepest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

Your heart stops beating for a second. What can you even say to that? This is just you trying to get some revenge, but in a certain way, it feels like it’s coming right back at you.

“You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of villain,” you reply.

Jungkook chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Honestly, he wishes a wall wasn’t separating the two of you right now. It would have been a hundred times better to be with you.

“No,” he says gently. “A villain would at least have the decency to kill me quickly.”

Your heart hammers in your chest because you know damn well that he’s flirting with you. Somehow, you’d like to say that this doesn’t affect you, but it’d be a total lie. Fuck, you even want him to keep flirting with you.

“But you?” his voice drops lower. “You just smile, act nice, and take your sweet time killing me. You’re such a dangerous woman.”

His last words send shivers down your spine. 

“I’m not trying to kill you,” you whisper softly.

“No?” he asks while raising an eyebrow. “So, knocking at my door at 2 am while I’m balls-deep in someone, asking me to go a month without sex, and moaning loudly isn’t trying to kill me?”

Well, he might not be wrong, but this has been quite funny so far. 

“And do you want to know the worst part?” he continues.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

A part of you already knows what he’s about to say, but you still want to hear it.

“I don’t even want you to stop.”

Fuck, he definitely knows how to speak to women. For the first time, you’re experiencing the flirty version of him, which is a total turn-on.

“So, is this your way of telling me to keep going?” you ask, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.  

“Maybe,” he replies in a heartbeat.

“Then, brace yourself,” you say, your eyes closing for a second. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

A bright smile grows on his face at the simple thought of it. He can’t wait to see what you have in store for him. A part of him knows that he shouldn’t be excited because it’d be playing with fire and probably risking your friendship, but his little crush on you speaks louder. He wants to ruin the friendship. Actually, he wants you to ruin him.

The very next day, you meet on the elevator after an intense day at work. Throughout the day, you avoided texting him to tease him a bit. It was also packed at work, but whenever you had five minutes for yourself, you’d leave him on read, which frustrates him.

“You know,” Jungkook says as soon as you step inside the elevator, “most people answer texts.”

A proud smile appears on your face before you turn your face to look at him. Your head tilts a bit to the right, trying to see if he’s angry or frustrated or maybe both.

“Most people aren’t me,” you nonchalantly reply.

“Clearly,” he sighs. “I was starting to think that I needed to file a missing person report.”

You heavily roll your eyes, your smile never once leaving your lips. His eyes admire you for a second, his breath faltering for a second, as he tries to remain composed. It’s been hard not to speak with you for an entire day. He’s not used to it.

“You’re being so dramatic,” you tell him.

“Says the woman who weaponizes read receipts,” he mumbles under his breath.

Even though he doesn’t want you to hear it, you still do, but you don’t react. You warned him yesterday, and you’re definitely going to push him over the edge. He’s clearly not ready for what’s coming, and in no time, he’ll be begging for your mercy.

When the doors open, the two of you leave the small cabin, walking toward your apartments. The sound of life echoing around fills the small silence between you, but your mind is racing with thoughts.  

The moment you both reach your apartment doors, you step closer, barely leaving any space between your bodies. Jungkook’s eyes scan your face, trying to read you.

“Did you miss me?” you teasingly whisper as your fingers run down his chest, sending electricity through both of you.

Jungkook is used to being teased, but man, when it’s you, he barely manages to think. He’s completely under your spell.

“What if I did?” he mumbles, his hot breath caressing the skin of your face. “Would it be terrible?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply with a smirk. “You should be the one telling me.”

For a second, he doesn’t reply, trying to think of a decent answer. The nastiest answer crosses his mind because he desperately wants to have you weak on your knees, but maybe it isn’t the most appropriate, especially not in the building’s hallway. Your neighbors could hear it, just like you can hear everything.

Jungkook leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear, and the feeling of his breath against your skin definitely sends shivers down your spine. Seems like your little game has backfired right at you.  

“You’re lucky I have enough self-control not to answer the way I want to,” he whispers, his husky voice sending a fresh wave of shivers through you.

Fuck, you never imagined yourself being so turned on by your neighbor. Over the past year, you’ve never truly pictured yourself getting freaky with him because being with him is what you've always valued the most. He’s a great friend.

But now, you’d open your legs for him… What kind of friendship is that?

A smirk appears on your face. “Is that so?” you tease him. “What’s holding you back?”

Without any warning, Jungkook licks your ear before kissing the spot right under. A whimper escapes your lips. Now, this is something you didn’t expect or even see coming. His lips leave a couple of more kisses on that spot before moving higher. Your eyes flutter shut while your hand finds its way to his fluffy hair.

This feels fucking good for both of you.

An anticipation builds within you as he slowly reaches your lips. Damn, you're so eager to feel his mouth on yours, to finally know what it's like to be kissed by Jungkook. So far, it's fantastic and thrilling. No wonder every shady girl wants him.

His lips halt at the corner of yours, his eyes moving up to look at you. The nastiest smirk appears on his face, and man, this is a fucking victory for him. Right now, he has you wrapped around his fingers, and he has never desired this much to kiss you as desperately as he wants right now.

Jungkook doesn’t move, his eyes glued to yours as they slowly open again. None of you moves, and it somehow drives you crazy. You need his lips on yours. His breathing tickles your face, but you couldn’t care less. His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“Can I?” he asks softly.

The simple fact that he asked instead of just rushing his lips on yours makes your heart swell. Never before has a man done that. In the heat of the moment, you wouldn’t have even thought to ask, but he did. You’d like to say that it surprises you coming from him, but it doesn’t. It definitely matches his personality and who he is.

“Absolutely,” you nod with a smile.

Without hesitation, his lips smash against yours, finally kissing you. The kiss is soft and tender, the kind of kiss that feels long overdue. You immediately melt into it, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt as he smiles into the kiss. His hands find their way to your back, pressing you against his body. The world disappears around you while he deepens the kiss.

You’ve kissed many men before him, but none of them were this great. Jungkook is more than a great kisser, and the more you get to see his flirty side, the more you understand the girls he brings home.

Your body leans into his while your fingers hold his shirt as tight as possible. The two of you desperately try to push each other even closer, as if you’ll run away if you let go. The kiss is all tongue and teeth by now, clearly indicating the nasty turn it’s taking.

But let’s not forget the sex ban you put him under.

It’s not because he has you wrapped around his fingers, or should you say, wrapped around his tongue, that he gets to get freaky. So, very delicately, you push him back with your hands, clearly putting an end to this mindblowing kiss.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest, the vibration running straight to your core and making you wet at the same time, as if this simple moment hadn’t already left you desperate for more.

“You’re still forbidden from sex, Kook,” you whisper against his lips. 

Jungkook doesn’t open his eyes, too scared to see your fucked out expression. He hasn’t really forgotten about it, but somehow, he was hopeful that if it involves you, you’d give him a pass. If he sees you, he won’t be able to resist.

You place a gentle peck on his lips before taking a step back, putting some clear distance between the two of you. This is highly frustrating for you both, but you still have your revenge to get on. And this really helps.

“Fuck,” he mumbles before opening his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“You can kiss as much as you want, but it can’t go any further than that,” you reply with a victorious smile on your face. “And you were clearly trying to get me into your bed.”

This sight right here could make him come in an instant. Your shiny, swollen lips are mesmerizing, making it impossible to look away, but beyond that, your beauty is breathtaking. He has never desired anyone as much as he does right now. He definitely wants more, but obviously, he won’t get it. Certainly not from you.

Seems like his hand will be his only consolation tonight…

“You’ll have to try harder for that to happen,” you add.

A smirk instantly stretches his lips, leaving no doubt that he’ll do everything in his power to see you contorting with pleasure underneath him.

In the following days, you purposely avoid Jungkook as if he has the plague, but it’s all part of your silly revenge plan. To say that it frustrates him is a rather huge understatement. Even hearing Melissa and Carter get freaky—because believe it or not, that woman is absolutely loud when she gets dicked down—is absolute torture to him. Usually, it’s quite funny, but not this time around.

Whenever you’d see him from afar, you’d devilishly smile and run away or hide from him as fast as you could. Your smile would grow even bigger when you hear him masturbating and moaning like a frenetic at night, totally ignoring that he’s also torturing you back.

Jungkook plays along with your game. You wanted to torture him, so be it, but he has to get back at you. His only plan is to make you hear his despair. And it’s working because he could hear you, too.

The tension is clearly growing, and none of you is preventing it from expanding. As vicious as it might sound, you are actually more than eager to make it unbearable.

And then, a heatwave hits.

Everything suddenly becomes too much. Your name would roll off his tongue at a surprisingly fast pace, your fingers would find their way to your core every time you thought of him, and avoiding him turns out to be almost impossible. You’re craving each other with a tremendous desperation.

Usually, heatwaves make it almost unbearable to think of getting naughty because it’s just too hot, but to the two of you, it’s actually the opposite. You want it. Maybe not as much as Melissa and Carter, because those two are not stopping for a second. It’s almost like he has forgotten she cheated on him not so long ago. Maybe he has selective memory.

The heat between your legs clearly becomes insufferable. You couldn’t do it anymore. So you probably did the most stupid thing and knocked on his door at midnight after you heard him moaning your name like it was some sort of mantra.

“Not avoiding me anymore, huh?” Jungkook says when he opens the door.

Your gaze drops to his sweaty chest, heavy breathing, and tousled hair before settling on the familiar pair of Calvin Klein briefs he always seems to wear. The prominent bulge instantly makes you drool.

“Actually, I wanted to warn you that I’m going to file a noise complaint,” you teasingly reply.

“Oh, yeah?” he kookily asks. “Isn’t it flattering to have a man masturbating at the thought of you?”

You instantly choke on your own saliva at his straightforwardness. He’s not even trying to hide what he was doing, which somehow surprises you while also not surprising you in the slightest. This man is a walking contradiction. And does it turn you on? Absolutely!

 “Maybe,” you reply, pushing him to get inside his place.

Tonight, you won’t be leaving without getting destroyed by him. Jungkook closes the door behind him before slowly making his way toward you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, even though the answer is rather obvious.

“I told you—” you start speaking, but he cuts you off.

“We both know it isn’t true.” Jungkook now stands right in front of you, his chest almost pressed against yours.

“Who said I was going to file it against you?” You raise an eyebrow. “It could be against our beloved neighbors, and I’d need some backup, or…” your fingertips trail down his damp chest, sending shivers right through his body. “Or it could be against us and the noise we’re about to make.”

Your eyes follow the tip of your fingertip sliding over his body, noticing as well how his breathing picks up. Although it definitely looks like a victory, it doesn’t feel like one. Why? Because you crave him with your entire being, and he hasn’t surrendered just yet.

A smirk rises on his face before he snorts. “What noises?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, your eyes moving up to meet his gaze. He’s so fucking breathtaking with his tussled hair. “Maybe something similar to what Melissa and Carter have been up to for the past few days.”  

Anyone with two ears could perfectly hear how loud they’ve been fucking lately. This whole cheating thing has excited them even more. You’re sure that you and Jungkook haven’t been the only people turned on.

“May I need to remind you of the sex ban you put me under?”

The two of you know that it doesn’t matter anymore. The ban has long been forgotten. It simply has been the cataclysm of this whole teasing and flirting between you.

You dangerously close the distance between you, your lips brushing against his ear to whisper, “I don’t remember anything of it.”

Shivers appear on his body instantly. He’s fucked. But he perfectly knows it, and he doesn’t care. All he wants is to have you in any possible way, which clearly seems like he’d get it tonight. If he knew, he’d have called a wizard or whatever to create this heatwave sooner.   

In an instant, his arm wraps around your waist, pushing you even closer to his body. Your chest is pressed to his now, his sweatiness straining your large t-shirt. Jungkook leans closer, his face a breath away from yours. His eyes scan yours for a hot second before his lips fall over yours.

This kiss is far from slow and tender. It’s all tongue and teeth and completely desperate. This is the result of days and weeks of teasing, and man, it feels so fucking great. This time, you definitely aren’t going to leave him. You’re certainly going to let him ruin you in every possible way.

When you break apart, Jungkook walks the two of you to his couch and sits on it, spreading his legs wide. Without giving you much time to think about it, he pulls you into his lap, making you straddle one of his thighs. Your knees trap his toned thigh between you while he gently tugs you closer until you’re chest to chest.

He cups your face and kisses you again, and the heat of his body against yours wraps around you. The despair and lust entirely consume you. For sure, you’re not going to survive, especially with this damn heatwave. His tongue slides into your mouth, making you moan softly. His hands move down to rest on your waist, but they don’t stay there long.

Jungkook breaks the kiss before trailing his lips along your jaw and then your neck, which makes you tilt your head to give him free pass to suck you lightly. Very slowly, you start rocking against his thigh, and the friction between your bodies makes the two of you moan. His groan against your neck makes you move a tiny bit faster.

His hands move to your back, holding you against him while your hips desperately sway. For sure, he’ll leave a mark on your skin, but you absolutely don’t give a shit about it. He’s free to do as he pleases.

When his lips finally leave your neck, he takes a proper look at you, and his cock gets hard instantly. That’s a sight he’ll engrave in his brain forever. This is something he never thought he’d ever witness, but man, he’s fucking happy it ever happened.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his breathing frenetic. “You’re so fucking pretty.”    

You’re both breathing heavily, looking at each other with so much lust you might combust at any given moment. Jungkook pulls you back for another deep kiss, his tongue instantly making its way inside your mouth while his hands slide up and down your spine, leaving tons of goosebumps on the way.

This is all too wild, especially for Jungkook after going through three weeks without sex. He could just come right there and then just from the kiss, and he absolutely doesn’t care if it might make him look like a desperate man. He is desperate and full of hunger.

His lips move once more down to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin. This time, he doesn’t suck your skin; he just wets it with his tongue and lips, causing moans to fall from your mouth. Your eyes close for a moment to savor this special moment.

Jungkook takes your t-shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the living room, and hooks his fingers into the front of your laced bra to tug it down. Before you can even process what he’s doing, his mouth closes around your nipple. A loud whimper leaves your lips as your back arches instantly.

His lips and tongue are gentle at first, but his desperation takes over his body, and then, he sucks harder. All the while, your hips keep rocking against his thigh. The combined feeling of his hot mouth on your nipple, his flexing thigh under you, and his hardness against your body drives you absolutely crazy.

And then, he slips a hand down your stomach, his fingers teasing the waistband of your pants. The motion of your hips increases instantly, your hands moving to his hair to push him even more against your chest, and a trail of moans falls from your mouth.  

“Can I?” his eyes look up at you before his tongue licks your sensitive nipple.

“Absolutely,” you nod.

At this stage, you can’t tell who’s the most desperate. Him or you? You don’t know, but does it really matter? No, because you’re both getting what you want. You’ve been craving this more and more since the kiss, and hearing him masturbating was like the cherry on top.

Jungkook slips his hand inside your shorts, his fingers immediately finding how wet you already are. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, his head resting against your chest while his eyes close at the feeling of your wetness.  

“Hearing you moaning my name turned me on so fucking much,” you mumble before tucking at his hair.

His finger drags slowly through your folds, gathering some wetness before circling your clit lightly. This is honestly too much. He’s so talented, and now, you definitely get why all the women are so fucking desperate for him. He’s so good at giving pleasure.

“I should do that more often, then,” he replies, his gaze shifting up to your face.

Before you even get to reply, he pushes a finger inside you, curling it slightly, and you clench around him, your hips rocking into his hand. Jungkook doesn’t even let you get used to it; he instantly slides another finger. Your mouth hangs open, small whimpers rumbling deep from within your chest. He thrusts them in and out at a steady pace while his thumb rubs your clit.

“Fuck,” you swear, your gaze locked with his as he fucks you with his fingers.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Ride my fingers.”

The pace of his fingers increases while they curl perfectly inside you with every thrust. His lips find yours again, swallowing every single moan. He shows no mercy to you, torturing you just the way you need it. For a while, his fingers stretch you as his thumb rubs your clit. You’re a complete mess on his lap.  

At some point, the feeling of his fingers inside you becomes too overwhelming, and you just cum with a high-pitched moan. His eyes never leave you, taking the time to admire how you fall apart on his lap. Your orgasm doesn’t stop him. On the contrary, his fingers thrust even faster.

“Kook…” you manage to say in between moans.

Your hands rest on his arm, trying to hold onto something while he keeps pushing you over the edge. Your hips move, your head falls, and your back arches in a way that might break your spine at some point.

“Too much…” you mumble when you feel your orgasm ready to burst again.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he says against your shoulder, biting it gently.

The way he speaks to you with his deep voice and the nickname sends you right over the edge again. Your second orgasm is just as intense as the first one, if not more. Even with the hot weather, it feels fucking good. Jungkook looks at you, not wanting to miss a thing, and he halts his fingers.

“You look so fucking beautiful when you come,” he smiles at you like a pervert.

When Jungkook finally takes his fingers out, you whine at the loss, and he brings them to his mouth to taste you. Seeing him doing it makes you clench around emptiness. He’s so hot, it might even be a crime to look that fine.

“And you taste like fucking heaven,” he continues.

“No need to exaggerate,” you smile while shaking your head.

“I’m not lying, sweetheart,” he replies while pushing your body against his. “You know I always say what I think,” he whispers against your lips, pressing another kiss.

Jungkook pushes you off his lap and removes every simple piece of clothing still on your body. He shifts you forward on the couch, placing you on your hands and knees. His hands grip your hips from behind, pulling your ass toward him. The feeling of his bulge against your core makes you both groan. In two seconds, he pushes his underwear down, and then, you feel the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance.

Jungkook pushes forward, and the stretch is immediately intense. Your hands tighten into a fist, and your teeth bite your lower lip while he slowly sinks into you from behind. His hands almost bruise your hips as he holds you.

Your mouth falls open when he’s fully inside, and he just stops, giving you both the time to adjust to the stretch. He leans down, his chest pressing against your back, and he presses a kiss on your shoulder.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin.

For a moment, he peppers the skin of your back and shoulder with kisses, as if he’s worshipping your body. At some point, you turn your head, and he instantly captures your lips for a kiss.   

As he kisses you, his hips slowly start to move into deep thrusts, and he swallows your moans. Your entire body rocks forward with the snap of his hips. Feeling him inside you is devastatingly overwhelming, but in such a good way. Right now, you’re starting to regret not doing this any sooner. He’s good at it. Really good.

Well, somehow it isn’t surprising since he has sex at least once a week. If he didn’t know how to use his dick by now, that would be something to be concerned about. The girls’ moans were definitely justified, even though you wished it never was at 2 am.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispers against your ear.

“I know,” you tease him.

Jungkook chuckles before straightening his back. You look back at him with a devious smile on your face.

“You’re so full of yourself,” he says while his eyes are inevitably drawn to where your bodies are joined. It’s mesmerizing to see the way his dick disappears inside you and how you coat him with your wetness. He might get addicted to this sight.

“Not as much as you,” you reply.

His legs slightly spread yours a bit more, and his hand pushes your shoulders even more against the couch, making your back arch even more. Now, his shaft touches parts of your insides you never thought existed. Strangled moans fall from your lips instantly. This feels freaking good and overwhelming at the same time.   

“How couldn’t I be when I have you exactly where I wanted you?” He groans behind you.

Involuntarily, your walls squeeze around him, making the two of you moan. Hearing him say it out loud turns you on even more. It’s not a surprise because he was literally masturbating and moaning your name minutes ago, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s flattering.  

Instead of replying, you push back to meet his deep thrusts. Jungkook’s hands move to your ass, rubbing his fingers over your skin and watching over and over how you suck him in. He even pushes your cheeks apart to take an even better look, as if he wants to make sure this is real.

Slowly but surely, his pace turns faster, harder, and deeper. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your moans echoes in his living room. Everything slowly becomes too much, and you know you’re so freaking close. Jungkook hits a special spot inside you, making your eyes roll back.

And then, your third orgasm just hits you intensely.

You squeeze him tightly while your body shakes under him. This one is honestly intense. You’ve never orgasmed that way before, and fuck, you only want more. You don’t care if you’re being overstimulated, as long as you get to come like this.

Jungkook looks at you falling apart under his ministration, and his chest swells with pride. This is all he ever wanted. As you come back down, he slows his thrusts before pulling out with a wet sound. You whine at the sudden loss, but he’s already turning you around to face him.

He sits back on the couch and pulls you into his lap, making you straddle him all over again. His lips find yours for a messy and sloppy kiss, while your hands wrap around his neck.

“Ride me,” he whispers against your lips.

Well, he doesn’t have to tell you twice—you just obey. Your hands move to his shoulder to balance yourself as you sink down onto his cock. Your body is so wet that he slides in so easily. His hands settle on your waist before you start riding him.

At first, the rolls of your hips are slow and shaky, but his hands help you all along. Every time you sink down on him, he groans deeply, which only makes you grow wetter. Slowly, your confidence increases, and your hips move rather faster and deeper. The two of you get completely lost in pleasure, enjoying every bit of this moment.

One of his hands finds your clit, rubbing slick circles while his other hand guides your movements. His face hides for a second in the crook of your neck, gently kissing and biting your skin. His fingers never stop teasing your clit, and it only brings you closer to the edge. If he keeps going, you’ll come at least three more times before this even stops.

Being with him right here feels honestly so good. Your mind is completely drunk on pleasure, your eyes are half-lidded, your lips parted, and your helpless moans keep falling from your mouth.

“This is so good,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers move faster on your clit, the slick sound of it filling the air.

His eyes look up at you, watching just how destroyed you are. He’s so close as well. It’s a matter of seconds before he’s coming deep inside you. Both your bodies are covered in sweat—proof of the damn hot weather and of your steamy activities.  

You whimper at his words, totally agreeing with him, and your head falls on his shoulder as you keep riding him. This is seriously becoming too overwhelming all over again. Jungkook feels it with the way your body starts shaking. He doesn’t want any of this to end any time soon.

The hand on your waist slides up on your back, pressing you even more against him. Your hard and sensitive nipples brush against his chest, which makes you moan against his skin. By now, your entire body is sensitive. He’s torturing you just so perfectly.

“You’re clenching so hard around me, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear.

His fingers circle your clit even faster, wanting to bring you to orgasm for a fourth time. Without really noticing it, you bounce quicker on him, chasing this upcoming orgasm. Your moans get louder, just like the sound of skin slapping against skin.

For sure, your neighbors are hearing the free show you're giving them. You might as well inspire them to do the same, and you don’t even doubt that Melissa and Carter might follow you, if they aren’t already doing the deed.  

Jungkook is just as desperate as you are, so his hips naturally thrust up to meet your movements. The two of you moan way too loud, but who cares? Well, hopefully, none of your neighbors will file a noise complaint against you.

Before you even realize it, you’re coming hard around him, more of your juices running down his shaft. And he follows you right after, his cock pumping you full of his cum. Feeling it makes you squeeze him even harder, and a strangled sound escapes his pretty lips.

Your head rests on his shoulder as you try to get down from everything that just happened. His fingers trace circles along your spine. Your bodies are completely spent and covered in sweat.

“You definitely know how to use that dick of yours,” you say when you’ve managed to catch your breath.

Jungkook brushes damp strands of hair away from your face. “Who said I didn’t?”

You chuckle while shaking your head. He’s unbelievable. “I did,” you reply.

“Glad I finally got to prove you wrong,” he says before pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Maybe we should take a shower.”

You simply nod, and he drags the two of you into his bathroom. It’s supposed to be a simple and quick shower, but in an instant, it turns into another sex session where he completely rearranges your guts against the shower’s wall. Shower sex was a first for you, but you’re definitely going to try it again with him.  

The night turns out to be a long one, and the heatwave definitely seems not to matter at all. If you’re too hot, you ride him all over again. Luckily for you, you don’t have to work the next day, you wouldn’t have been able to present yourself at work.

As of now, let’s just say that whenever you gather to hear your neighbors’ shenanigans, it inevitably ends up with the two of you entwined.

The scent of yeast, burnt sugar, and baked flour always hangs heavy in the midnight air of the kitchen. It's comforting, warm, familiar, and completely separate from the cold, stoned streets of the village beyond these walls, which encompass your life. You wipe a stray smudge of flour from your forehead with the back of your hand, leaning over the heavy wooden workstation to knead the first batch of dough for tomorrow's, well, today's morning rush.

Deep in concentration, you almost don't hear the bell above the back door, which lets out a tiny, muffled chime. But you don't even have to look up to know who it is.

"You're late," you say, keeping your voice flat, still pounding the dough, though a familiar beat of warmth thumps against your ribs. "Shouldn't you be tucked into your silk sheets at the palace by now, Your Royal Highness?"

"A gentleman is never late, sweetheart. He arrives precisely when he means to," Jungkook says, his voice a smooth, playful purr as he slips into the kitchen nestled behind the main bakery area. "And I told you to stop calling me that." He is dressed in his usual disguise, a faded, oversized linen tunic and dark trousers. The entire kingdom knows the face of Prince Jungkook, though few would expect him to be sneaking out of the citadel walls just to loiter in a dusty village bakery. He pushes his hood back, revealing strands of unruly dark hair and those ridiculously large, glittering doe eyes which you can't stare into for too long without feeling heat crawl up your neck.

You sigh, ignoring him as you turn around to face the pantry. You reach for a jar of imported cinnamon, but, of course, it is sitting on the absolute highest shelf, tucked away near the ceiling. You huff, stepping up onto your tiptoes, stretching your arms as high as they can go. Your fingers brush the base of the jar, but you cannot for the life of you get a proper grip. Suddenly, a broad, solid chest flushes directly against your back. All you feel is lean muscle as the heat of him radiates through your apron. Then an arm clad in faded linen reaches up over your head, his large hand wrapping around the jar. You will yourself not to let your eyes linger too long on the prominent veins running across his forearms to his hands.

"Need a hand, love?" Jungkook murmurs right beside your ear, his raspy late-night voice sending a shiver straight down your spine.

You drop back onto your heels, turning around within the small space he has trapped you in. His free hand comes down to rest casually on the edge of the shelf beside your head, effectively boxing you in. He looks down at you, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips as he hands you the cinnamon. Your fingers lightly twitch as they brush his.

"I had it under control, Crown Prince," you shoot back, tapping the jar against his chest to force him to take a step back.

"Right, maybe from over there you did, but from here, all I saw was you hopping up and down like a grasshopper," he teases before turning back.

And before you can swat at him, his hand shoots out toward the cooling racks. You attempt to block him with an elbow, but he uses his height advantage, leaning over to snatch a freshly dusted, warm beignet from the tray. Ones you had just made as a test batch, so the recipe was perfect for the morning rush. He pops the entire thing into his mouth in one go.

"Hey!" You glare, swatting at his arm with your flour-covered hand, leaving a stark white handprint on his dark sleeve. "Do you have any idea how early I had to wake up to prep those? The yeast has to rise for hours, Jungkook! Hours!"

Jungkook chews happily, closing his eyes in mock ecstasy. "Mmm. So worth it. You outdid yourself, truly." He leans his hip against your table, entirely too close, invading your space with the scent of the crisp night air and something rich, clean, and faintly expensive. He points a finger at a bowl of glossy chocolate batter. "What do we have here?" His eyes are lit with nothing short of mischief.

"Don't you dare-"

Too late.

He dips his index finger straight into the bowl, swirling it around before sucking the batter off with shameless, slow deliberateness. He locks eyes with you, a wicked, teasing tilt to his lips. "Sweet. " He pauses. "Just like the baker."

You feel the heat rush straight to your cheeks. "You are an absolute menace. I don't know why I keep letting you break into my shop. I really need to invest in a heavier deadbolt. Or tell the royal guards that their beloved prince is a little sugar thief."

"Because you love me," he says instantly, shifting his weight around the table to follow your movements like a shadow, or more like a separation-anxiety ridden puppy. "And because I am excellent company. Who else is going to help you with labour at one in the morning for the low price of sugar? Besides, the guards would never believe you."

"A public nuisance is what you are," you correct, though your lips twitch. You turn to a tray of unadorned cupcakes and sigh, handing him a backup piping bag filled with sweet vanilla buttercream. "If you're going to loiter, at least make yourself useful. Pipe the tops of those. Like this." You demonstrate a perfect, elegant swirl on one, pulling the tip up to create a flawless peak.

Jungkook takes the bag, his chest puffing out with entirely unwarranted confidence. "Easy. Watch a master at work. I've got great hand-eye coordination."

He grips the bag with way too much force, causing an explosion of frosting that lands on the cupcake, tilting precariously to one side like a melting snowman before sliding off the edge completely.

You burst out laughing, a bright, clear sound that echoes in the quiet kitchen. "A master? Jungkook, it looks like a squashed toad!"

"It's abstract! It has personality!" he protests, bumping his shoulder heavily against yours to disrupt your balance. He looks down at your laughing face, his own expression softening into something incredibly tender. His eyes track the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, capturing the exact shade of warmth in your smile. "See? I made you laugh. That’s worth at least three more free pastries tonight."

"In your dreams, thief," you scoff.

After a few minutes and many fails later, he gets the hang of it, leaving you to grab a heavy wooden spoon and begin vigorously beating a massive bowl of thick, stubborn cookie dough. You hate this part the most. After a long day, hours of selling and continuously running through the main shop and the kitchen, creating new batches and noting down special orders, the physical effort of the mixture, especially after the non-stop whipping of the meringues and the kneading of the dough, makes your wrists ache. Your movements slow slightly as you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow.

As Jungkook continues piping, he glances at your figure a few times, as if it's second nature, and tracks the sudden lag in your rhythm. His eyes soften, the playful posture shifting into something much more attentive, which goes unnoticed by you. He steps up right beside you, his hand sliding over yours on the handle of the wooden spoon. His palm is warm, broad, and calloused from sword training.

"Hey," he says softly, his shoulder bumping into yours. "Go check on the hearth. I think I smell burning."

"What? No, it's not, I just put it-"

"Just go check, stubborn," he cuts you off, smoothly applying just enough pressure to slide the bowl away from you.

Before you can protest further, he completely takes over, his muscular forearm flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he beats the heavy dough with absolute, effortless ease. It's only when you reach the hearth, and you find your cake, in fact, not burning, that you realise he invented such a thing so you could rest your tired wrist.

You cross your arms with a small smile, and you lean against the counter, watching him work. "Look at you. Future monarch doing manual labour in a village kitchen. Oh, if the King could see you now, he'd strip you of your title."

"Let him," Jungkook grunts with a grin, not missing a beat as he whips the dough into a perfect, uniform consistency. "I'd make a fantastic baker's assistant. I'm strong, I learn fast, and I look great in an apron."

"You don't even have an apron on," you point out, laughing.

"An oversight you can easily fix," he shoots back, flashing a brilliant bunny-toothed smile that makes your heart do a ridiculous little flip. He stops mixing, sliding the perfect dough toward you. "There. Perfect. What's next, pretty lady?"

You roll your eyes at the name. "We need to pour this batter into the tins," you say, dragging a heavy ceramic bowl of vanilla batter and two circular metal tins toward the centre of the table.

"I've got it," Jungkook volunteers eagerly. He lifts the heavy ceramic bowl, and you try not to pay attention to the way his biceps strain slightly against the linen shirt. He tips it over the first tin, carefully pouring the thick, pale-yellow ribbon of batter into the centre until it fills it perfectly. He moves to the second tin, pouring the remainder.

Once the bowl is mostly empty, he sets it down and picks up a long spatula. He meticulously scrapes the remaining thick batter from the inside walls of the bowl, gathering a massive, delicious glob of it onto the edge of the spatula. He brings it up toward his face, his eyes lighting up as he prepares to lick it clean.

"Ah-ah-ah," you say quickly, swatting his wrist away. "No way. I did all the measuring for that batter. That's mine."

You grab the end of the spatula handle. Jungkook blinks, then a surprised, but competitive spark instantly ignites his doe eyes. He tightens his grip, tugging it back towards himself. "I did the pouring! And the scraping! Royal decree dictates that the scraper gets the reward."

"There is no such royal decree," you laugh, pulling the spatula towards your side. "You're abusing your power, Your Highness!"

"I am a prince, I can make up whatever laws I want to," he gasps dramatically, pulling back.

You step closer, using your leverage to yank on the handle. For a second, you are pulled completely into his space, your hands tangled together on the thin piece of wood, faces inches apart. You can see the faint amber flecks in his eyes and the absolute amusement radiating from him.

Jungkook looks down at your determined face, his gaze dropping to your lips before a wicked, triumphant grin splits across his face.

Suddenly, he completely lets go of the spatula.

Because you were pulling so hard, you stumbled backwards a step, clutching the spatula victoriously to your chest. "Ha! I win!"

"Do you?" Jungkook asks, his voice dripping with amusement.

Before you can answer, he reaches down and grabs the massive, heavy ceramic mixing bowl that still has a generous coating of thick batter stuck to the bottom and sides. He lifts it, completely sticking his face inside the wide rim, using his finger to swipe a massive glob of batter and popping it into his mouth.

"Fine, keep the tiny spatula," he mutters happily from inside the bowl, his voice echoing. "I have the motherlode."

"Jungkook!" You burst out laughing, completely scandalised. "You are a literal child! Get your face out of my bowl!"

He pulls his head out, a tiny dollop of yellow batter sitting right on the tip of his nose. He looks incredibly ridiculous and remarkably cute all at once. He steps closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an unbearable amount of playful intensity.

"You have something right..." you start, pointing at your own nose.

"Where? Here?" he asks, deliberately wiping his cheek instead, smearing it further.

"No, you idiot, let me-"

You step in, reaching up with your thumb to gently wipe the batter off the tip of his nose. The moment your skin touches his, Jungkook freezes. The childish playfulness drops away in an instant, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness. His gaze drops, heavy and unblinking, tracking the movement of your fingers, then the curve of your jaw, and finally resting on your eyes.

The kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire. His breath is warm against your skin. You feel your own breath hitch, your thumb lingering against his nose for a second too long.

A slow, devastatingly tender smile stretches across his lips. He reaches up, his large hand gently wrapping around your wrist, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle into your pulse point.

"You know, you're very bossy for a regular citizen," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a raspy, late-night register that makes your heart beat erratically against your ribs.

"And you're very compliant for a future king," you whisper back, trying to maintain your defences, though the proximity is making it impossible to think straight.

"Only for you," he says softly, his thumb continuing to trace your wrist. "I don't let anyone else order me around like this. I think I like it."

You clear your throat, gently pulling your wrist from his grip to hide the bright blush creeping up your neck. You turn away to hide your burning cheeks, reaching for a small plate hidden under a glass dome on the back shelf. "Shut up and try this. I've been working on it all afternoon. Consider it payment for your... impeccable assistant work."

On the plate sits a pastry you’ve been experimenting with: dozens of microscopically thin, crispy layers of golden dough, stacked high with rich, velvety custard and fresh cream sandwiched between them, dusted lightly with powdered sugar.

"What is it?" he asks, leaning over your shoulder, his chest practically pressed against your back again, completely erasing the distance you just tried to create.

"Just shut up and try it," you say, handing him a small fork.

He takes a bite. The audible, delicate crunch of the layers echoes in the quiet room, followed by the smoothness of the cream. Jungkook freezes completely. His eyes widen to twice their size. Without saying a word, he devours the rest of the pastry in two massive bites, nearly groaning out loud.

"Marry me," he says flatly. "I'm serious. Name the day. We can live right here in this kitchen. I will waive the royal dowry, I will fight the council, I don't care. I will do nothing but eat this and look at you for the rest of my days."

You laugh loudly, shoving his shoulder hard to create some space. "So dramatic." You reply back.

"So in love."

"So in need of therapy." You mutter back, turning to grab a handful of loose flour to dust the wooden surface, the fine white powder settling like mist.

The frantic energy of the kitchen slows down, settling into a comfortable, quiet rhythm that has secretly become your favourite part of the day. Jungkook works right beside you, his initial royal clumsiness giving way to a quiet focus as he tries to correct his piping technique, finishing the cupcakes, his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth in pure concentration.

Then, the kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound left is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire and the heavy, rhythmic thud of your palms against the dough.

You feel a sudden weight on you, a gaze so intense it feels tangible against your skin. You glance up, a stray lock of hair falling into your eyes, and catch him.

Jungkook isn't looking at the cupcakes anymore. He is leaning his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on the wooden counter, his eyes fixed entirely on you. His gaze is heavy, unblinking, tracking the curve of your jaw, the sweat dampening the nape of your neck, the fierce determination on your brow. There is no trace of the boyish prankster in his expression right now; his eyes are dark, deep, and filled with an intense, quiet gravity that makes your breath hitch completely.

"What?" you ask, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. You try to sound annoyed, but the slight tremor in your voice betrays you. "Is there flour on my face again?"

Jungkook doesn't blink. A smile stretches across his lips, his voice drops again, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Nope. Just looking at something beautiful."

You feel the heat rush from your chest all the way to your hairline. You look down at your rough, flour-dusted hands, and a sudden, heavy wave of insecurity twists in your stomach. It’s a reminder that always haunts the back of your mind. He is the Crown Prince. You know his face, you know his title, and you know the vast, impossible chasm that lies between your worlds.

"You are a terrifyingly smooth talker, Your Highness," you say, your voice turning a little hollow as you force yourself to look back up at him. "I suppose this is the exact same poetry you feed to the high-born noble ladies at the palace court."

Jungkook’s smile falters slightly, his doe eyes tracking the subtle drop in your shoulders, his sharp instincts picking up on the sudden shift in your mood. "Noble ladies? Trust me, they don't care about poetry. Just titles and crown jewels."

"I'm serious, Jungkook," you say, huffing a breath but still kneading the dough on the counter. "Why do you even come here? You have an entire court of perfect, beautiful women at your feet. You should be spending your time there with them, not in a drab bakery."

You pause. The next words come out in a whisper you hope he doesn't hear. "You could be with women who actually know how to dance, with titles, who wear silk and velvet instead of aprons caked in dried dough. They don't smell like yeast and sweat."

But he does, and the playful demeanour completely evaporates from Jungkook's face. The silence returns, heavier this time, but thick with an undeniable warmth.

He stands up straight, stepping around the workstation table to face you. He moves with a quiet, deliberate grace. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the dough. Press. Then push. Then fold. Then turn. And repeat. Don't look up.

But he doesn't let you hide. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently taking your wrists, halting your movements. His palms are warm and incredibly grounding.

"Look at me," he commands softly. You don't.

"Hey…" He trails off, voice unbelievably gentle, "Please?"

How can you say no to him?

When you finally look up into his eyes, you find them swimming with a fierce, profound sincerity.

"None of them." He pauses, "Are you." His voice is a low, intense whisper that rings clearly in the quiet kitchen. He squeezes your hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. "The court ladies are hollow, Y/N. They smile because they were trained to; they speak from rehearsed scripts; and they look at me like I'm a crown to be won, a stepping stone for their families. But you? This?"

He leans closer, head tilting down so your eyes are entirely locked. He wants you to feel how much he means every word.

"I'd rather be no place else. You're real. You're fierce, you're brilliant, and you look at me like I'm just a man. I don't want silk, and I don't care about their perfect poise. I want this. I want the smell of yeast and sugar, and I want to spend my evenings with the pretty little baker who threatens to throw rolling pins at my royal head."

Your heart hammers violently against your ribs, your lungs locking up under the sheer weight of his words. His eyes drop to your lips for a long, agonising second, and you think you might actually combust from the heat spreading through your veins.

Sensing the overwhelming tension and desperate to save your blushing face from melting, a familiar, wicked spark suddenly reignites in Jungkook’s eyes. He lets go of one of your hands and steps to the side.

Before you can even process the emotional whiplash, he blows a sharp puff of air across the workstation. A massive cloud of white flour erupts directly onto your face. You gasp, coughing, your eyelashes completely coated in white powder. Through the white haze, you see him throwing his head back, laughing loudly, looking immensely proud of his childish distraction.

"Oh, it is so on," you hiss.

You scoop up a massive, double handful of flour and throw it straight at his chest. It hits him with a satisfying, heavy thwack, turning his dark tunic completely white from collar to waist. Jungkook’s jaw drops in utter shock, his laughter cutting off. He retaliates by pinching more flour before sprinkling it over your head, coating your hair in white. You squirm, laughing as you grab another handful and go to move around the bench, but your shoes slip on the pile of flour that has accumulated on the floor, and you are sent plummeting to the ground. Jungkook is faster, though, of course, and he manages to hold onto you, one hand on your arm and the other firm against your waist as he manages to pull you back up.

"Falling for me already?" His lips upturn in a playful smirk.

You scoff, already pushing away from him, "You wish, rich boy."

You both laugh. And the next few hours continue like that. You love the back-and-forth; it calms you after a long day and prepares you for the next. You truly relish these moments, that is, until you gaze up and notice the sky outside, the dark midnight lighting slightly.

"You should get going, Jungkook, dawn's coming, and I should rest before prepping for the morning." You explain.

He whines, pouting his bottom lip in a way that makes him look like an oversized puppy, but he relents. He walks to the back door, pausing to look back at you, the playful smirk returning to his face as he pulls his hood back up over his dark hair. "See you tomorrow, my beautiful baker. Try not to miss your prince too much."

"Oh, that won't be difficult at all, Jungkook," you say, and he holds his chest, mocking a dagger struck through his heart, but you’re smiling wide as the door clicks shut, the quiet warmth of his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

The next morning brings a particularly bitter cold. The sun has barely crested the horizon when you set up the outdoor display rack, lining it with fresh, golden loaves of bread and warm rolls.

You return inside to tend to the ovens, glancing out the large front glass window. The village market is starting to wake up. The other store owners are sweeping outside their doors and beating the rugs. The stall owners are setting up their carts with small chatter amongst them, no doubt some high-class gossip they read in the papers this morning.

Through the glass, you also notice three small, shivering figures creeping toward your outdoor display. It’s the children who sleep under the alleyway awnings near the secondary square. They look emaciated, their ribs practically visible through their tattered rags, and your heart cracks slightly at the sight.

One of them, a little boy no older than six, reaches up and snatches a small loaf of bread. But before you can even open the door to tell them they can have it, even come inside for more, a harsh, booming voice echoes through the square.

"Thieves! Drop it!"

Two royal guards, clad in gleaming, heavy iron armour, march out from the shadows. They look bored, angry, and eager for a distraction. The children shriek, dropping the bread into the dirt as they try to scatter, but one guard lunges, grabbing the little boy by his scruff, lifting him completely off the ground. The child wails in terror.

The second guard unclips a heavy, thick leather lash from his belt, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "A lesson needs to be taught. Stealing from the village market carries a heavy price, brat."

Your blood runs cold. You don't think. You throw the bakery door open, sprinting out into the freezing air.

"Stop! Stop, please!" you shout, throwing yourself into the scene.

The guard with the whip pauses, lowering his weapon slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Move aside, girl. These street rats are breaking the law. They require consequence."

"It's my bread!" you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "It’s my shop! I don't mind. I was giving it to them. They didn't steal anything, I swear."

The guard holding the boy sneers, dropping the child to the dirt, where he scurries behind your skirts, clinging on to them for dear life. "Do not lie to the Crown's authority, baker. We saw them take it. If you harbour thieves, you share their guilt. Now step away before we make an example out of you, too."

These guards are notorious. They are brutes, drunk on the microscopic amount of power the crown grants them over the poor villagers. You look down at the crying child holding onto you, burying his face in your skirts, and a stubborn wave of protectiveness washes over you.

"They are starving children," you say, your voice trembling but resolute. "If you must strike someone to satisfy your pathetic need for power... strike me. Leave them alone."

The guard with the whip cuts a dark, ugly glare toward you. "You want to take the punishment for a bunch of gutter rats? Fine by me. The law demands blood for theft. Now kneel."

You look around the square. A few villagers have stopped to watch, but they immediately look away, hurrying along, terrified of getting involved.

No one is going to help you. You don't expect them to.

You swallow hard, your knees hitting the cold, unforgiving cobblestones. You pull your hair to the side, exposing the back of your thin cotton chemise. You brace yourself, gripping your knees tightly.

Crack.

The first strike tears through the air and slices directly across your upper back.

A choked, agonising shriek tears from your throat. It feels like a line of liquid fire has been seared into your flesh. The sheer force of the blow knocks you forward, your palms slamming into the dirt. Tears sting your eyes instantly, blurring your vision.

"That's for the first brat," the guard grunts.

Crack.

The second strike hits, the leather biting into the exact same raw skin. You gasp, your lungs seizing.

"That's for the second."

Crack.

The third blow tears your chemise open at the side, the fabric ripping away as the leather draws blood. You press your forehead against the freezing ground, sobbing silently as you pray for it to end.

"And that's for the third," the guard sneers. He pauses, looking down at your trembling, broken form, but his eyes only gleam with a deeper cruelty. "But you opened your mouth to the Crown's authority, didn't you, girl? You think you can talk back to us?"

Crack.

The fourth strike is harder, delivered with the full weight of his arm. A ragged scream escapes your lips, your vision flashing white. The pain is blinding, radiating across your entire torso.

"And this one..." The guard chuckles, raising the whip one last time just to satisfy his own twisted amusement. "...just because I feel like it." He says low, only for your ears to hear.

Crack.

The fifth strike shatters whatever strength you have left. You collapse entirely onto the cold cobblestones, your chest heaving as deep, agonising tremors wrack your body.

They leave you there, laughing as they walk away. Slowly, agonisingly, you push yourself up. Your vision swims. You stagger back into the bakery, your hands shaking so violently you can barely turn the lock. You flip the sign on the door to CLOSED, then wince as you draw the thick curtains shut.

You stumble up the narrow wooden stairs to your small apartment on the second floor. In the tiny bathroom, you try to peer into the cracked mirror, but you can’t see the damage properly. Reaching behind yourself with a wet cloth, you touch the wounds, and a fresh wave of sobbing breaks out. It hurts too much. You can't reach it properly to clean it. Blindly, you wrap a clean strip of linen around your torso, pinning it clumsily, though you know it's too loose.

Exhausted, broken, and throbbing with a relentless, burning agony, you crawl onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow, letting the tears ruin the sheets.

Hours pass. Eventually, the sheer restlessness of the pain forces you out of bed. You can’t lie down comfortably, and you can’t sit up straight. You're exhausted. But you drag yourself back downstairs into the darkened kitchen. You decide not to open the shop today, you can't bear the thought of standing at the counter, but you need a distraction. You begin mindlessly wiping down the clean surfaces, moving like a ghost in your own home.

Jungkook is practically skipping through the crowded, muddy alleyways of the lower village, keeping the heavy fabric of his dark wool cloak pulled tightly around his face. Thankfully, his royal duties ended earlier today, allowing him more time with you. He did have to dodge three separate royal attendants, lie straight to his personal guard, and scale a crumbling section of the northern citadel wall just to sneak out today, but he didn't care. He would gladly scale the highest mountain in the land if it meant reaching your doorstep a second earlier than usual.

The only thing occupying his mind for the last twelve long, agonising hours has been you.

He is down bad. Mortifyingly, hopelessly, helplessly down bad.

Every time he closes his eyes during council meetings or listens to his father drone on about trade routes, he doesn't see crowns or maps. He sees the way your eyes crinkle into perfect, breathtaking crescents when you laugh at his ridiculous antics. He sees the faint, light dust of white flour that always seems to settle on the bridge of your nose. He wants to taste that layered cream pastry again, sure, but more than that, he just wants to hear the melodic cadence of your voice.

He wants to tease you until your stubborn pride flares up, just so he can witness that fierce, fiery spark in your eyes that makes him feel more alive than any royal decree ever could. He is a prince of the realm, surrounded by high-born court ladies who fawn over his status and offer plastic, practised smiles, but none of them holds a candle to the sharp-tongued, beautiful baker who looks right past his title and treats him like a normal man.

As he navigates the bustling market crowds, his inner monologue takes a heavier, more ache-filled turn. He is growing so tired of the midnight boundaries. He is tired of being the mysterious visitor who has to vanish before the sun crests the horizon. He wants more. He wants to be the one who wakes up next to you, watching the morning light catch your face. He wants to hold your hand in broad daylight, right in the middle of the crowded square, and dare anyone to say a word about it. He wants you to be his, entirely and completely, but he knows how fiercely independent you are, how hard you work for your little shop, and how you probably don't feel the same. So for now, he hoards these secret hours like a dragon guarding gold. And even if he has to keep this boundary with you for the rest of his life, be nothing more, he'll take that sacrifice if it means he gets to be in your presence, in your life, in whatever way you'll have him.

He turns the final corner into the main square, a boyish grin already splitting across his face, his heart does an eager little flip against his ribs. But the moment his eyes land on the bakery, his steps instantly slow to a halt.

The outdoor display racks are completely empty. The heavy linen curtains are drawn tightly across the front windows, blocking out the daylight. The wooden sign dangling from the brass chain reads CLOSED.

Jungkook frowns, a sharp, cold knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach. It’s mid-afternoon. The sun is at its peak. You never close the shop at this hour. Even when you were burning up with a fever last winter, you stubbornly dragged yourself down to the counter to sell bread, refusing to lose a single coin.

He hurries up to the heavy front door, his hand trembling slightly as he knocks loudly against the wood. "Y/N? Love? Are you in there? It's me."

Silence. The square carries on around him, completely indifferent to the sudden spike of adrenaline flooding his veins.

Panicking now, his breath catching in his throat, he rushes down the narrow, shadowed side alley toward the back entrance. He grabs the brass handle and turns it, fully expecting it to be locked, but to his surprise, it clicks open. He's going to have a few words with you about that. He slips inside instantly, shutting the heavy door quietly behind him to keep his presence hidden.

The kitchen is cast in deep shadows, completely devoid of the usual roaring hearth fire and bustling energy. The only light comes from a single, lonely candle burning on the centre island.

Then, he spots you.

You are standing by the deep stone sink, your back completely turned to him. Your shoulders are hunched forward, your movements incredibly slow as you mindlessly wipe a copper pot with a rag.

"Hey," he says softly, exhaling a long, ragged breath of relief as he drops his hood. "You scared the absolute hell out of me. Why are the front doors locked? Did you actually sleep in for once?"

You flinch violently at the sound of his voice, your entire body spasming as you drop the rag into the water with a dull splash. You don't turn around to face him. You remain entirely still, staring down into the basin. "Jungkook. What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. The shop is closed today."

Your voice sounds completely wrong. It is hollow, strained, and entirely stripped of the vibrant, feisty warmth that usually greets him.

Jungkook's playful smile vanishes in an instant, his large doe eyes narrowing with deep, immediate concern. He takes a slow step closer, his boots clicking quietly against the floorboards. "Yeah, I noticed. Are you okay? You sound tired." He tries to inject a tiny bit of his usual playfulness into his tone, trying to coax a smile out of you as he steps up directly behind your frame. "Did you miss me so much this morning that you couldn't even focus on baking today?"

"Not now, Jungkook," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your shoulders hunch even further forward, your head bowing.

You slowly reach up with both hands, attempting to place a copper pot on the drying shelf slightly above your head. The exact moment your arms extend upward, your breath catches violently in your throat. A sharp, ragged, agonising wince escapes your lips, and your entire body shudders as you quickly drop your arms back down, your hands flying to clutch tightly at your own side to brace yourself.

Jungkook's protective instincts flare to a blinding degree. The sight of you in discomfort hits him like a physical blow to the chest. He reaches his hand out, his palm hovering just a millimetre above your trembling shoulder, desperate to touch you but terrified of hurting you. "What's wrong? Y/N, what happened?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, your tone sharp, laced with a desperate, stubborn defensiveness.

You finally force yourself to turn around and face him, but you immediately take two deliberate steps backwards, keeping a wide distance between your bodies. You force a terrible, completely strained smile onto your pale lips, though your lower lip is trembling. "I just... I was moving the heavy wooden grain table earlier, and I bumped into the corner. Hit my side pretty hard. It's just a nasty bruise, Jungkook. I'm fine. Really."

Jungkook doesn't buy it for a single second.

He steps right back into your space, his gaze sweeping over you like a hawk, analysing every single detail of your appearance. His heart aches at the sight of you. You look terribly pale, the healthy flush entirely gone from your skin. Your eyes are heavily red-rimmed and puffy, surrounded by dark circles, making it glaringly obvious that you’ve been crying for hours. And your posture is completely wrong: you are leaning slightly forward, your spine stiff as a board, breathing in tiny, shallow, calculated gasps as if expanding your lungs fully is a luxury you can't afford right now.

Seeing you in this state genuinely, physically hurts him. It feels like a cold blade is turning in his own chest; his stomach drops, and a suffocating wave of anxiety threatens to choke him. He hates seeing you vulnerable, hates the fact that something has stolen your bright energy.

He tries to keep his composure, forcing his voice to remain calm so he doesn't spook you, until you turn slightly to the side, attempting to step away from his intense scrutiny to grab a towel.

That's when he sees it.

Through the torn fabric of your shirt, along the side of your figure, he sees the clumsy linen bandage you had tried to wrap around your own torso, which has slipped completely out of place. A small, dark red stain of fresh, wet blood is seeping heavily through the white cloth, stark and horrifying against your skin.

Jungkook’s breath hitches violently in his throat. His blood runs cold.

"Y/N," he says, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly register, entirely stripped of all playfulness. "Why is there blood on your back?"

You freeze in your tracks, your hands tightening against the fabric of your apron until your knuckles turn white. You try to let out a casual laugh, but it comes out as a pathetic, broken sob that tears right through his chest. "Blood? Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's probably just cherry jam from the tarts. I am a baker, after all, I'm always covered in-"

"Don't lie to me," he commands. The tone is quiet, but it carries the heavy, unyielding authority of a prince who will not be denied.

Before you can utter another word of deflection, he steps directly into your personal space, erasing the distance between you. His large, warm hand moves around to your back, his fingers hovering just a fraction of a millimetre above the blood-soaked bandage. He barely, infinitesimally brushes the very edge of the cloth to see what lies beneath.

The slight, feather-light pressure is a catalyst for pure agony.

A choked, absolutely agonising groan tears from your throat. Your eyes roll back for a fraction of a second as a white-hot wave of pain flares anew across your nerve endings. Your knees completely buckle beneath you, your strength vanishing instantly as your legs give out entirely.

"Whoa- hey, look at me, I've got you, I've got you!" Jungkook panics, his heart leaping straight into his throat.

His arms shoot out in a blind reflex, catching you securely before your body can slam into the hard floorboards. He pulls you tightly against his chest, cradling you against his solid frame, his large doe eyes widening to twice their size with pure, unadulterated terror. He is hyper-aware of how fragile, how small you feel in his arms right now, your entire body trembling violently against him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I've got you," he frantically whispers, his voice shaking as he holds you up. "Talk to me, please. You have to tell me what happened. You're bleeding."

You clutch desperately at the fabric of his faded tunic, your fingernails burying into the cloth as if it's the only anchor keeping you tethered to reality. The blinding pain, the hours of lonely exhaustion, and the sudden, overwhelming comfort of his warm, safe presence break the stubborn dam holding your emotions back.

You snap completely. You bury your face into the solid crook of his neck and break down, sobbing hysterically. Deep, painful, racking wails tear from your chest, echoing loudly in the empty kitchen.

"It hurts," you cry out, your voice breaking entirely into a raw shriek. "Kook, it hurts so bad, please... I can't bear it..."

Hearing you cry like this, hearing the absolute agony in your voice, completely breaks something fundamental inside Jungkook. A wave of sheer fury crashes over his soul. He sees bright, blinding red. He is the Prince of this kingdom, and someone in his village, under his family's rule, had dared to lay their hands on you. Someone had inflicted this kind of barbaric, sickening pain on the sweetest, most selfless person he knew.

He locks that rage away into a dark corner of his mind, storing it for later, because right now, your tears are the only thing that matters.

"Let me see it," he murmurs, his voice shifting into a soothing, incredibly soft contrast to the storm raging in his chest. "Let me help you, sweetheart."

"No, it's fine, just leave it, please go away," you sob, your stubbornness flaring up one last time through the tears. You weakly try to push his chest away, hiding your face from him. "You shouldn't be here. You're a prince, Jungkook. You shouldn't be seeing me like this... it's messy, it's fine..."

"Y/N," he says, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument, though it is dripping with an unbearable amount of love and panic. He gently but firmly cups your face with both hands, forcing you to look up at him. His own eyes are shiny with unshed tears, wide and desperate as he uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from your wet cheek. "Look at me. Look into my eyes. I am not going to hurt you. I don't care about being a prince right now. I care about you. Let me see it. Please, don't do this to me. Don't push me away when I know you're hurt."

You look into his frantic, pleading eyes, seeing the genuine agony in his own expression caused purely by your pain, and your stubborn defences finally melt away. You nod weakly, letting your head fall against his chest.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispers against your hair.

He slides one arm securely under your knees and the other firmly behind your shoulders, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms. He carries you up the narrow, creaking wooden stairs as if you weigh absolutely nothing, his movements smooth and careful, ensuring your back never brushes against a single wall or doorframe.

He carries you into your small bedroom, gently setting you down on the very edge of your bed.

The bedroom upstairs is quiet, shadowed by the late afternoon light filtering through the linen curtains. You sit on the very edge of the mattress, your knees pulled slightly toward your chest, your fingers twisting and burying into the worn bedsheets. Every shallow breath you take feels like glass slicing through your skin. Behind you, the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft clink of a ceramic basin tell you that Jungkook is preparing to face whatever horror is hidden beneath your clothes.

"I'm going to pull the fabric down. Is that okay?" Jungkook’s voice is a low, trembling whisper. The playful, cocky boy from last night is completely gone, replaced by a man carrying a heavy gravity.

You nod miserably, dropping your head down.

You feel his large hands settle on the collar of your dress. His touch is so light it’s almost non-existent, his fingers shake slightly as he carefully guides the torn, ruined cotton down your arms. He doesn't pull; he coaxes the fabric away, millimetre by millimetre, ensuring the rough material doesn't catch on the open wounds. As the cloth falls away, exposing your bare back to the cool air of the room, you hear him let out a sharp, ragged intake of breath.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Five jagged, angry lines of destroyed flesh cross your skin. They are swollen, with a deep, bruising purple at the edges, and fresh blood has oozed out where your movement has reopened them. The clumsy linen wrap you had tried to apply is tangled and soaked through with red.

"Who did this to you?" he asks.

The question is delivered in a voice so quiet, so entirely devoid of warmth, that it makes you freeze. If you were to turn around, you would see the menacing glare of a monarch in his eyes. His jaw is clenched so hard the muscles flare against his skin, his knuckles white as he grips a clean cloth.

"The patrol guards," you whisper into the empty room, a fresh tear tracking through the flour dust on your cheek. "In the square this morning. Some of the alley kids... they took a loaf of bread from the display. The guards… they caught them. They pulled out the lash for them. They're just babies, Jungkook. They were hungry. They wouldn't have survived it. I couldn't just watch."

You take a trembling breath, crying out slightly as the movement pulls at your skin. "I told the guards I'd take it instead. Three for each child... one for talking back... and a fifth... because he felt like it."

A suffocating silence fills the room. For a long, agonising moment, he doesn't say a single word. You brace yourself, expecting him to call you foolish, to tell you that a simple villager should never interfere with the Crown's enforcers. Instead, you feel the soft, slow dip of the mattress as he sits down directly behind you, closing the distance between your bodies.

"You are far too good for this world," he murmurs, his voice thick and strained with an emotion so intense it sounds like it’s tearing his throat apart.

Then, you feel the cool, wet cloth touch the very edge of the highest welt.

You flinch violently, a sharp, broken gasp escaping your lips as your hands lock onto the bedsheets. But before you can pull away, Jungkook’s free hand comes around to rest gently on your uninjured hip, holding you steady with an iron-firm but incredibly soft pressure. He rubs gently at the bare skin on your hip.

"Shh, I know, love, I'm sorry. I've got you. I'm being as gentle as I can. Just breathe through it. Focus on my hand," he murmurs, his lips so close to your bare shoulder that his warm breath fans across your skin, offering a fleeting contrast to the stinging cold of the water.

His movements are agonisingly slow but deliberate, focused. He cleans away the dried blood, his fingertips occasionally brushing against your uninjured skin. The sheer intimacy of the act makes your heart hammer in a completely different way. He treats your body like it is made of the rarest, most fragile porcelain, his touch lingering over the curves of your shoulders as if he wishes he could absorb the pain into his own skin.

He reaches into the wooden cabinet on your wall and pulls out a jar of thick, green herbal salve. He rubs a generous amount between his palms, warming it up before he speaks. "This is going to sting at first, Y/N. But it will help the fire go out. Let me know if it's too much."

When his fingers make contact with the raw wounds, a whimper tears from your throat, and without thinking, you lean to the side, your head resting against his solid shoulder. Jungkook doesn't move. He accepts your weight fully, his chest pressing lightly against your side as he leans to the side to get a better angle. His fingertips are unbelievably soft as they smooth the thick ointment over the angry welts, working with a reverent, quiet rhythm.

Every time your body shudders with a sob, he pauses completely. He leans forward, pressing his lips in a soft, comforting breath against the uninjured skin of your neck, whispering broken apologies into your skin until the tremors slow down. It feels intensely, overwhelmingly private, a sanctuary built out of raw pain and an undercurrent of heavy, undeniable devotion.

Finally, he takes a fresh roll of clean white linen bandage. To wrap it around your torso, he has to slide both of his arms completely around your waist. He leans in close, his chest flushing against your uninjured skin, effectively enveloping you in a tight embrace. You can feel the heavy beat of his heart against your shoulder blade as he pulls the cloth snug, securing it with small pins.

"There," he whispers against your ear, his hands lingering on your waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides before he reluctantly pulls away. "All clean. The fire should start to fade now."

You slowly turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder. His doe eyes are dark, swimming with a profound, aching yearning that terrifies you in their intensity. He looks at you not like a friend, and not like a vagabond, but like a man who has just watched his entire world bleed.

"Lie down," he commands softly, his voice thick, pulling the heavy wool blankets back. "Don't sleep on your back, lie on your stomach. I'm going to go brew some tea for you, okay? Don't move an inch."

You are too exhausted, too thoroughly drained of strength to argue. You crawl into the centre of the bed, resting your cheek against the pillow, and he pulls the blanket over you before leaving.

Within minutes, Jungkook returns, holding a steaming ceramic mug. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his large hand gently lifting your chin to help you take a few sips of the warm, sweet liquid.

The warmth of the tea and the cooling effect of the salve make your eyelids incredibly heavy. Jungkook sets the mug on the nightstand and reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch agonisingly tender.

"Thank you, Jungkook," you slurry, your eyes fluttering shut as darkness tugs at the edges of your mind. "For staying."

He leans down, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. He lingers there before pulling away and resting a hand over yours on the pillow beside you. "I will always stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice sounding far away. "Sleep now, my beautiful baker."

He stays with you, one hand stroking the back of your head, fingers toying with the strands of your hair, and occasionally massaging your scalp, his other hand firm on top of your own until you drift off. The moment your breathing evens out into a deep, heavy slumber, the lingering softness completely evaporates from Jungkook’s face.

He stands up from the edge of the mattress, his frame expanding to its full, imposing height as his expression hardens into pure, unadulterated ice. The boyish warmth that usually fills his dark eyes is gone, replaced by a vacant stillness. He looks down at you one last time, your pale face resting against the pillow, and leans over to press another gentle, feather-light kiss to your temple.

He quietly moves around the room, his boots making absolutely no sound against the wooden floorboards. He sets a fresh glass of water on your nightstand, along with a small plate of dried fruits and crackers he salvaged from your pantry. Beside it, he leaves a small piece of parchment, scrawling a quick note in his elegant, fluent script.

He writes in his usual playful tone, desperate to lighten your mood when you wake up, even if his own chest feels like it is caving in from pure malice:

Eat all of this. If I come back tonight and find out you haven't eaten, I'm going to steal every single pastry in the kitchen as punishment. Rest up, my pretty girl. I'll be back to cause more trouble soon~

He slips out of the bedroom, guides himself down the narrow stairs, and exits the bakery, locking the back door securely behind him.

The walk back to the palace is a blur of blinding, volcanic rage. He doesn't care about staying hidden anymore; he doesn't slip through the shadows or wait for patrols to pass. He cuts through the upper village like a wraith, his eyes fixed on the towering stone citadel ahead. People stare as he passes them, a path being made before him as people flock to the side, no doubt whispering about the stern look on his face.

He storms through the heavy iron servant entrances, slamming doors on their hinges, tearing off the faded linen tunic and throwing it to the stone floor like trash. Attendants and low-ranking guards rush to him, bowing in absolute terror at the sheer aura of lethal fury radiating from the young prince. They have never seen him like this.

"Get me my royal uniform," Jungkook barks, his voice ringing through the high stone corridors like a crack of thunder. "Now."

Minutes later, he is clad in the official armour of the high crest: a dark, structured jacket lined with heavy gold trim, epaulettes resting on his broad shoulders, heavy leather combat boots, and the royal insignia pinned sharply over his chest. He looks every bit the future ruler he was born to be.

He strides down the western corridor toward the main guard barracks. The heavy oak doors, reinforced with iron bands, don't just open; they slam against the stone walls with a violent, echoing crash as he kicks them through.

Dozens of off-duty guards and captains instantly freeze, dropping their dice and flagons of ale, snapping to absolute attention. The room goes dead silent.

"Who patrolled the main market square in the lower village this morning?" Jungkook demands. His voice isn't loud, but it is dangerously low, vibrating with a lethal, quiet edge that makes the hair on the back of everyone's necks stand up.

Near the back of the room, two guards exchange a nervous, sweating glance. Slowly, their armour clanking in the heavy silence, they step forward and bow deeply.

So these are the brutes who had stood over you on the cobblestones.

"We did, Your Highness," the lead guard stammers, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "Is there an issue with the sector?"

Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He walks up to them with a slow, agonisingly measured pace. The air in the barracks becomes completely suffocating, the temperature practically dropping as the prince circles them. He stops directly in front of the guard, who has a heavy leather whip strapped to his belt.

"An issue?" Jungkook echoes, a terrifying, dark smile tilting the left corner of his lips, though his eyes remain dead and vacant. He peers down at the guard, who is half a head shorter than him. He folds his hands behind his back, leaning in slightly. "Tell me about your morning patrol. I want to hear about how efficiently you enforce the King's law."

The lead guard swallows hard, his throat bobbing nervously. "It was... a routine patrol, sir. We apprehended a group of street rats attempting to steal from the market stalls. We administered the standard physical deterrent to ensure compliance with crown regulations."

"A physical deterrent," Jungkook repeats, his tone almost conversational, entirely too calm. "And tell me... did these so-called street rats take the lashes?"

The guard shifts his weight, his iron greaves clanking with the movement. "No, Your Highness. A local villager stepped in. A peasant girl from the bakery. She obstructed our duty and offered to take the penalty in their stead. We accommodated her request to maintain the crown's authority in the square."

"You accommodated her," Jungkook whispers. His jaw clenches so hard the muscles flare violently against his skin. His fingers curl into tight, white-knuckled fists behind his back. "Five lashes. Is that correct?"

The second guard, thinking the prince is merely verifying protocol, chimes in, "Yes, sir. Three for the stolen goods, one for her insolence and talking back to the guard, and... one extra, just to ensure she remembers her place beneath the law."

The mention of the fifth lash, the one delivered purely out of sadistic amusement, shatters the final thread of Jungkook's restraint, leaving behind a monster driven by pure, protective devastation.

Without a single syllable of warning, Jungkook’s right fist shoots forward.

Crack.

His knuckles connect squarely with the lead guard's jaw with an inhuman amount of force. The sheer momentum of the blow rips the heavily armoured man off his feet, sending him flying backwards. His body crashes into a heavy oak table, splintering the thick wood into raw kindling before his armour skids across the stone floor, a spray of dark blood erupting from his shattered mouth.

The second guard gasps in pure shock, his eyes widening in horror as his hand flies to the hilt of his sword in a blind, conditioned reflex.

"Touch that steel," Jungkook roars, stepping into his space instantly, "and I will take your hand off your wrist."

Before the guard can even process the threat, Jungkook's royal combat training takes over. He intercepts the man's arm, his grip clamping down on the wrist like an iron vice. With a brutal, fluid twist of his upper body, he snaps the guard's wrist backwards. The bone pops with a sickening, wet crunch, forcing a loud, piercing shriek of agony from the man's throat.

Jungkook doesn't stop. He drives his knee directly into the guard's stomach, crushing the wind out of his lungs, followed by a heavy kick straight to his chest plate. The metal dents inward with a loud clang, and the guard goes sailing through the air, crashing hard onto the stone floor, coughing up strings of bright blood as he rolls onto his side, clutching his broken arm.

The rest of the barracks stands paralysed. No one moves. No one breathes. To strike a royal guard is treason, but when the attacker is the future King, and a man who can kill with his bare hands, the law belongs entirely to him.

Jungkook turns his gaze back to the first guard, who is desperately scrambling backwards on his hands and knees like a terrified, wounded animal, leaving a trail of blood on the floor.

Jungkook walks over to him, his heavy leather boots thudding rhythmically. He stands over the grovelling man, then reaches down, grabbing the guard by the throat and the collar of his iron breastplate. With a guttural growl of pure, unadulterated rage, Jungkook rips the man completely off the ground, slamming his back against a massive stone pillar.

"Who do you think you are?" Jungkook hoarsely whispers, his face inches from the guard's bleeding, trembling features. He tightens his grip on the man's throat, cutting off his air until the guard's face begins to turn purple. "You wear my family's crest. You carry weapons funded by my treasury. You eat food provided by my citizens. And you use that power to strike an innocent, defenceless woman in the streets?"

"Your Highness- p-please-mercy…" the guard chokes out, tears of genuine, paralysing fright mixing with the dark blood pouring down his chin. "We didn't... we didn't know she was... we didn't know..."

"You didn't know what?" Jungkook roars, slamming him against the stone pillar a second time, cracking the mortar behind his head. "That she has a name? That she feels pain? That her life is worth infinitely more than your pathetic, miserable existences?"

He weakens his grip just enough to let the man gasp for air, only to drive a brutal left hook directly into the guard's ribs. The sound of fracturing bone echoes clearly in the silent room. The guard lets out a strangled sob, his head slumping forward.

Jungkook grabs him by his hair, forcing his head back up so he has to look into his eyes, eyes that are currently completely devoid of mercy, cold and dark as a winter grave.

"Listen to me very carefully," Jungkook whispers, his voice dropping into that lethal, quiet promise that chills everyone in the room to the bone. "If I ever see either of you set foot in the lower village market again... if I ever hear that you so much as look in the direction of that bakery... I will ensure you are stripped of your titles, thrown into the deepest dungeon beneath this palace, and I will personally pick up the leather lash and show you what five strikes feel like when delivered by someone who actually knows how to use it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes... Yes, Your Highness... Forgive us... Forgive us..." the guard weeps, his spirit completely broken, pressed flat against the cold stone.

Jungkook shoves the guard away in utter disgust, letting his limp, groaning body slide down the base of the pillar into a pathetic heap.

The prince stands up straight, slowly adjusting the cuffs of his dark royal jacket, his chest heaving with heavy, deliberate breaths as he reins in his wild adrenaline. The fury still burns hot in his veins, but his composure returns like a heavy curtain falling over a stage. He looks around the barracks at the rest of the silent soldiers who are still locked at attention, none of them daring to even blink.

"Clean this pathetic mess up," Jungkook barks coldly, casting one final, disgusted look at the two broken men on the floor. "And remember exactly whose crest you wear. If any of you forget your duty to protect our people, I will personally remind you."

He turns on his polished leather heel, his golden cape snapping behind him, and storms out of the barracks, his mind already racing out of the palace gates and straight back to your quiet, shadowed bedroom.

The bright, warm rays of the morning sun pierce through your thin linen curtains, casting long, golden bars across your bedroom.

You slowly blink your eyes open, your body instantly tensing as you brace yourself for the white-hot, agonising fire that had consumed your back yesterday. You hold your breath, carefully shifting your weight to test the movement, but to your absolute surprise, the blinding agony has receded into a dull, thoroughly manageable ache. The throbbing is heavy, a reminder of the guards' cruelty, but it no longer cuts your breath short. The cooling herbal salve Jungkook applied worked absolute wonders overnight.

You slowly press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, your eyes immediately darting around the quiet room.

Jungkook.

He is gone. The space beside your bed feels entirely empty, the cool morning air still carrying the faintest, lingering hint of his crisp, rich scent.

A heavy wave of emotion hits you as you sit there in the morning silence, the blankets pooled around your waist. Your mind drifts back to the blurry memories of yesterday. You remember the sheer terror in Jungkook's eyes when your knees had buckled in the kitchen, the way his strong arms had snapped around you before you could even hit the floor. He had held you so tightly against his chest, as if you were something incredibly precious he couldn't bear to see broken.

The memory of his touch makes your skin tingle beneath your bandages. He is the Crown Prince of the realm, a man born to be served, and yet he spent his hours kneeling on your floor, on your bed, cleaning your wounds with trembling hands, and whispering soft, broken apologies against your skin every time you whimpered in pain. The sheer, intoxicating intimacy of him wrapping the linen around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid chest, plays on a loop in your head. It sends a strange, dizzying heat curling deep into your stomach, a mixture of profound gratitude and a budding, terrifyingly deep affection.

You turn your head towards the nightstand. There sits a fresh glass of clear water, a small plate neatly stacked with dried fruits and crackers, and a folded piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers tracing the crisp edges of the paper before unfolding it. Reading his messy, hurried handwriting, a genuine, breathless laugh bubbles up in your chest.

The ridiculous boyishness of his threat instantly cuts through the lingering shadows of yesterday's trauma. Even when he is trying to be authoritative, he can’t help but be the same teasing menace who steals your cake batter. You smile, dutifully eating every single cracker and dried fruit on the plate, feeling the energy slowly returning to your limbs, before drinking the water down to the very last drop.

Exhaling a long, steady breath, you carefully slide off the bed. You find a loose, lightweight, clean dress in your wardrobe and slip it over your head with meticulous care so the fabric doesn't rub harshly against the fresh dressings. You feel remarkably better; the deep, uninterrupted rest has done wonders for your body and mind.

Marching down the staircase, you are determined to open the bakery today. You refuse to let those guards steal your livelihood or intimidate you out of your own shop, and you certainly can't let your regular village customers down two days in a row.

The kitchen downstairs is dead quiet, smelling faintly of the chamomile tea Jungkook had brewed for you. You walk straight to the front door, unlocking the heavy brass deadbolt, and pull the thick curtains back to let the brilliant morning light flood the room. Bracing yourself, you push the front door open and step onto the threshold to set up the outdoor display.

The moment your boots clear the frame, you freeze completely in your tracks.

Sitting proudly on the wooden bench right beside your shop entrance is an overflowing bouquet. It is massive, easily the size of your entire torso, completely taking over the small wooden bench. But as you take a slow, hesitant step closer, your brow furrows in sheer confusion.

The flowers aren't real.

You lean down, your breath catching completely in your throat as your eyes scan the arrangement. They are meticulously, beautifully handcrafted entirely out of soft, colourful yarn. Dozens upon dozens of intricately crocheted roses, delicate lilies, and bright daisies, amongst others, which are woven together with an unbelievable amount of patience, care, and precision. The bouquet bursts with vibrant, warm shades of pastel pink, sunny yellow, and rich cream, completely immune to the biting morning frost.

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, a sudden, heavy wave of emotion tightening in your chest until it's actually hard to breathe.

You are, unfortunately, severely allergic to real flowers; the pollen makes your eyes swell shut, and your lungs feel heavier within minutes. It is a small, trivial detail you had mentioned to Jungkook months ago, a passing, light-hearted remark made at two in the morning while you both sat on the kitchen floor giggling over a tray of accidentally burnt sugar cookies. You hadn't thought twice about it. You had assumed he forgot it the second the words left your mouth.

Yet here they are. Flowers that will never wither, flowers that can never trigger your allergies, flowers made with a level of dedication that a person can only give when they are entirely, irrevocably devoted to someone. Only a handful of people in the world know that secret about you, and your royal visitor remembered every single syllable.

Tucked precisely into the centre of the soft yarn roses is a small, heavy piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers trembling violently as you pull the note free from the stitches and unfold it.

I heard real flowers make you sneeze. These will never wither, and they will never hurt you. I'll be there tonight. Don't lock the back door. - J. p.s. leave out some extra cookies, please <3

You press the heavy paper firmly against your chest, right over your thundering heart, staring out into the bustling village square. A silent tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the light dust of flour on your skin, but a bright, genuine smile graces your lips.

Yesterday, you felt completely alone, broken and humiliated on the cold cobblestones while the world looked away in fear. But today, clutching this note, you feel safer, more cherished, and more protected than you have ever felt in your entire life.

To you, he was an arrogant, over-inked asshole who treated the apartment complex like his personal, twenty-four-hour playground. He dressed entirely in oversized black streetwear, smelled like a combination of raw tobacco and expensive leather, and also possessed a smirk that made you want to commit violence.

To him, you were a hyper-organized, stuck-up brat. He’d told you as much during your first real interaction three months ago, when you had politely, then not so politely, asked him to turn down his music at 3 AM.

"You need to unclench, Princess," he had drawled, leaning against his doorframe with a silver hoop piercing glinting in his lower lip. "Life is too short to spend it being a stuck-up brat."

Since then, it had been a war. You left precise, passive-aggressive notes on his door about tenant regulations. He responded by using those exact notes as coasters, leaving ring stains on the paper before taping them back to your door. If you glared at him in the hallway, he would just give you a lazy wave in return.

Tonight, however, was pushing you past your limit.

It was a Friday, hitting a miserable 1:45 AM. You had a gruelling performance review at work at nine o'clock that same morning, and your brain was fried. You had tried earplugs. You had tried white noise machines. You had tried burying your head beneath three different pillows.

But the noise from 4B was relentless. It wasn't the tattoo machine tonight. It was music, some R&B track that felt like it was pumping directly into your cerebral cortex, accompanied by the distinct, high-pitched moaning of a girl.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your eyes snapped open in the dark. Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. The moaning echoed through the wall again, followed by the low rumble of Jungkook’s laugh.

That was it, that was the final straw before your sanity snapped. Throwing your blankets aside, you slid out of bed. You didn't care that you were wearing an oversized, faded college t-shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder and a pair of grey sleep shorts. You didn't care that your hair was a chaotic, unruly nest. You were driven entirely by sleep deprivation and pure, unadulterated fury.

You stormed across your dark living room, yanked your front door open, and stepped out into the chilly, fluorescent-lit hallway. You found out that the music was even louder out here. You marched over to the door and raised your fist, slamming it against the wood with a force that threatened to splinter it.

"Jungkook!" you shouted over the bass. "Open the damn door!"

For a minute or two, nothing happened. Then, the music abruptly cut out, dropping the hallway into a ringing silence. You stood there, breathing heavily, your hands curled into tight fists at your sides.

Then the lock clicked, and the wooden door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, and the sight of him only fuelled your irritation. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung very low on his hip bones. His torso was a breathtaking, intimidating canvas of dark, intricate ink that wrapped around his ribs, a sprawling pattern that climbed his left side, and a sleeve that covered every inch of his right arm down to his knuckles. A few stray strands of damp, dark hair fell over his eyes.

He looked completely unbothered, his dark eyes raking over you, scanning your messy hair, your bare legs, and the angry flush creeping up your neck.

"Well, look who it is," Jungkook murmured, his voice raspy with a sleepiness that didn't match the hour. He leaned his heavy shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. "The midnight inspector. Am I using too much oxygen in my apartment, Y/N?"

"Turn it off," you breathed, your voice shaking with the effort to keep from screaming. "Turn the music off, Jungkook. Shut the girl up. Shut yourself up. It is almost two in the morning."

Jungkook let out a mocking chuckle, tilting his head. "It's Friday. Some people actually enjoy their lives. You should try it sometime. Might help with..." He gestured vaguely to your rigid posture. "...whatever it is you have going on."

"I have a career going on!" you snapped, taking a sharp step forward, invading his space. The scent of him, that heavy cologne, hit your senses instantly, making your stomach do a strange flip. "Some of us don't make a living by stabbing people with ink and sleeping until noon. I have an actual life to attend to tomorrow, and your complete lack of basic human decency is ruining it."

Jungkook’s smile vanished. The playful, mocking glint in his eyes hardened into something sharp. He straightened up from the doorframe, instantly towering over you. He took a step out into the hallway, forcing you to back up half a step until the heel of your foot hit the opposite wall.

"A basic lack of human decency?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, completely eclipsing you in his shadow. "You've been looking down your nose at me since the day you moved in, Princess. You think because you wear a blazer and work in an office that you're better than me?"

"I know that I’m better than you," you shot back, refusing to break eye contact even as your heart began to beat frantically against your ribs. You could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his collarbone, the small scar on his cheek, the absolute intensity in his big eyes.

"You're a brat," he whispered, leaning down just enough that his minty breath fanned across your forehead. "A spoiled little brat who likes to complain because she has nothing better to do. You love this. You love coming out here and picking fights with me."

"I hate you," you hissed, your nails digging into the palms of your hands. "I hate everything about you. I hate your music, I hate your stupid tattoo machine, and I hate the fact that I can hear your revolving door of guests through my wall."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. A tension dropped over the hallway, friction that had nothing to do with noise complaints and everything to do with the fact that you were both hyper-aware of how little clothing the other was wearing.

"Hey, Kook? Everything okay out there?"

A soft, feminine voice called out from inside his apartment. A pretty girl with brunette hair, wearing one of Jungkook's oversized black t-shirts, peeked her head around the corner of his entryway.

The spell broke.

Jungkook didn't look back at her. His eyes remained locked on yours, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The intensity in his gaze was almost bruising, a silent, furious challenge.

"Yeah," Jungkook said, his voice rough and strained as he finally took a step back, breaking the suffocating bubble of space between you. "Everything's fine. My neighbour was just leaving."

"Turn it down," you said one last time, though the fire in your voice had died down into a shaky whisper.

Jungkook didn't answer, he just gave you one long, unreadable look, one that made your skin prickle with a chill, before backing into his apartment and shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame. A second later, the hallway fell into absolute, dead silence. You stood against the wall for a full minute, your knees trembling slightly. You breathed in the lingering scent of his cologne, your chest was tight and your mind was racing. 

You hated him. You absolutely hated him with every single bone in your body. 

But as you walked back into your dark, silent apartment and crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop as you thought about the girl he was with. With a furious mind, you eventually fall back asleep, hoping to never see anything like that again.

You wondered how much lack of sleep the human body could survive off of without going clinically insane.

Your performance review at nine o'clock had been an exercise in acting. You had smiled, nodded, and talked about your quarterly goals through exhaustion, all while a pounding headache stabbed at your skull. Every time your boss praised your "attention to detail," your mind flashed to a pair of unreadable eyes and a heavy tattoo sleeve illuminated by the flickering hallway light.

By the time you unlocked the main entrance to the apartment complex at 5:45 PM, you were running on pure survival instinct. Your feet ached from your stupid heels, your shoulders were tense, and all you wanted was a hot shower, a bowl of instant ramen, and to watch Love Island.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

When you stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor, your path was entirely obstructed. Right in front of your door, not 4B, but your door, 4A, were three massive, heavy-duty cardboard boxes. They were bound in rough packing tape and stamped with a bold logo.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your purse dragging against your thigh. Your eyes dropped to the shipping label.

Recipient: Jeon Jungkook / Ink & Iron Studio

Address: 402 Genevive Lane, Apt 4B

"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallway.

The delivery driver had carelessly put the packages at the wrong door. You looked over at door 4B. You doubted that Jungkook was even home, assuming he was out doing annoying, reckless things.

With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your purse. You couldn't just leave them out here; the building management was notoriously strict about hallway obstructions, and if anyone got fined, it would likely be you since they were stacked against your door. Crouching down in your pencil skirt, you gripped the sides of the top box and hoisted it. It was incredibly heavy, filled with what felt like solid metal components, likely tattoo machines, power supplies, or heavy jars of ink.

Groaning under the weight, you unlocked your door, pushed it open with your foot, and began the agonizing process of dragging Jeon Jungkook’s packages into your entryway just to clear the walkway. By the time all three boxes were sitting inside your pristine, minimalist apartment, your hair was falling out of its neat clip and a fine sheen of sweat coated your forehead.

You slammed your door shut with a loud sigh, locked it, and promised yourself you would make him beg for them later.

An hour later, the hot shower had done little to soothe your frayed nerves. You were dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, ones that made you feel slightly put together, and were just waiting for your water to boil on the stove when a knock rattled your front door.

It was a firm, demanding sequence that echoed through your quiet living room, and you instantly knew who it was. You walked over to the door, pulling the silk lapels of your shirt a little higher, and swung it open.

Jungkook stood under the hallway light, but he didn't look like the chaotic, shirtless disruptor from the night before. He wore a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate details of his forearms, and a pair of reading glasses was pushed up into his messy dark hair. He smelled like rain and the distinct, expensive scent of fresh leather.

He had his phone out, but his head snapped up the moment the door opened. His dark eyes instantly raked over you, taking in the smooth silk of your pyjamas, and the bare skin of your legs. A subtle shift occurred in his expression, the irritation fading into something heavy and focused.

"My tracking email says my shipment has arrived," Jungkook said, "And considering my doorstep is completely empty, I figured my favourite brat took them hostage."

You decided to completely ignore that last part, even if the sound of him calling you his made your stomach swirl with butterflies. Leaning against your doorframe, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on the exposed skin of your legs. "They were dropped off at the wrong door, Jungkook. But because I actually care about building regulations, I dragged them inside so we wouldn't get flagged by management."

Jungkook’s eyes flicked past your shoulder, spotting the three large cardboard boxes sitting stacked neatly in your entryway. A slow, infuriating smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Look at you," he drawled, stepping closer, completely ignoring the unspoken boundary of your threshold. "A good Samaritan. And here I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you," you shot back quickly, your voice perhaps a bit too breathless. "I dragged them in because I didn't want your garbage associated with my apartment number. Take them and get out."

Jungkook took another step forward, crossing the threshold entirely. He entered your apartment without an invitation, his heavy combat boots clicking against your polished hardwood floors. The sheer size of him suddenly made your entryway feel microscopic. He was too large, too loud, too much for the quiet, curated space you kept.