#20chapters

It still smells like peppermint. Faint, but still there. Soft and clean and ghostlike. The mug on your coffee table is empty — no trace of warmth left in the ceramic, but the shape of it feels recent. Like someone placed it down gently. Like someone didn’t want to wake you.

The blanket over your legs is still tucked neatly at the sides, folded in at the edges like a quiet gesture you almost missed. You blink slowly, staring at it for a few seconds before it registers — Jimin is gone.

He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t need to. You also hadn’t expected a goodbye, not really. He moves through space like water — he fills it, carries you if you let him, and then leaves without asking for anything. And somehow, what he leaves behind feels more meaningful than words ever could.

The apartment is quiet now. Still.

The kind of stillness that makes you aware of your own heartbeat. The soft hum of the refrigerator. The faint creak of the wood under your couch as you shift your weight. Every sound amplified by the absence of another presence.

But it’s not a lonely kind of quiet. Not quite. But a bit lonely, nevertheless.  

You exhale, long and slow, letting your head fall back against the cushion.

There’s a light pressure behind your eyes — the last trace of the hangover, maybe, or just the ghost of the dream you had before Jimin showed up. You can’t remember it now. Just a feeling. A sharpness. That sensation of being underwater without knowing how you got there.

Your limbs feel heavy, but not weighed down. Just… warm. Like you’ve been wrapped in a cocoon you didn’t realize you needed.

And now, you feel the absence.

Your eyes flutter shut again — just for a moment. Not to sleep, but to feel the room. The shift.

It's strange how easy it is to feel when he's gone. You stay there, breathing. Letting the quiet wrap around you, slow and padded, like the world is giving you a little more time before it starts spinning again. Your fingers curl slightly under the edge of the blanket. The couch cushions dip just the slightest beneath you. Everything feels still in a way it hasn’t for days.

And yet…

It’s not just stillness that settles in your chest. It’s something else, too.

A hum you can’t quite place. A presence that doesn’t belong to the peppermint or the folded blanket or even to Jimin’s echo.

You try not to name it. Try not to go there.

But your thoughts are already pulling in another direction.

His direction.

The way Jungkook had looked at you yesterday — not during a conversation, not in any obvious way, just in a moment you happened to glance up — like he saw something he hadn’t expected to see. The way his mouth had twitched like he wanted to say something but didn’t. The way he didn’t look away until you did.

You hadn’t thought about it much at the time. Now you can’t seem to stop.

The silence stretches again.

And then — the buzz.

Sharp against the cushion. One short vibration. Then another.

You open your eyes, slowly. Turn your head toward the sound. Your phone is still facedown. Like it knew you wouldn’t be ready.

You reach for it, thumb dragging across the screen. It lights up — too bright at first — and you squint, blinking against it.

Two notifications.

The first one makes you snort softly, right on cue.

[My one and only true love 3:43 PM]: Okay. I’m really giving you a break today.  [My one and only true love 3:45 PM]: But tomorrow? I want names.  [My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And context.  [My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And height-to-hotness ratios.

You consider replying. You even start to type.

But the second notification catches your eye — and suddenly your fingers pause. [JK 1:12 PM]: Still alive?

Your thumb stills above the keyboard. The words are short. Barely anything. Just enough. But you feel them settle in your chest anyway.

You stare at the screen, heart thumping slightly out of step.

You don’t know why it feels heavier coming from him. Maybe because everything from him feels like it might mean something — even when it doesn’t. Maybe because you still don’t know how much space he’s meant to take up in your day. Or maybe because… you kind of hoped he would text. And now that he has, you don’t know what to do with that hope.

You type back, simple.

[ You 3:46 PM]: Depends who’s asking.

The reply comes faster than you expect. Like he has been waiting near the phone the entire time. 

[JK 3:46 PM]: Just someone who heard you lost a fight to soju.

Your brows lift. So he knows. Somehow. Someone told him. But who?

You hesitate, then reply:

[JK 3:47 PM]: Amazing. Didn’t realize my downfall was public info.

[JK 3:47 PM]: It is now. You set a new record, apparently. Very dramatic.

You roll your eyes. But you’re already smiling. Just a little.

You tap your fingers against the edge of the phone, then type:

[You 3:47 PM]: Glad to know I’m leaving a legacy.

And then — a pause. A longer one.

Not longer then a minute. Just long enough to make you wonder.

Then his message blinks across the screen:

[ JK 3:48 PM]: You always do.

You stop.

You stare at the words until the screen begins to dim, and you tap it once to keep it lit. You don’t reply. You don’t know how.

Because you’re still figuring out what any of this is.

Still figuring out what it means when someone like Jungkook says something like that — not just to you, but about you.

And if you’re being honest with yourself — really honest — you know it’s not just the words.

It’s the way your pulse stutters now. The way your stomach tightens, just slightly. The way you let your phone rest gently on the blanket beside you, like the weight of it might say too much.

You exhale, slow.

Outside, the city is still moving. Somewhere far off, a car honks. Someone laughs in the hallway.

But inside your apartment, it’s just you. And that message. And the strange little ache blooming behind your ribs. ----- The next day at work passed in a strange kind of haze.

The hangover was gone. The peppermint scent had faded from your hoodie, and the apartment felt emptier than it did the night before — though a blanket still folded neatly on the couch gave away that Jimin had really been there. You hadn’t heard from him since, just a message in the morning saying “Hope today’s kinder to you.”

You hadn’t answered.

There was too much noise in your head already — leftover static from dreams, memories, text messages that said you always do. And then there was work. The usual rush of prep before a Run BTS shoot, the whole office tense but pretending to be casual. Scripts, gear, last-minute call time changes. People bumping into each other and pretending it wasn’t on purpose.

By 6:40, someone shoved a clipboard into your hands with a breathless “Can you take this to Studio B?”

You were already halfway down the hall when you realized you didn’t mind the errand.

You didn’t really want to be around anyone. Except when you open the door to the smaller recording studio, it isn’t empty.

Jungkook’s already there.

He’s lounged back on the old leather couch, hoodie hood bunched behind his neck, legs sprawled comfortably. One of his feet bounces in the air, heel tapping the ground. He’s got his phone in hand and one earbud in, but it’s hanging halfway out, like he forgot about it.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s grinning — really grinning — shoulders shaking with that soundless laugh you’ve seen when something online catches him just right. You freeze for half a second in the doorway, not sure whether to step back or knock or just stand there like a forgotten extra.

Then he looks up.

And you don’t know why it feels like you’ve been caught.

“Oh,” he says, still half-laughing. “You scared me.”

“I knocked.”

“You didn’t.”

You blink. “…I thought I did.”

He smiles, and it makes your stomach shift a little too fast.

You hold up the clipboard in your hand. “Dropping these off. Tomorrow’s call sheets.”

He nods and nudges the coffee table with his foot. “You can leave it here. Unless you want to read it out loud. Make it dramatic.”

You roll your eyes but cross the room anyway, placing the clipboard down gently on the edge of the table. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick toward you as you do — just for a second. A blink. But it’s there.

“Did you volunteer for this?” he asks, voice light.

“Why?”

He shrugs, stretching his arms behind his head. “I mean, it’s almost 7. Kind of feels like you wanted the walk.”

You glance at him, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Kind of feels like you’re reading too much into it.”

He laughs again — not unkind. Not sharp. Just… amused.

“I’ve been told I do that,” he says shrugging. “Once or twice.”

You hover by the table a moment longer, unsure if you’re dismissed or just lingering. But before you can move toward the door, he speaks again — this time a little quieter, but still casual.

“By the way… thanks. For the whole… mess the other day.”

You blink. “You mean—?”

He nods once. Doesn’t elaborate. Just lifts his hand in a little wave like he’s acknowledging something in the air between you both.

“I didn’t know you knew I helped with that.”

He gives a soft scoff. “Please. You’re the only one who would’ve made the managers sound like a calm older sister who’s also on the verge of quitting.”

You almost smile. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

“I thought so.”

Silence settles again, but it’s not uncomfortable.

He leans forward to pick up his phone, scrolling aimlessly now. You turn toward the door.

“You’re on the schedule at 8:45,” you say over your shoulder. “Try not to be late.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“More like a prayer.”

He huffs another laugh behind you. “See you tomorrow.”

You don’t look back when you leave, but you do catch your reflection briefly in the narrow studio window — the way your shoulders are still a little too stiff, your expression a little too carefully blank.

But your heart?

It’s doing that thing again.

The quiet kind of racing.

------- The studio was already buzzing by the time you arrived.

Staff filtered in and out of the side doors, trailing wires and clipped walkies, the usual pre-shoot chaos humming under every breath. You tucked your phone into your back pocket, tried not to think about the last conversation you’d had with either of them, and slid the call sheet onto the production table like it didn’t weigh more than it should.

Run BTS days always carried a different kind of energy. It wasn’t just content — it was the boys being themselves, half-scripted and half-chaotic. You’d noticed, over time, how even the quietest ones came alive here. Something about being in front of the camera without the full weight of an idol performance made them playful in a way that was rare to catch elsewhere.

You were adjusting the mic list when you heard your name.

“Y/N!”

It was Taehyung, waving dramatically from across the set like you were half a football field away.

“Come settle a bet,” he called.

You squinted. “Do I want to know what the bet is?”

Jimin appeared beside him, grinning like he’d already won. “You absolutely do.”

That’s when you noticed the screen behind them — the large monitor propped up for playback — currently displaying a paused Mario Kart track. Two controllers were sitting on the table, one already gripped tightly in Jungkook’s hands.

“Jungkook challenged me,” Jimin said, bouncing lightly on his heels. “Then he lost. And now he wants a rematch. But I refuse, so he wants to show he can beat anyone else. So we chose you.”

You blinked and pointed at yourself in disbelief. “Me?”

Jungkook, seated in one of the gamer-style chairs with his legs kicked up like he owned the place, smirked. “You talk a big game.”

You crossed your arms. “I’ve never talked any game.”

“That’s what makes you dangerous,” he replied, eyes gleaming.

Someone from the staff handed you the second controller, and it felt suspiciously like a setup — the way all the boys slowly started crowding behind the monitor, how Jimin was suddenly perched on the arm of the couch beside you, offering unsolicited tips.

“Watch the drifts in the third lap,” he murmured. “That’s where he gets cocky.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. “Are you helping me or sabotaging me?”

He smiled, all sugar and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Jungkook chose the track. Something fast. Of course.

When the countdown began, your focus narrowed. Just you, the controller, and the digital chaos on screen. Around you, you were vaguely aware of voices — cheering, laughing, someone (probably Jin) commentating like it was the Olympics.

Jungkook was fast. Annoyingly fast.

But you were patient. Quietly calculating.

And in the last stretch of the final lap, you drifted perfectly around a corner, dodged a red shell, and zipped across the finish line less than half a second ahead.

The room exploded.

Hobi’s laugh was unmistakable as Jin threw his hands in the air. Taehyung screamed something unintelligible. Jimin laughed so hard he nearly fell from where he was sitting on.

Jungkook stared at the screen, jaw slack. Then he turned to look at you.

“That was luck.”

You leaned back, tossing the controller gently onto the couch. “Skill. Coated in humble confidence.”

“Rematch.”

“You’ll need time to recover.” You patted him on the shoulder. 

He huffed, half a laugh escaping before he could stop it. And then he smiled — a real one this time, boyish and bright.

Jimin passed behind you as the camera crew started setting up for the next segment. He didn’t say anything at first — just brushed his knuckles lightly across your shoulder in passing, a touch no one else would notice.

When he came back around, slipping into place beside you as the others were getting miked, he handed you a bottle of water without meeting your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath.

You nodded. “I think I just made a mortal enemy.”

He smiled. “Nah. That’s just Jungkook’s love language.”

Your stomach flipped — not because of the words, but the quiet way he said them. Like he knew exactly how light to make it. Exactly when not to push.

You looked at him then, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then the director called for first positions, and the moment scattered like loose change.

Still, when Jungkook passed you on the way to his mark, he bumped your shoulder lightly, a grin tucked half into the corner of his mouth.

“Round two’s coming,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

But you smiled anyway. -----

The hallway beyond the studio felt quieter than it should. Dimmer, too, the bright set lights replaced by the low ambient hum of backstage fluorescents. You rubbed your fingertips along your temple, trying to will away the strange buzz still dancing in your chest after the shoot.

Your badge swung slightly with each step as you wandered past stacked lighting gear and garment racks. A few of the stylists were packing up, their conversations soft and distant. Most of the boys had already vanished into dressing rooms or out the back exit.

You stepped into the green room without knocking — just enough to drop off the folder you’d been handed. Inside, it was quiet. A jacket draped over the couch, an open water bottle on the table. Jungkook was seated on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable until he glanced up and noticed you.

"Hey," he said, straightening slightly.

You held out the folder. "Call sheet for the weekend. You guys have a rehearsal slotted Sunday."

He set his phone down and took the folder from you, glancing at the cover. "Thanks."

"No problem."

You turned to leave, but his voice followed. "You know... you kind of crushed me today."

You blinked. "At Mario Kart?"

He let out a low chuckle. "I’m gonna pretend it wasn’t personal."

"Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’m just that good."

Jungkook tilted his head like he was considering that. "Dangerously humble. It’s a deadly combo."

You smirked, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make your heart feel a little too aware of itself.

“How’s your recovery from trying to beat Sana in drinking?” He asked casually. 

Your eyebrows shot up. "How do you—"

His grin widened. "Let’s just say... death by soju doesn’t go unnoticed."

You narrowed your eyes, trying not to smile. "I’m going to start interrogating people."

"You won’t need to. I’m very susceptible to guilt. And bribery."

You laughed despite yourself, glancing down at the call sheet again. Something about this was easier than it should’ve been.

Then footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Taehyung appeared, slowing as soon as he saw the two of you. He stopped a few paces away, taking in the scene without saying a word.

You braced for something.

He didn’t disappoint.

"You know," he said, pointing between the two of you, "if you’re gonna stand that close and smile that much, at least try to look a little less obvious."

Jungkook groaned, head tipping back with a dramatic sigh. "Hyung—"

Taehyung raised both hands, backing away slowly. "Hey, hey. Don’t mind me. I’m just an innocent bystander. An observant one. But innocent nonetheless."

Then, just before turning the corner, he added over his shoulder, "Cute, though. Seriously."

You stared after him.

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, then looked at you with something caught between amusement and apology.

"He’s going to milk that for weeks."

You sighed. "Guess we’re doomed."

"Could be worse," Jungkook said.

And the way he looked at you — not teasing, not intense, just quietly sure — made it very hard to argue. ---- The studio floor had emptied out more than you realized. One minute you were dodging prop boxes and laughing with Yoshi while the post-filming chaos still lingered, and the next — you were standing by the stairwell with a half-empty water bottle in hand, waiting for the elevator that seemed determined not to arrive.

"You always disappear right before the fun part," Jimin’s voice cut through the quiet like a familiar song.

You turned, half startled, half expecting him. He was already walking toward you, hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders, hair still damp from the earlier shoot, and something soft behind his eyes. Like he’d been waiting for a moment alone just like this.

You gave a weak smile. "Didn’t know there was a fun part."

He stopped in front of you, leaning a shoulder lightly against the wall. "There’s always a fun part."

The hallway buzzed gently with silence. A light flickered above you, casting slow-moving shadows. You tightened your grip on the bottle.

"Tired?" he asked, glancing down at your hands.

You shrugged. "A little. I think the last twenty-four hours finally caught up to me."

He nodded slowly, like he understood more than you were saying.

"Thanks for yesterday," you said after a moment.

"You already said that."

You looked up. "Well, I’m saying it again."

He smiled at that, then tilted his head slightly. "Want a ride home? I’ve got time."

You hesitated. For a breath. Maybe two. Then nodded. Why not?

---- 

The city passed in fragments outside the window, a patchwork of late-night haze and quiet. Yellow-tinted streetlights blinked over sidewalks. Neon signs flickered half-heartedly from the windows of half-closed stores. Inside the car, it was warm — too warm — and you didn’t bother removing your coat. You felt the press of it, like a shield. A weight you weren’t quite ready to shrug off.

Jimin didn’t put on music. You didn’t ask. The air between you hummed with an unspoken rhythm, one you couldn’t place.

"You’re quiet," he said, glancing at you as the car slowed at a red light. "I thought I’d at least get a dramatic monologue about the evils of filming variety shows in the cold."

You gave a soft huff, the corner of your mouth twitching. "You’re lucky I’m too tired to perform."

"I’m devastated," he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.

Your gaze drifted back out the window. You traced the fog from your breath with a fingertip on the glass. "It’s just been... an intense week."

"I know the feeling," he murmured. His tone didn’t shift. He didn’t offer advice. He just agreed, like it was the only thing worth saying.

"It’s not even anything specific. Just… the internship. The schedule. The pace of it all. Its been almost three months but feels like im here for much longer but at the same time much less. It’s weird." You gave a little shrug, as if brushing the weight off your shoulders could make it lighter. "Everything’s just a bit much sometimes."

He stayed silent. The hum of the car filled in what you didn’t say.

Then, his voice returned, lighter this time. "If it makes you feel better, I’m very impressed by how professional you looked while holding a bag of cucumbers today."

That pulled a laugh from your chest. You shot him a side glance. "Stop."

"Dead serious. Iconic. Might be the most glamorous thing I’ve seen all week."

The light turned green, and he eased the car forward. You leaned into your seat and sighed. Something about him — the way he let the serious and silly fold over each other — always managed to unravel you in pieces. Quiet ones.

"You’re good at this," you said softly.

"At what?"

"Disarming people."

He glanced at you, his smile widening. "You make it sound like I’m a spy."

"Maybe you are. The charming kind. Gets people talking when they don’t mean to."

"Ah," he said, mock-serious. "So I’m dangerously persuasive. Noted."

You lifted an eyebrow. "I’m saying you’re sneaky. Subtle. The kind of person who probably gets away with way too much."

He gasped in mock offense. "I’m wounded."

"You’ll survive."

He turned onto your street, the familiar row of buildings falling into place outside the window. But he didn’t stop in front of yours. Instead, he pulled up further, into a quieter spot shaded by trees and dim streetlight.

The engine ticked as he cut it. Neither of you moved.

You sat in the silence, eyes on your hands folded in your lap, while Jimin’s rested casually on the wheel like he wasn’t in a rush to end whatever this was.

"We’re okay, right?" he asked after a moment. Quiet. Careful.

You nodded slowly. "I think so."

He didn’t speak right away. You could feel his gaze, warm and open.

"You’ve seemed different lately. Not bad. Just… like your head’s somewhere else."

You traced another foggy line on the window. "Maybe it is. Everything just feels different, like something shifted and I haven’t caught up to it yet."

He didn’t press. Just waited.

"It’s not really about the job," you added quickly. "It’s nothing. And also… not nothing. I guess I’m still figuring it out."

His voice was low when he answered. "Want to know what I’m figuring out?"

You turned to him, surprised by the question. "What?"

"How long I can sit here before I do something really dumb."

Your breath caught.

He gave a small, knowing smile. "And it gets harder everytime you look at me like that. "

You didn’t look away. Your fingers tightened just a little in your lap. "Then maybe stop thinking about it."

He waited. A pause that felt like a held breath, long enough to ask without asking.

And then, slowly — like testing the weight of it — he leaned in.

The kiss was light. Barely a whisper between you. A question posed in silence. A warmth you hadn’t realized you were craving. It wasn’t a hot or passionate kiss, but rather something soft, uncertain — like both of you were trying to remember how to breathe through it. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t demand anything, didn’t burn its way through your chest, but settled there gently, like the warmth of a hand over your heart. It asked nothing but permission. It didn’t shout. It didn’t shake. It just… existed, tender and fleeting. Like a pause between thoughts. Like a secret neither of you had the words to speak yet.

But it didn’t last for long.

Because just as the moment settled — just as the softness of it bloomed in your chest — you pulled away.

The car felt too close now. Too still. Your hand reached for the door.

"I should—"

He nodded.

You stepped out into the cold. The night air stung your cheeks in a way that reminded you where you were. Grounded you.

The door shut behind you. Your boots clicked against the pavement as you walked towards the door of your apartment building.

And then—

Your name.

Spoken low. Firm.

You turned as he caught up to you. 

No hesitation this time.

His hand found the back of your head softly but firmer. His eyes found your mouth.

And he kissed you again.

Fuller. Warmer. Still careful, but more certain — like he’d decided he didn’t want to let you walk away wondering. This kiss wasn’t rushed, but there was urgency beneath the tenderness. A silent insistence that said: I meant that. It carried something heavier than the first — not pressure, but presence. His thumb brushed along your jaw as the kiss deepened just slightly, grounding you where you stood. Your breath caught somewhere between surprise and surrender. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it. The world narrowed. The streetlamp above you flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn echoed and faded. But here — with his forehead resting lightly against yours — everything else disappeared.

You could feel your heart knocking against your ribs, too fast, too loud. Like it hadn’t caught up to what your body was already answering.

"I get to do dumb things sometimes too," he murmured resting his forehead against yours. You were with your eyes closed still trying to process what just happened. 

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t let go either. You didn’t know how long you stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, Jimin’s warmth still lingering on your lips.

The street was quiet. Only the distant hum of a passing car reminded you the world hadn’t completely stopped. But in your body? In your chest? Everything felt like it had come to a sudden, terrifying standstill.

He kissed you.

He kissed you.

Again.

And then he—

He just turned around and left.

No last word. No clever tease. Not even a backward glance.

He walked back to his car like that kiss hadn’t just rearranged your entire central nervous system.

You were still standing there like a glitch in a simulation when the car engine started. It purred low, then faded as the wheels rolled down the block.

Only when the red taillights disappeared from view did you finally move.

You turned slowly, let yourself walk the last few steps to your building, and fumbled with the code on the door twice before getting it right. Your fingers didn’t work properly. Your brain certainly didn’t.

Inside, the air felt colder than you expected. Or maybe that was just your skin trying to forget the way his hand held the back of your head.

You dropped your bag at the entrance. Your coat somewhere near the couch. Your shoes half-on, half-off by the mat.

And then you just stood there.

Completely and utterly flabbergasted.

What the hell had just happened?

You touched your lips. Once. Lightly. Like you could still trace the shape of him there.

This was a joke. It had to be. 

No.

This was your life.

You spun in place, hair swishing with the motion, like pacing would make your thoughts more manageable.

It didn’t.

He kissed you. Again. And it wasn’t some lingering almost-moment. Not some near miss like before. No. It was real. It happened.

And you let it happen.

You kissed him back. Oh God, what have you done? You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Never said anything. To anyone. Ever. In fact, you believe you should’ve just been able to speak ever again. 

You groaned and collapsed face-first onto the couch, muffling a scream into the nearest cushion.

What were you supposed to do now? Text him? Pretend it never happened? Throw your phone into the sea? Take a rocket and launch yourself into space and disapear forever?

You rolled over dramatically, now staring at the ceiling, limbs sprawled in defeat.

Should you call Evi?

No.

Yes.

No. Definitely not. She would ascend into a whole different plane of existence if she found out. You could already hear her voice in your head, pitch climbing with every syllable:

“YOU DID WHAT? With PARK JIMIN?! Girl, are you INSANE?”

You covered your face with both hands.

God. This was bad. This was… good? No. Complicated. This was very complicated.

And you were very possibly losing your mind.

You hadn’t even taken your makeup off. Your phone buzzed against your thigh, and you flinched like it had burned you.

But it wasn’t him.

Of course it wasn’t.

You lay there for another minute before sitting up and grabbing your phone anyway. You opened your notes app and typed exactly two words:

He kissed me.

Then you stared at them.

Then you deleted them.

Then you opened a new note:

What the fuck is happening.

You closed the app.

Typed Evi’s name in your contacts.

And stared.

You hadn’t done anything wrong.

Right?

But why did it feel like your entire body was filled with static electricity?

You groaned again and launched yourself backward onto the couch. You needed to sleep. Or scream. Or invent a time machine.

Anything but this. Your phone buzzed again.

This time, not a message. A FaceTime.

 My one and only true love is FaceTiming…

You screamed.

Not a little gasp, not a startled “oh”—a full-on, sharp yelp that shot out of you like a reflex. The sound echoed off your apartment walls, and you instantly slapped a hand over your mouth.

Your thumb still hit "accept."

Evi’s face exploded onto the screen, perfectly framed and flawless. Hair smooth and curled at the ends, lips lined with something expensive and terrifyingly red. Her brows looked like they were carved by gods.

“Why are you screaming like someone broke into your house?” she asked, calmly sipping from a matcha glass.

You blinked at her. “I thought you were a murderer. Or my boss.”

“Charming. This is the welcome I get?”

“You scared the hell out of me.” 

“You scare easily for someone who’s been hiding a man in her apartment.”

Your soul left your body.

You coughed. “What—what are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.” She leaned in dramatically. “I know that look. You’re flushed. Your hair’s doing that thing it does when you’re stressed but trying not to look stressed. Your eyes are twitchy. And unless it’s -3 degrees outside, that red on your cheeks isn’t from the cold.”

You adjusted your phone. “It is cold.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And yet you don’t look frozen. You look freshly kissed.”

You made a noise that wasn’t a laugh or a protest—just a long, whimpering exhale.

“Y/N,” she said slowly. “Was someone at your place again since yesterday?”

You said nothing.

“Someone tucked your blanket,” she continued. “Someone made you ramen. Someone bought you Pocari Sweat. You don’t even like Pocari Sweat. You drink it once a year and call it a ritual. And today you are jumpy and blushing. Spill, bitch. ”

You buried your face in your hand. “You are so dramatic.”

“I am your best friend. I’m allowed to be. Was it someone from work?”

“Evi…”

“Was it one of the boys?” Her eyes widened, manic energy building. “Wait. DON’T tell me. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Scratch your nose if it’s complicated.”

You burst out laughing, but it was too late—your fingers had brushed your cheek.

“I KNEW IT!”

“That was not a signal.”

“Too late. Evidence locked in.”

“Jesus Christ.”

She grinned at you. “Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

You stared at her through the screen. Your cheeks still felt warm. Your mouth—God, your mouth—still tingled faintly. Like the memory of his lips hadn’t quite left yet.

She tilted her head. “Was it good?”

You sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“Not a no.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m just saying—if someone kissed me and they were as hot as they sound, I would spiral, like, immediately.”

“Oh, I already spiraled.”

She beamed. “That’s my girl.”

There was a beat of silence, then her voice softened.

“You okay, though?” She dropped the subject just like that. She knew better then to press you. And she also knew when you were not jokinly freaking out. 

You looked away. Then back. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t push. She didn’t fill the silence with noise like she normally would. Just… nodded. Like that was enough.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Of course,” she replied. Then, after a pause: “Can I complain about my neighbor now?”

You blinked. “Absolutely.”

She launched into it instantly. “So this morning? He started blasting Cupid at seven a.m. again. Not even the good version—the sped-up TikTok remix. While dancing. In a tutu. On his balcony.”

You snorted. “Still the same three songs?”

“On a loop. My brain is bleeding. My sanity is held together by two hairpins and a dream.”

You grinned.

She leaned closer to the screen. “I’m serious. If I disappear one day, avenge me. I’ll be the one under the floorboards of his playlist.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

You nodded. “I do.”

“And when you’re ready,” she said, “I want the whole story. Over wine. With snacks. And a cheap galaxy projector.”

You smiled, eyes soft. “Deal.”

“Miss you.”

“Miss you too.” 

She gave you a long look, like she was reading every emotion off your face, then winked and hung up—leaving you in the quiet again.

But this time, it didn’t feel quite so loud. 

You keep your face calm, your spine straight, your tasks in check.

But when one of the sound guys brushes your shoulder while passing a cable behind you, your body reacts.

A quick, automatic flinch.

Just a twitch—so small no one should notice.

Except someone does.

You feel the heat of his gaze before you even look up.

Jungkook stands on the far side of the studio, half-bent over a monitor setup, a cord in one hand. His head is tilted slightly, one brow faintly raised. His expression unreadable.

Your stomach drops.

You immediately look away, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like nothing happened.

It happens again an hour later.

You’re crouched by one of the cases, sorting the smaller equipment pieces when Jimin approaches with a light laugh and a clipboard in hand.

“Hey,” he says casually, crouching beside you, “you good with this checklist, or should I double-check it before you send it over to the floor team?”

You nod, smiling faintly. “It’s good. Already cross-checked the light positions.”

“Wow. Gold star for you.”

He nudges your shoulder gently with his own. It’s friendly. Normal. The same was he has done a couple of times before.

And still—your body freezes for a second.

You catch it too late, feel your own chest tighten. You hope he doesn’t notice.

But he does. Of course he does.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, his playful grin dimming. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You force another smile. “Just didn’t expect that.”

He doesn’t press. But he doesn’t look convinced either.

You pull away politely, standing. “I’ll go prep the next set.”

You don’t look back.

By lunch, you’re wound so tightly you barely hear your name being called.

“Y/N”

You blink, glance up. Jungkook stands in front of you, a protein bar in one hand, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. The studio lights cast a soft sheen across his cheekbones, but his expression is strangely neutral.

“You forgot to eat again,” he says, holding the bar out to you.

You hesitate. Looking between the treat in his hands and back to his face.

He waits, not smiling like he usually does. Just watching.

“It’s fine,” you say softly. “I’m not hungry.”

“Eat anyway.”

You finally take it, your fingers brushing his for half a second. You pull your hand back quickly, clutching the wrapper.

Jungkook leans against the edge of the table, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

“You always flinch like that?”

Your heart skips. “What?”

His eyes stay on yours. He doesn’t say it with judgment, or even concern—it’s something a bit more than that. Measured.

But not cold.

“I’ve been around you for weeks,” he says. “I’ve never seen you act like people touching you was a problem.”

Your lips part—but nothing comes out. Then shut again.

He shrugs slowly, his tone softening just slightly. “Just wondering if someone did something.”

You look down. “Nothing happened.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You glance around the room, but no one is paying attention.

You force a breath through your nose. “It’s fine. I don’t… I just didn’t sleep well.”

Jungkook leans in a little closer—not physically, but emotionally. His presence narrows in on you, quiet and grounded.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “But if something’s wrong… I don’t think you should pretend it’s nothing.”

You finally meet his eyes again.

And you say it gently, without a hint of emotion

“Jungkook its really ok. I just didn’t sleep very well”

Something flickers behind his expression—regret? frustration?

He doesn't push.

Just takes a breath, straightens up, and gives a tiny nod.

“Okay,” he says getting back up. “But maybe try eating that before it melts in your hand.”

He turns and walks away.

When he finally leaves the room, you look down and realize your fingers have crushed the corner of the bar from how tightly you were holding it.

You’re outside, behind the building, leaning against the railing near the loading dock—your unofficial break spot. Your coffee’s cold, but you’re still holding it, sipping like it might ground you. Gently nibling on the protein bar jungkook gave to you.

It’s a quiet moment. Almost peaceful.

Until you hear the door creak open behind you.

“Hey.”

You turn slightly and find Seo-Jun there, hands in his pockets, a hesitant look on his face.

“Hey,” you echo, soft and tired. You haven’t been clearly avoiding him today but you also were not looking for his company either.

He walks over and stands beside you, not too close—but not far enough to ignore. There’s a silence between you that isn’t awkward, but it’s weighty. Like he came here with something to say and is still working up to it.

“You’ve been off today,” he says eventually, glancing sideways at you. “Something happen?”

You keep your eyes on the concrete taking another small bite before answering. “No, not really.”

“You sure?” You can feel his gaze on you.

You nod. “Just tired.”

He studies you for a second. “Was it the club?”

You blink. Slowly. Your heart kicks a little. You don’t want to think about the club again. You are honestly getting tired at this point from people asking if you are ok and if something happened.

You don’t answer right away. Seo-Jun watches your silence and softens his tone. He reaches for your arm and you stare for a second at his hand on you.

“Y/N… if someone did anything to you, even if it felt small, I—”

“Nothing happened,” you interrupt, a little too sharp. Finally looking up at him with a blank expression on your face. “Really. I’m fine”

He backs off slightly, hands raising in surrender. “Okay. I believe you.”

The silence that follows is tenser now. He breaks it gently.

“I’m only asking because I care, you know. Not just as a co-worker. You know that, right?”

You look at him—his expression is honest, warm, maybe too open. It makes your chest hurt.

“I know,” you murmur. “You’re kind.”

He takes a step closer. It’s subtle—but you notice.

And so does someone else.

“Break room’s not good enough anymore?”

The voice comes from behind you.  Low.

Casual but at the same time not casual at all.

You freeze.

You both turn to find Jungkook slightly leaning at the doorway, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His expression is unreadable—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Darker than usual. Sharper.

Seo-Jun straightens a little. “Just getting some air.”

Jungkook nods slowly and gives a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Right. That’s why you’re trying to corner her outside like it’s a drama scene?”

“Excuse me?” Seo-Jun says, surprised.

You step between them instinctively, voice flat. “We’re just talking.”

Jungkook’s eyes flick to you for half a second, then back to Seo-Jun.

“She said she’s fine,” Jungkook mutters, jaw tightening. “Maybe take the hint.”

Seo-Jun’s brows knit. “You’re being weird, man. What’s your deal?”

“My deal,” Jungkook says, stepping forward, “is watching you look real comfortable trying to pull her aside every chance you get. You think she wants that?”

You blink.

Seo-Jun opens his mouth, then closes it.

Your heart is racing, and not in the way it normally is to when you are with Jungkook.

“Stop,” you say, voice sharper now. “Both of you. This is ridiculous.”

Jungkook looks at you, but he doesn’t back down. “Just saying. If someone actually gave a damn, they’d leave you alone when you clearly don’t want to be touched.”

The words hit too directly.

Seo-Jun looks between the two of you, frowning. “Okay. Got it.”

He steps back. “Let me know when I can talk to you without getting pushed around.”

You don’t say anything. God he has some guts to say that to him. Jungkook with a flick of his finger, if he really wanted to, find a way to move Seo-Jun to some other position really fast. Even though you don’t believe he would do so.

He leaves.

The door swings shut behind him.

Jungkook stays where he is, arms crossed now, chest rising and falling with too much tension.

You don’t want to ask. Not really. Your head is still heavy from last nights drinking and, in fact, you dind’t sleep well at all. You just want to go back home call Evi and tell how stupid life feels right now.

But you do ask.

“What was that?”

He shrugs, not looking at you.

“Don’t like the way he talks to you.”

“Why?” you press. “Because he does?”

Jungkook finally looks at you, jaw set.

“He doesn’t know you.”

“And you do?”

That stops him cold.

For a beat, nothing moves between you. No words. No breath.

And then, softer—less angry—he says:

“I’m trying to.”

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to answer. Yeah, if theres something Jungkook has been learning how to do is shut you up alright.

So you turn and go back inside before he can say anything else.

But the weight of it follows you even if he doesn’t.

You are clocked out when you find yourself on the rooftop of the building, the skyline flickering like static. You didn’t mean to come here—your body just moved on its own, like it needed air, distance, a moment.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

[Sana]: Have you left already?

You pause. Then reply: 

[you]: Roof.

Minutes later, the door creaks open and she steps out, two bottled drinks in hand.

She hands you one without a word, plops down beside you on the low ledge, and kicks her feet out like she’s lived on rooftops her whole life.

“You look like you’re ten seconds away from fighting someone,” she says casually, bumping your arm. “Should I be worried?”

You laugh—but it’s dry. “I already did that today. Sort of.”

“Oh?”

You take a breath, then let it out slowly. “Jungkook and Seo-Jun almost got into it.”

Sana’s head turns so fast you hear her earrings jingle. “What?”

“They both said shit. Jungkook got all weirdly defensive and said Seo-Jun needed to back off. I know Seo-Jun was trying to check on me,  but it just… exploded.”

Sana whistles low with a smirk on her lips as she took a sip of her drink. “Damn. Who knew golden boy had claws.”

You shrug, twisting the bottle in your hands. “ I don’t think its that deep.”

She gives you a long, sideways glance. “You sure he doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know.” You pause. “And even if he did… Honestly, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is temporary. I go back to uni soon. I’m not even from here. I’m not in this world, not really.” You sip from your own drink now. Looking into the city “Also I don’t know if you noticed” you turn to her and whisper “hes like, veryfamous. And Army is scary”

Sana watches you for a second longer before turning her eyes back to the skyline with a ghostly smile playing on her lips.

“You know, sometimes I forget you’re the intern.”

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“No, I mean it. You’re so… calm. Even now, when you’re clearly unraveling.”

You scoff and smile faintly loking back at her. “That’s new. I feel like a mess.”

“I’d trade places with you if I could.”

You glance over. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, brushing off the comment. “Just thinking out loud.”

You don't press it. You’re too tired. Why would any one want to be in the mess you feel like you are in now?

“Can I ask you something?” Sana says, after a pause.

You nod.

“What do you want from all of this? Like… when your internship ends. What’s next?”

You stare at the lights across the river. “I don’t know.  Definetly go back, finish school. Pretend I didn’t just get blown into the most complicated, confusing  part of my life?”

“That’s… kind of poetic.”

You scoff. “It’s kind of tragic.”

Sana chuckles and leans her head on your shoulder. “Well, until you leave, we’ve got you.”

You lean your head against hers.

And in that moment—warm rooftop lights, distant traffic hum, someone breathing next to you—it almost feels like the world isn’t shifting beneath your feet.

The week moves slowly. Not in hours or things to do, but in atmosphere.

You show up early to the company every day. Focused. Steady. Like nothing happened. Not like Seo-Jun stopped texting. Not like Jimin haven’t been facetiming you every so often to talk about nothing and everything. Sometimes hes just bored and keeps quiet as he scrolls on his phone. Not like Jungkook haven’t gone back to being playfull and sweet around you, and hasn’t scared one of your friends.

You nod politely when Jungkook walks in, headphones slung around his neck, offering his usual grin—easy, sweet, playful. Like nothing happened.

You meet Seo-Jun in the hallway once. He gives a small smile, and you smile back. But he doesn’t stop to talk. Doesn’t walk you to the elevator like he used to. Doesn’t ask if you’ve eaten or wait by your desk with a second coffee just because.

You tell yourself it’s the comeback schedule. Everyone’s busy. You’re lucky if you get more than a few minutes with anyone. Right?

Still… your inbox feels quieter than usual.

“Hey.” A voice tugs you out of your thoughts. You turn and Jimin’s leaning against the wall near the studio entrance, watching you.

You blink. “Hi.”

“You’ve got that face again.”

“What face?”

He crosses his arms and nods thoughtfully. “The ‘Shit, did I turn off my iron off this morning’ face.”

You let out a soft laugh, and that’s all it takes. Jimin steps in, sliding easily into your rhythm like he always does—without pushing. “Don’t say stuff like that. I might actually need to go back home and check”

“I was gonna grab coffee. Want to come?”

You glance at your screen. Nothing urgent. No one waiting. No Seo-Jun anywhere in sight.

You stand. “Sure.”

The walk to the café is easy, breezy conversation—half jokes about the staff, half your quiet comments that make Jimin laugh like you’re funnier than you are.

He holds the door open with a little bow. “After you, Miss Important.”

“Please,” you roll your eyes, “you’re the celebrity.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one we all talk about.”

You snort into your drink. “Right.”

“I’m serious. You keep surprising everyone.”

You glance at him over the lid of your cup. “Why?”

“Because you’re… good. And you stay kind. Even when things are clearly weird.”

You stiffen slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I saw your face last week. After that night.”

Your grip tightens slightly.

“I didn’t say anything because you looked like you didn’t want anyone to,” he adds gently.

You nod, eyes lowering to your cup. “I didn’t.”

“Okay.” He nudges you with his elbow. “I still wanted to check in.”

You look at him. There’s no expectation in his eyes. Just quiet warmth.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

“Of course,” he says, like he knows you’re lying but won’t make you say it.

You sit there for a moment longer, then finally crack a smile. “You’re really good at this, you know?”

“At what?”

You shrug. “Being normal.”

He grins. “Well, someone’s gotta balance out Jeon.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

“What?” he chuckles. “It’s true. You should see him these days. All bark, no clue.”

You let the silence stretch after that, and Jimin doesn’t rush to fill it. He just sits beside you, letting you breathe.

And for the first time in days, you do.

You don’t expect to see Jimin again that evening. Not after the way the week’s been going—everyone scattered, schedules packed, Seo-Jun ghosting in and out of rooms like an afterthought.

But there he is, waiting outside the elevator when you’re finally heading down to grab something from the vending machine before heading home, hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from practice.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, amused.

“Obviously,” he says without missing a beat. “I’m incredibly subtle.”

You raise a brow.

“I was just on my way down too,” he admits, nodding to the elevator. “You don’t own the snack machine, Y/N.”

“Yet.” You point out. 

He grins. “Now that’s the ambition I like to see.”

You both walk side by side under the flickering hallway lights, the building quieter than usual at this hour.

“You’re not sleeping enough,” he says casually, grabbing a juice box from the machine.

“You noticed that from a hallway?”

“No, I noticed that from the fact that you look like someone pressed mute on you.”

You stare at him. Raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen you make five sarcastic comments in under a minute. This new quiet version is weird.”

You grab your drink and sigh. “I’m just tired.”

“From?”

You hesitate. Then as if he managed in the past week to take brick by brick off of you, you say “Everything.”

“Fair.”

He doesn’t pry. Just sits on the bench nearby and gestures for you to join him. You do. A quiet hum of silence stretches between you, but it’s not heavy. It’s… spacious.

You sip your drink and glance over. “Do you ever feel like people expect you to be something even when you’re running on empty?”

“All the time.” He replies not skipping a beat.

“Do you ever fake it?”

He gives a soft laugh. “Every single day.”

You exhale through your nose, and for the first time in a while, it’s not out of frustration. It’s something like relief.

“I think I’ve forgotten how to talk to people,” you admit, quieter now.

“No you haven’t,” he says, resting his head against the wall. “You just don’t want to say the wrong thing. That’s not the same.”

You turn your head toward him squinting in his direction. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I don’t,” he replies, smirking. “I just look like I do.”

You laugh again, and this time, it feels real.

He shifts toward you slightly, and something in the air changes—still light, still safe, but there’s a warmth to it now. A slight tilt.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “you really don’t have to be so tough all the time.”

You meet his eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on your expression. “If I’m not, I might break.”

He holds your gaze. “Then break. I’m sure someone will be there to help pick up the pieces.”

You blink, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. You want to say something—anything—but your throat tightens.

So instead, you whisper, “Thanks.”

He bumps his shoulder lightly into yours. “That’s what friends are for.”

There’s a pause. Then he adds, with a shit-eating grin and  eyes sparkling, “Though, just for the record… I look great holding broken pieces.”

You burst out laughing again, loud enough to echo down the hallway. Pushing him with your hands.

And for a moment, it’s enough.

Jimin’s is back on the schedule of always being there.

Not in a clingy, all-consuming way. Just… there. When you walk into the practice floor with coffee. When you’re buried in edits in the conference room. When you’re catching your breath after yet another rushed lunch.

It starts to feel like muscle memory—turning your head and finding him there, eyes crinkling, teasing something out of you without even trying.

“You’re starting to show favoritism,” you tease one afternoon as he hands you a drink without asking. The exact one you’ve been craving.

He shrugs, leaning on the counter beside you. “I’m not showing favoritism. You’re just easier to deal with when you’re caffeinated.”

You roll your eyes but sip gratefully anyway.

He watches you for a second. “Better?”

“Not terrible.”

“High praise.” The corner of his lips twitch up.

You two fall into an easy rhythm, the kind that doesn’t demand anything too intense, but still feels sincere. Jimin flirts—because of course he does—but it’s always with a nudge of humor, a twinkle in his eye, and never too close to a line.

You like that. You need that. Someone who sees the weight on your shoulders but doesn’t force you to unpack it. Someone who meets you where you are, without pushing.

And somehow, he gets that. Every time.

One late afternoon, you’re both hiding out in a corner of the building, away from the chaos. You’re lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and he’s sitting beside you, cross-legged, spinning his phone on his palm.

“You know,” he says casually, “I like that you don’t try so hard.”

You glance at him. “Thanks…?”

“No, I mean it.” He lies back too, arms folded behind his head. “People either try to impress us or avoid us. You kind of just exist.”

“I think that’s supposed to be an insult.” You look at him with a look of slight disbelief.

He grins. “It’s not. I like that you’re not fake.”

You stretch your legs out. “Yeah well, faking things takes too much energy.”

He hums in agreement. “You’re funny.”

“You’re soft.”

He gasps. “I am not.”

“You gave me a cookie earlier and said it was because I ‘looked like I needed love.’”

“I was being practical.”

You laugh, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

Safe. That’s what this feels like..

Just… safe.

Later, in the practice room, the rest of the boys filter in slowly. Jungkook’s the last to arrive. Hoodie up, hair slightly damp, headphones hanging from his neck. His usual outfit.

You’re sitting beside Jimin, working on your laptop while he watches something on his phone and casually throws in commentary like you’re both watching it together.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything when he walks in. But you feel it—his eyes on the two of you for a beat too long.

You glance up just in time to see him drop onto the couch across the room, pulling out his phone immediately.

He starts typing. And doesn’t stop.

Hoseok notices first. “What’s up with you, Jungkook? You’ve been texting all day.”

Jungkook glances up, casual. That smug smile on his face “Huh? Just stuff.”

“Stuff?” Taehyung leans over to peek. “Are you in love or something?”

Jungkook laughs but doesn’t deny it. “I’m allowed to text.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon adds, “but you hate texting.”

Jimin looks up at that, interest piqued. His eyes flick from Jungkook to you. You don’t react, just keep working. Jimin leans over and whispers, “Told you he’s sus lately.”

You snort. “He’s probably playing a game.”

Jimin nods dramatically. “A dangerous one.”

Jungkook looks up briefly—only at Jimin—but his gaze shifts just for a second toward you. Then he looks back down and resumes typing.

It’s late.

The lights outside the building cast long golden strips against the windows. Most people have already gone home. Afterall who wants to stay at their workplace on a Friday night? You and Jimin are still in the corner of the break room, the remnants of takeout boxes between you and the hum of the vending machine the only sound for a while.

You didn’t mean to stay this long. But you’re here. And so is he.

Jimin’s leaning on one elbow, swirling the straw of his soda with absent focus. “You’re quiet tonight,” he says without looking at you.

“I’m tired.”

“You say that even when you’re not.”

That makes you glance up. He’s not teasing this time. His voice is soft. Matter-of-fact. Still gentle.

And that’s all it takes.

You lean back in your chair and exhale slowly, as if the breath had been waiting days to be let out.

“It’s weird,” you say after a long pause. “Being here.”

Jimin shifts slightly, listening.

“I like it so much. All of this. The work, the people… even the chaos.” You let out a quiet laugh. “Sometimes I catch myself just… smiling in the elevator. Like an idiot.”

His lips lift, just slightly.

“But I’m not supposed to stay,” you continue, eyes fixed on a smudge on the table. “This was always temporary. My internship ends in a few months, and then I have to go back and finish Uni. Write my thesis. Take the last of my exams. Do all the normal stuff that is paused.”

You finally look at him. “It doesn’t leave room to even think about staying. You know? Even if I wanted to.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you carefully. Then: “You don’t talk about your life before this much.”

“No one here really asks.”

“I’m asking now.”

You hesitate. Then something in his expression—completely open, unhurried—unravels something you’ve kept stitched tight.

So you start to talk.

About how before Korea, you felt stuck. How you were so excited for the internship even though you were taking the place of your friend, so ready to grow and take a risk. But that not everyone saw it that way.

You talk about Evi. “She was supposed to come. She’s my best friend—still is. But something came up last minute, and she asked me to take the opportunity instead.”

“And your friends?” Jimin asks gently.

You hesitate, then laugh without humor. “They kind of... scattered. Some just drifted. But a lot of it was after my breakup.”

He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t interrupt. Letting you continue your story on your time. Even if you wanted to stop right there you know he wouldn’t push.

“We were together for years. I thought—” you stop with a scoff, then continue more quietly. “He said he couldn’t do long-distance. That I was choosing this over him.”

Jimin’s voice is low. “That’s not fair.”

“No. But maybe it was just honest.”

You’re surprised you’re even saying any of this. That it’s spilling out like this. You look away, toward the vending machine’s glow. “I just didn’t expect to feel this right here. I thought I’d just... do the job, learn what I could, go home, figure it out with him and have my life back. Maybe get a friend or two back”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away. But when you look at him again, there’s something in his expression that feels like comfort without pity.

“You know what I think?” he says after a moment.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I think you deserve to feel like you belong somewhere. Even if it’s not forever. Even if it hurts when it’s over.”

Your chest tightens.

“You’re not weird for liking it here,” he adds, a little softer. “You’re just human.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

He bumps your knee under the table. “Anytime.”

And for the first time in a long while, the silence that follows isn’t heavy.

It feels like space.

Like safety.

You wake up later than usual. No alarm. No schedule.

Just stillness.

The kind that creeps in when the world isn’t expecting you anywhere, and for once, you don’t feel guilty about it.

Sunlight pours through your curtains, catching the particles in the air like glitter. You blink slowly, turn your head on the pillow, and reach for your phone—not out of urgency, but habit. Not at all expecting a text that you know deep down would never come.

 But there’s a text from Jimin.

[Jimin 10:17 AM]:  You awake, sleeping beauty?

You smile.

[You 10:18 AM]: Barely.

[Jimin 10:19 AM]:  That’s progress. Want to meet later? We could get coffee. Or ramen. Or cake. Or all three.

[You 10:20 AM]: Tempting. Let me see how I feel after I pretend I’m a functioning adult for an hour.

You drop the phone on your chest and stare at the ceiling, still smiling faintly.

There’s something strange about how good that feels. A message. A check-in. The easy, steady presence of someone who isn’t trying to fix you—just letting you be.

You think about the other night. How you’d told Jimin things you hadn’t even told Evi. How he’d looked at you like you weren’t hard to understand. Like your sadness wasn’t inconvenient. You knew she would never do any of that. But sometimes she had a habit of blowing things a bit out of proportion.

You sit up slowly and start moving around the apartment—put on music, open the windows, wash your face with cold water that shocks your nerves awake. You don’t feel happy, exactly. But you feel okay.

And these days, okay feels like a win.

You tell Jimin you’re in. He sends back a dancing bear sticker and a voice note that makes you laugh because it’s just him humming aggressively off-key to some old ballad he probably heard in a random video online.

You meet at a small café tucked into a quieter side of the city. No crowds. Just the two of you in oversized hoodies, both wearing sunglasses like you’re famous and mildly hungover.

He makes you laugh. Constantly. You talk about nonsense—cereal brands, your irrational fear of jellyfish, his totally rational fear of ghosts. “You always eat so fast,” you say through a mouthful, watching him finish his sandwich in record time.

“I was a growing boy,” he shrugs. “Still am.”

You laugh, flicking a crumb off his jacket. “Sure, Jimin.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, then nudges your foot with his. “You’ve been less... storm cloud-y this week.”

You pause mid-bite. “Storm cloud-y?”

He grins. “Yeah. You usually walk around like you’ve just remembered an embarrassing moment from 8 years ago.”

“I have.”

“That’s fair.” He laughs leaning back on his chair.

“You  just… you looked lighter today.”

You tilt your head. “Lighter?”

“Yeah. Like something’s changed. In a good way.”

You look down at your coffee. Then back at him. “Maybe it has.”

That night, you get home early. The city’s quieter on weekends in your part of town. You’re brushing your hair out when your phone buzzes again.

[Jimin 7:42 PM]:  I meant it, by the way.

[You 7:43 PM]: Meant what?

[Jimin 7:44 PM]:  That you deserve to feel like you belong. You’re good at what you do. But more than that—you’re a good person.

[Jimin 7:44 PM]:  And I’m glad you’re here.

Your chest squeezes unexpectedly.

You stare at the screen for a long moment, thumbs hovering.

You don’t know what to say.

But you type anyway.

[You 7:47 PM]: I’m glad I’m here too.

You hit send. Then turn your phone over, heart a little louder than before.

You declare it before your feet even touch the floor: today, you will take no more than 100 steps. Maximum. It’s a vow, whispered into the quiet of your bedroom like a sacred promise between you and the corners of your house.

Your limbs feel like noodles—soft, limp, and unwilling to engage with the outside world. You stretch, yawn, and flop back onto the mattress, tugging the blanket up to your chin like a barrier against anything productive. Sunlight is peeking through the blinds in lazy slants, catching dust motes that dance in the quiet. You blink slowly. There's no rush.

No alarms. No texts. No notifications. Bliss.

You reach for your phone out of habit and check. Maybe Jimin sent something that will have you going against your promisse in the next 15 minutes.

But…nothing from Jimin.

Odd.

Normally, he sends a meme. A dumb selfie. A random message like “Do bees have knees?” or “You think rabbits ever get tired of hopping?”

But today, your screen is quiet.

You tell yourself not to overthink it. Maybe he’s taking a real day off too. God knows he needs one more than you do. You picture him somewhere in his apartment, wrapped in a blanket burrito with his hair all fluffed out, scrolling endlessly through TikTok while sipping something way too sugary.

You smile at the thought.

The first half of the day passes exactly how you planned. You eat something microwavable, shuffle around the apartment with socks so fuzzy they could double as small animals, and stare at your ceiling more than any emotionally stable person probably should.

You do yoga. Not actual yoga, but the kind where you lie flat on the floor and call it “restorative.” You even light a candle and feel proud of yourself for not burning anything down.

By the time 9 PM rolls around, you’re about 78 steps into your 100-step limit. Victory is in sight.

Then your phone rings.

Evi.

You smile and answer immediately. “Hey. Don’t you have a hot social life to be living right now?”

“You know I’m a grandma after 7 PM,” she shoots back, voice crackling with laughter. “Besides, I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

You melt a little. You missed her. You always do.

“I’m honored,” you say, settling deeper into the couch. “But if this call needs any sort of effort, I’m hanging up.”

“Understood. Minimal movement. Maximum gossip.”

What was meant to be a quick check-in turns into a four-hour marathon.

You talk about work. About Seoul. About the café that put pickles in your grilled cheese and how traumatized you still are. Evi tells you about a guy who tried to flirt with her using a PowerPoint presentation on why they’d make a good couple.

You snort so loudly you scare yourself. “Please tell me he included transition effects.”

“He had star wipes,” she says solemnly.

“Oh God.”

It’s easy. It’s comforting. You forget the time.

Until Evi gasps so loudly you think something’s exploded.

“Oh my god, did you see what’s trending?!”

Your brain scrambles. “What? No. I’ve been horizontal all day.”

She’s already typing. “I’m sending it. Check Twitter. Now. Now.”

“Why are you being dramatic?”

“I’m not. This is a cultural event. Look.”

A notification pops up. One link. No caption.

You tap it.

It takes a second to load. Then—

Your stomach flips.

There’s a photo, blurry but unmistakable. It looks like it was taken from a distance, probably by a phone hidden behind a plant or something equally stalkerish. The lighting is dim, but the person in the picture is clear as day.

Jungkook.

Even with his back turned, you’d recognize that frame anywhere. The black cap pulled low. The shoulders. The way his hands are tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

But that’s not what makes your heart lurch.

It’s the girl beside him.

She’s leaning in, her hand lightly brushing his arm. Her face is half-turned toward him, lips curved in a way that feels too familiar. Too… intimate.

Ji-a.

Your breath catches.

Your throat goes dry.

You don’t realize you’ve gone silent until Evi speaks again, voice cautious.

“You saw it?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Is that—?”

“Jungkook.” You don’t even try to soften it.

There’s a long pause.

Evi doesn’t have to ask why you sound like that. She already knows. You told her about Ji-a in one of your late-night rambles. You said her name the way people say ghost stories—quietly, like saying it too loudly might summon her.

Evi inhales. “It could be nothing.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. “Yeah.”

“He’s not facing the camera. I don’t even know its him”

“It’s him.”

You don’t know how you know. You just do. It’s the way he’s standing. The slope of his shoulders. That slight inward tilt of his head when he’s listening to someone speak. You’ve seen it in real life now. Once. Twice.

Enough times for it to be burned into your brain.

Evi sighs. “I hate that people sneak photos like this.”

“Yeah.”

“And post them like they’re prizes. Like human beings are trophies to be dissected online.”

You nod again, lips pressed tightly together.

You know she’s right.

But still.

Something twists in your stomach. Jealousy? No. You don’t have the right to feel jealous. Hurt, maybe. Disappointed. Or just… embarrassed. You remember the way Jungkook looked at you Friday. Like he saw you. Like he remembered everything.

Like it mattered.

But maybe it didn’t.

Maybe it was just a moment. And this is real.

Your chest tightens.

“This is going to be a shit show. Thank God you are not in PR, bestie” She adds trying to lighten the mood.

You say goodnight soon after. Evi offers to stay on the phone longer, but you politely decline.

When the call ends, silence floods your apartment like rising water.

You stare at the photo again.

You wish you hadn’t.

The comments are worse. Speculations. Ship names. Theories. Some fans defending him, others demanding explanations. And some people—because the internet is the internet—talking about how perfect Ji-a is.

You put your phone face down.

You’re at step 96 now. You know because you count the four steps it takes you to crawl into bed and cocoon yourself in blankets. You stare at the ceiling.

What did you expect?

Jungkook is… Jungkook. He’s allowed to date. Allowed to be seen with whoever he wants.

You just didn’t expect it to sting this much.

MASTERLIST

Seo-Jun, catching your exchange, shakes his head with a smile and passes you the last shrimp chip. “Better eat it before Mitsuki sees.”

“Hey!” Mitsuki calls from across the couch. “I heard that!”

Sana giggles harder and nearly spills her drink, slapping Mitsuki’s arm like it’s her fault she finds everything this funny. You realize your cheeks hurt from smiling, which surprises you. You hadn’t expected this — to feel so relaxed, so included — not insuch a short time.

For a moment, you let yourself soak it in: the warm press of Yoshi’s shoulder against yours, Seo-Jun’s dry humor, Sana’s uncontainable laughter, the distant sound of someone starting to sing along off-key.

You met Yoshi first — your unexpected lifeline in a sea of chaos, when both of you showed up on site for a dance challenge between one of ‘your boys’ and hers, you both wide-eyed and unsure where to even stand. She was going through the same thing but just with another group, and instantly took you under her wing, as the social butterfly she is.

Through her, you met Mitsuki — warm, naturally chaotic, and somehow always both the loudest and most observant in the room. Mitsuki brought you into the fold without hesitation, acting like you’d always been part of their circle.

And with Mitsuki came Seo-Jun and Sana.

Seo-Jun, calm and a little blunt, had seemed intimidating at first. It took you a while to realize his quietness wasn’t disinterest — just that he didn’t feel the need to talk unless he had something worth saying. He’s already a full-time employee, someone who knows the ropes and looks at your current internship with a quiet sort of amusement.

Sana is different. Sunshine with a sharp edge. She works with BTS too, but in a role that doesn’t have her glued to them 24/7 like yours. She's seen things, knows things, but never flaunts it — instead, she focuses on everyone else, drawing people in with ease, like laughter is something she hands out on demand.

A beat passes. Then two.

And just when the moment starts to settle into a comforting kind of quiet, Sana suddenly gasps. “Truth or dare.”

Groans ripple around the room. Seo-Jun immediately throws his head back against the couch cushion. “No.”

“Yes,” Sana insists, sitting up and pointing at him with dramatic flair. “You are too mysterious for your own good. I need answers.”

“I vote yes,” Mitsuki says, raising his hand like they’re in a board meeting.

“Traitor,” Seo-Jun mutters.

Yoshi’s already grinning and sitting up straight  “Alright. But if we’re doing this, we go full chaos mode.”

“I’m scared,” you say, laughing.

“You should be,” Yoshi replies without missing a beat.

Before long, the circle is formed. Someone dims the lights. Sana finds a bottle to spin — of course she does — and the first few rounds are harmless: sing the chorus of a guilty pleasure song, show the last meme you saved, attempt to do a handstand (which goes horribly for Mitsuki and earns loud applause anyway).

Then the bottle spins and lands on you.

“Truth or dare?” Sana asks, eyes twinkling like she’s already plotting your downfall.

You hesitate. “Truth.”

Groans again. “Boring!” Yoshi yells, but you shrug at him. You’re still trying to preserve what little dignity you have left.

Sana doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright,” she says, smirking. “Who in this room did you expect not to like when you first met them?”

The room erupts in oooooohs.

You freeze, mouth parting slightly. “What kind of loaded question—?”

“Answer it!” Mitsuki cackles.

Your gaze flicks to Seo-Jun, who’s watching you calmly over the rim of his drink. To Sana, who’s definitely enjoying this. To Yoshi, who just looks way too entertained.

You inhale, then blurt out, “Seo-Jun.”

More gasps. Even a bit of fake betrayal from Mitsuki, though he wasn’t even mentioned.

Seo-Jun raises a brow. “Fair. I thought you were too polite to be real.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he says, setting his drink down. “But then I heard you curse under your breath in the elevator on Thursday and figured you were human.”

The group erupts into laughter again, but this time, it feels warmer. Softer.

Your shoulders relax without you realizing it.

You catch Seo-Jun looking at you, though not saying anything more — just watching, like he sees something that makes him smile quietly to himself.

You’re not sure what that means.

But the bottle is spinning again, and for now, you don’t ask. As the bottle lands on Mitsuki, who groans dramatically as Sana claps like a game show host.

“Truth or dare?” she asks, grinning wickedly.

“Dare,” Mitsuki says, sitting up straighter like she’s bracing for impact.

“I dare you,” Sana says, eyes gleaming, “to post an Insta story with the caption ‘catch flights not feelings’ while holding Seo-Jun’s hand.”

The room erupts. Even Seo-Jun laughs, half covering his face with his sleeve.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze. “That’s so 2016.”

“But kind of iconic,” Yoshi adds, snorting into her drink.

Mitsuki plays along, grabs Seo-Jun’s reluctant hand and strikes a peace-sign pose while Sana fumbles for her phone. You swear your cheeks ache from how much you’ve smiled tonight.

When it’s Yoshi’s turn next, she picks truth. Sana narrows her eyes like she’s about to ask something deeply invasive, but instead says, “What’s something you haven’t told anyone since arriving here?”

Yoshi falls quiet.

Not in a tense way — more thoughtful. She stares at the ceiling for a moment, then says softly, “That I almost didn’t come. I was scared I’d mess everything up. That I wouldn’t find anyone who… got me.”

No one says anything right away, and the silence feels delicate. Then you reach over and squeeze her hand, and she looks over with a soft smile.

“Well, that was dumb,” you say, teasing gently. “You’re everyone's favorite already.”

“Speak for yourself,” Seo-Jun mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.

Yoshi squeezes your hand back.

It’s odd, you think. How fast people can go from strangers to comfort zones. How easy it is to laugh with them like you’ve known them longer than a week.

Sana yawns loudly and announces, “Alright, I’m claiming this couch and Mitsuki is my pillow.”

Everyone begins shifting around, the game dissolving into sleepy chatter and late-night laziness. You find yourself tucked next to Yoshi again as the group stretches out across the room in various stages of exhaustion.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says suddenly, just loud enough for you to hear.

You glance at her, a little surprised.

“Me too,” you say, quieter still.

And for the first time since you got here, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you belong too.

Monday hits hard, but the studio buzzes with energy before you’ve even had your coffee. Comebacks do that, apparently—everyone’s running on nerves, caffeine, and a little too much hairspray.

You’re balancing a tablet and three paper schedules when someone taps your arm.

“Are you part-time barista now, too?” Jin jokes, eyeing the coffee tray in your other hand.

You laugh. “Only for the cranky and the overworked.”

“Perfect,” he says, snagging one before you can answer.

Jungkook’s sitting on the couch nearby, hoodie up, absently watching rehearsal footage on a monitor. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch him glancing your way. When you set a coffee beside him, he looks up—brief eye contact, a quiet “thanks,” and then back to the screen.

Jimin walks in a minute later, beaming like he hasn’t just danced for six hours straight.

“Morning,” he says brightly, and your name rolls off his tongue like he’s said it a hundred times. “You survived the weekend?”

“Barely,” you say. “I think Yoshi broke my spine. Or maybe Mitsuki’s couch did.”

He laughs, leaning in like it’s a private joke. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve rescued you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “With what? Your limited cooking skills and anime recommendations?”

“Exactly.”

Behind him, Taehyung’s dragging a chair into the corner. Sana stands beside him, flipping through notes, her eyes narrowing in concentration. You catch her eye, and she gives you a quick, subtle nod—shared understanding between coworkers in the same storm.

Namjoon enters mid-call, Yoongi trailing behind him with a snack in hand. Hoseok’s already stretching out by the mirrors. The energy shifts when they’re all in one space—bigger, louder, like the air itself rearranges to make room for them.

You hover near the monitor, watching choreography edits with the rest of the team, but you feel it when someone steps beside you.

Jungkook.

He doesn’t speak, just folds his arms and watches the footage like you do. You steal a glance at him—his profile calm, unreadable—and then look away again.

It’s like that with him. Presence without pressure. Silence that feels just full enough.

“Make sure they get a water break in ten,” Sana says, nodding toward the guys. You nod back and pull out your phone to set a reminder.

Jimin’s voice carries from across the room, teasing Hoseok about his messy bun. The others laugh.

You’re seated on the floor near the back wall of the dance studio, finishing up notes on your tablet when Hoseok flops down beside you, dramatically wiping sweat from his forehead.

“You survived,” he says, voice breathless but teasing. “We almost didn’t.”

You glance up from your screen. “You say that every rehearsal.”

“Because it’s true every time,” he grins. “This choreo is no joke. Try doing it yourself them come talk to me.” You roll your eyes playfully at his comment and go back to what you were working on.

On the floor nearby, Jungkook is lying flat on his back, shirt damp, chest rising and falling steadily as he recovers from the last run-through. Jimin’s sitting beside him, chugging water while teasing Taehyung about a missed count. Namjoon scrolls through something on his phone, and Jin’s rifling through the snack box like it owes him something.

You’re technically not needed for another fifteen minutes, but no one seems to mind you staying.

“You’ve got the look,” Yoongi says from across the room, pointing a finger at you without looking up from his notes.

“The look?” You question him, your gaze curious to what hes so entertained by his notes.

“The ‘what did I sign up for’ look.”

You smile. “You mean the ‘I’ve never sweat this much from watching other people dance’ look?”

He lets out a low laugh. “Yeah. That one.”

Jimin, overhearing, scoots a little closer, pointing at the notes in your lap. “Are those for the team or for us?”

“Team. But I can make a few copies if you promise not to crumple them into your bag.”

“No promises,” Jin calls from the snack pile.

Jungkook finally sits up, arms propped on his knees. “She’s already better than half the staff we’ve had.”

You blink at the unexpected compliment, and he meets your eyes just briefly before looking away again, like he didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly.

Taehyung nudges your foot with his own, grinning. “Look at you, making fans.”

“Should I start a club?” you tease trying to go back to what you were doing.

Hoseok lifts his head. “Too late. We’ve already named it.”

“Oh?”

“The Y/N Protection Squad,” he says proudly. “It’s exclusive. Invitation only.”

“She didn’t even ask to be protected,” Namjoon says without looking up.

“Exactly,” Taehyung adds. “That’s why it’s a squad. She doesn’t even know we’re protecting her.”

They’re all talking at once now, bouncing off each other like it’s just another inside joke in a long list you haven’t fully caught up with yet—but the difference now is that they’re pulling you into it. Not watching from a distance. Not treating you like a nobody, which is exactly like you thought it would be. Its exactly what internships are, right? You are the corporate slave that does the job nobody wants to do. Like making photocopies of useless papers. But here…. Its comfortable. Letting you exist in their space as one of them.

Even Jungkook, who doesn’t say much, offers you his unopened bottle of water before getting up and muttering something about changing his shirt.

You take it, not because you’re thirsty—but because it’s the first time he’s handed you something without being askedsince you arrived.

Later, as they trickle out one by one, Jimin lingers.

“You staying late again?”

“Probably,” you say, glancing at the untouched parts of your schedule.

He offers a sympathetic smile. “Don’t work too hard. You’re allowed to like this, you know.”

You nod, unsure of how to answer that. Because you do like it.

You like them.

And you’re starting to think they might like you too.

It’s late. The kind of late where most of the building has gone quiet, lights dimmed in the hallways, and even the vending machines seem like they’ve powered down for the night.

You were just coming back for your badge—you’d left it in the sound room during the last meeting. It should’ve been a two-minute detour. In and out. No big deal.

But then, you hear something.

Low voices. Close. Around the corner near the back stairwell—the one barely anyone uses unless they’re avoiding being seen.

You pause, footsteps going still against the polished floor.

“Come on,” a girl’s voice says—soft but sharp at the edges. “You said tonight.”

“I didn’t say yes,” Jungkook’s voice answers, and your chest goes still. “I said maybe.”

There’s a shift in the air, like you’ve walked into something private. And yet, your feet don’t move.

The girl scoffs, not loud enough to echo. “You always say maybe. Then you disappear.”

“I told you,” he says, quieter now, like he’s trying not to be overheard. “I don’t want anyone finding out.”

“So you are embarrassed.”

“No.” The word comes fast. Too fast. Then slower: “It’s not like that.”

It’s hard to tell what exactly stings in that moment—but something does. A prickling behind your ribs, heat rising slowly in your chest like a wave you weren’t expecting. You don’t understand why you’re still standing here. Why your legs won’t move. Why hearing his voice like this makes your throat tighten.

The girl speaks again. “Then what is it like, Jungkook?”

There’s silence for a beat.

And then, almost reluctantly, he says, “It’s just not… serious.”

Something drops in your stomach.

The girl lets out a sigh—a little too theatrical—and steps closer. You hear her heels click softly. “Well, if it’s not serious,” she murmurs, “then why do you always act like we’re doing something wrong?”

You lean the slightest bit forward, and your shoulder brushes the wall. A quiet sound—but enough.

Jungkook turns.

His eyes find yours immediately, and something in his expression shifts—like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, even if technically, he hasn’t done anything at all.

The girl follows his gaze and straightens, smoothing her shirt like it matters.

You don’t say anything.

You just stand there, caught in the strangest emotion you can’t name. You aren’t angry. You aren’t hurt. Not really. But there’s this weird hollow ache spreading in your chest—something close to disappointment, maybe. Or confusion. Or something heavier that you don’t want to examine too closely.

You force yourself to nod with a very weird and fake smile. Not cold, not warm. Just… neutral. Like you didn’t hear enough to matter. Like you’re okay.—You’re not sure if you are.

You walk away before he can say anything. His voice catches on your name, soft and uncertain.

But you don’t turn around.

You keep your head down when you walk into the BTS floor the next morning, hoping no one will notice the way you didn’t sleep much. There’s a dull pressure behind your eyes, but you’ve tucked your hair neatly back and thrown on a clean hoodie, so maybe that’s enough to make it through the day.

Most of the guys are already there—scattered across the space, talking over breakfast or lounging on the couches with their phones. The usual quiet chaos.

You pretend not to scan the room.

He’s there.

Jungkook’s standing by the fridge, bent slightly as he digs around for a drink. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, headphones looped around his neck, hair pushed back like he didn’t try too hard—but not messy, either.

He looks like he always does.

Except he doesn’t.

Because he’s watching you. Quietly. From the corner of his eye, like he’s been doing it for a while.

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze.

It’s brief—half a second, maybe less—but your stomach twists anyway. He straightens up quickly, drink forgotten in his hand, lips parting like he’s about to say something.

But you turn away.

You’re not trying to be dramatic. You’re just not ready.

Not for his explanation, not for his shrug, not for whatever careful thing he might say to smooth it over. You don’t want to hear him say its nothing, not when it clearly meant something that he didn’t want anyone to know.

You slide into your usual spot near the monitors and pull out your tablet, focusing on anything but him.

The air feels weird all morning.

He doesn’t come near you.

But you feel him. His glances. His hesitation. The way his voice drops when he talks to other people near you, like he’s careful not to be too loud. Like if he sounds normal, it might make everything worse.

Jimin ends up next to you at one point, joking about how tired he is, and when you laugh—just enough to be polite—you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s posture tightens across the room.

You don’t know if it’s guilt or something else.

And you don’t ask.

Because if he really wanted to talk to you… he would’ve done it by now.

You’re sitting on the far side of the room, headphones half-on as you skim through a rough cut of their behind-the-scenes footage. They’re gathered just across the room on the lounge couches, sprawled out and tossing snacks between themselves like it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, not a packed weekday.

It’s nice. Comfortable. Loud.

Until it isn’t.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says around a mouthful of chips, “didn’t Jungkook sneak out after dinner last week?”

You don’t react.

At least, not on the outside.

Namjoon looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah, you disappeared. You were gone like an hour.”

“An hour?” Jimin laughs. “Bro was gone the whole night.”

You keep your eyes on the screen, tapping your stylus like nothing’s shifted. But the room tilts slightly—something inside you shrinking, pulling taut like a wire.

Jungkook groans softly, but there’s a note of defensiveness under it. “Don’t start.”

“Wait,” Jin says, leaning in. “Was it that girl? The one from—what was it—like a month ago?”

You pause your video. Just for a second. Then restart it. Keep pretending.

“Not important,” Jungkook says quickly. It’s not embarrassed. It’s… careful.

“She’s cute,” Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing serious, right?”

“No,” Jungkook mutters. “Not serious.”

There’s laughter. A few jokes tossed around.

No one’s being mean. No one’s trying to hurt anybody. It’s just boys talking.

But still, something inside you curls in on itself.

You don’t know why your fingers feel colder. Why your throat’s dry. Why every version of “not serious” echoes louder than the last.

You hadn’t thought about him much today. Had buried it, tucked it neatly behind to-do lists and edits and that new note you made for their stage lighting.

But now he’s right there again. Not looking at you. Talking like you’re not listening.

And maybe that’s the part that stings the most.

Not because you wanted him to like you.

You swallow and adjust your headphones higher on your ears, blocking out the rest of it.

The screen in front of you flickers into a new frame. Taehyung laughing into the camera, someone offscreen cracking up behind it.

You force yourself to focus. Pretend you didn’t hear anything at all. -- You’re getting good at that.

It’s weird how easily Jungkook slips back into being himself.

The next day, he’s in the studio early, hoodie slung loose over his shoulders, hair still wet from a rushed shower. You spot him the second you walk in—he’s balancing a paper cup of iced coffee on his knee, headphones around his neck, half-humming something under his breath while scrolling through his phone.

He glances up when you enter.

And smiles.

Not forced. Not apologetic.

Just—bright. Like nothing’s strange. Like you’re still in that awkward-soft place from a week ago where you were just getting used to each other.

“Morning,” he says, sing-song and cheerful.

You blink. “Morning.”

You sit at the far end of the work table and open your laptop. He doesn’t move toward you, but he watches. Just for a second. Then glances away like he doesn’t want to make it weird.

Later, he offers you a snack—just slides it across the table with a nudge and a grin.

You nod politely. “Thanks.”

Still no eye contact.

He keeps trying, though.

Little things.

He tosses a foamball at you when the room gets quiet. It bounces off your desk and lands at your feet. You blink down at it, expression unreadable, and when you look up, he’s waiting with that sheepish smile, like come on, smile back.

You don’t.

Not because you’re mad. You just… can’t.

It feels strange. Too familiar.

He doesn’t stop, though. Not even when it becomes obvious that you’re not meeting him halfway.

At one point, when most of the others are gone, he passes behind your chair to get to the water dispenser. You feel him slow. Hover.

“You okay?” he asks.

It’s soft. Kind. Genuinely concerned.

And it makes your chest ache.

You force a tiny smile, eyes still on your screen. “Just tired.”

He hesitates. Then lightly taps the back of your chair with his knuckles. “Don’t burn yourself out.”

You nod once.

He walks away.

And that’s the thing—you want to believe he means well. That he’s just being friendly, that this is who he is.

But it’s hard to separate his warmth from the ache he left in you.

Harder still to pretend that his attention doesn’t feel like salt on a wound you’re trying not to name.

The thing is—he doesn’t stop.

Over the next few days, Jungkook finds little excuses to be around you. He’s not pushy. He’s not obvious. But he’s there.

And he’s always nice.

Too nice.

He compliments your hoodie on thursday, even though you’re pretty sure you’ve worn it before and he’s never mentioned it.

He brings in an extra drink “by accident” and just happens to hand it to you.

He jokes with you when the group teases Jin. Bumps your shoulder when something funny happens. Looks your way first when Taehyung says something ridiculous, like the two of you are sharing a private joke even though you’re barely reacting.

It’s not overbearing.

But it’s constant.

And it’s confusing.

Because now your stomach twists for a whole new reason. Not from seeing him with someone else. Not from the ache of being invisible.

But from the way he keeps acting like you’re not.

Like he wants to be close. Like he’s trying to pull you back in without ever saying anything out loud.

And you hate that it’s working, even just a little.

You hate that when he calls your name in that soft, playful way—“Y/N-ahhh”—you still look up without thinking.

You hate that you want to ask him why he’s being so warm when he knows you caught him red handed.

You hate that you don’t even know who she was.

And you really hate that it doesn’t make it easier.

Because you’re still just the girl in the room who’s not supposed to feel anything.

You’re supposed to be invisible.

Professional.

Neutral.

But your smile is thinner now. Your replies quieter. And sometimes, when you laugh at one of his jokes because everyone else is laughing too, you catch him looking at you like he’s waiting for more.

Like he can feel it too—the distance that wasn’t there before.

But he doesn’t say anything about it.

He just keeps showing up, softer than he needs to be, kinder than you know how to accept.

And you keep pretending that it doesn’t affect you at all.

It Friday and guess what? You are doing over hours again. “at least its some extra money” you think to yourself.

Most of the staff have trickled out, but a handful of you are still in the studio, waiting for a delivery, finishing edits, or—if you’re Taehyung—sitting upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest like it’s the most normal way to exist.

Jungkook’s nearby too, playing with a Rubik’s cube like it owes him money. You’ve barely spoken today—just your usual hello, a shared glance across the room when someone spilled coffee, the kind of silent acknowledgement that you’ve both become good at.

You’re typing notes into your laptop when Sana walks past, tossing a grin your way.

“She’s still working,” she calls out to the room. “Y/N wins Employee of the Month.”

Taehyung peeks over the couch. “Only because Jungkook’s not eligible. Too much favoritism.”

Jungkook makes a mock-wounded sound. “What? I’m a model coworker.”

Taehyung smirks and points his Rubik’s cube at you. “Nah, he’s just trying to stay on Y/N’s good side. Ever since she tamed the dragon.”

Someone snorts—maybe Sana. Maybe Hoseok, who just walked in with a snack.

You smile without looking up. “Right. He’s terrified of me. That’s why he brings me coffee. Classic fear response.”

Taehyung cackles. “See? You admit it!”

You glance up then, just in time to catch Jungkook watching you, that boyish grin already tugging at his lips.

He shakes his head. “You’re so dramatic.”

You flash him a crooked smile. “I’m just saying—if I had a fan club, I think you’d be president.”

“Wow.” He leans back in his chair, feigning offense. “Didn’t realize I was so obvious.”

You shrug, turning back to your screen. “That’s okay. I’m used to being everyone’s emotional support intern.”

More laughter.

The moment passes.

But when you sneak a glance at Jungkook again—he’s still smiling.

Still looking at you.

Like the cold air between you never existed.

And somehow, that smile stings worse than silence.

Your weekend passed too fast even though you were doing absolutely nothing just rotting in bed, watching bad movies while facetiming with Evi.  And now you’re in one of the conference rooms, folding over a stack of notes while your phone buzzes uselessly beside you. Another group rehearsal is happening a few floors up, but you weren’t asked to be there today. You tell yourself that’s a good thing.

You don’t really believe it.

“You okay?”

Seo-Jun’s voice cuts through the silence gently, like he’s already halfway sure you’re not.

You glance up. He’s leaning in the doorway with two coffees in hand.

You try for a smile. “Am I that obvious?”

He shrugs and walks in, offering you one of the cups. “Only when you stare at the same sticky note for five minutes straight.”

You accept the drink with a quiet “Thanks,” then nod toward his work badge. “Shouldn’t you be off being administrative somewhere?”

He grins. “Delegated. Perks of being useful.”

You laugh, just a little. He’s always been easy to talk to—funny without pushing, smart without showing off. He sits across from you now like he has all the time in the world.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you say after a beat.

“Uh-huh.” He sips his coffee, eyes still on you. “Fine with a capital not.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it.

He doesn’t push, just lets the silence stretch out, quiet and unthreatening.

Eventually, you sigh. “I’m just…a bit tired.”

“From what? Work?”

You shrug. “Everything. I don’t know. It has been a lot to process”

There’s a beat of quiet.

He nods like he understands anyway. “Well… maybe you should try not carrying all of it alone.”

You glance at him. He’s not joking. There’s a softness in his eyes, calm and steady.

You smile, small. “Was that supposed to be deep?”

He smirks. “Give me a break, I don’t do this kind of pep talk often.”

You shake your head, but the smile lingers a little longer this time.

Later that day, you’re in the break room with Sana and Mitsuki when the topic circles back, as it always does.

“He’s cute, you know,” Mitsuki says, nodding toward the hallway where Seo-Jun had just walked by.

You feign ignorance. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Mitsuki nudges you with her shoulder against yours.

Sana nudges your side. “He’s been circling for weeks. He even offered to help you carry equipment last time. Voluntarily.”

You groan. “You’re both terrible. Hes just being nice. And it was heavy.” You try to defend it.

“Terrible and correct,” Sana says with a grin. “Look, maybe it’s okay to let someone be good to you.”

You don’t respond right away.

Mitsuki raises an eyebrow. “You always act like you’re waiting for some other shoe to drop.”

“I’m not,” you say. Too quick. Too defensive.

Sana gives you a look—soft, not judging. “No one’s asking you to fall headfirst. Just… don’t shut the door before it opens.”

You nod, but your stomach twists.

Not because of Seo-Jun.

But because you don’t know what it means to be open anymore. Or what version of yourself you’d even let someone get close to.

You don’t see Jungkook until the next day, when you’re walking out of a team meeting and Seo-Jun jokes quietly beside you about running off together to avoid editing deadlines. He says it loud enough to get a laugh—and you catch Jungkook just a few feet away, pausing mid-sentence with Taehyung.

His eyes flick to you. Then to Seo-Jun.

His smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

Later, Jimin is quieter than usual too. Especially when Seo-Jun shows up again with extra snacks “just in case you skipped lunch.”

You say thank you.

You see it in Jimin’s face—that flicker of something.

But no one says anything.

Not yet.

You’re walking alongside Seo-Jun after a team sync, arms full of folders and checklists. He’s making some ridiculous joke about running away to Bali with company funds and blaming it on a scheduling error. You roll your eyes, laughing, and nudge him with your elbow. He nudges you back, playful, easy.

It’s the kind of banter that’s harmless on the surface. But you feel the eyes on you the moment you round the corner.

Jungkook is standing near the door to the main rehearsal room, talking to Taehyung and someone from sound.

He’s mid-sentence when he sees you.

His gaze flicks down to the way your arm brushes Seo-Jun’s, then back up to your face. You’re still smiling when you meet his eyes—until you realize the smile isn’t mirrored.

Not fully.

Taehyung says something that makes Jungkook blink, refocus. He nods, laughs a little, but it’s off. Like a scene slightly out of sync.

You keep walking, heartbeat suddenly not where it belongs. Seo-Jun doesn’t seem to notice the shift in you.

But Jimin does.

Later that afternoon, you’re back in the editing suite sorting through a cluster of schedules when the door cracks open.

“Yo,” Jimin says, poking his head in. “Got a sec?”

You motion to the mess in front of you. “Technically, no. What’s up?”

He slips inside anyway and drops into the chair across from you. “Just hiding. Hobi’s making us do bonus choreography and I didn’t stretch today.”

You huff a laugh. “You didn’t stretch yesterday either.”

He grins. “Wow. So observant. Are you always watching me, Y/N?”

You blink, caught off guard.

He’s clearly teasing, but the words land awkwardly in your chest. You shift your focus back to your laptop. “You’re hard to miss.”

Jimin watches you for a second, the mood thinning just slightly. Then, without warning, he gestures to the pile of empty snack wrappers at your side.

“Are you and Seo-Jun, like… working late nights together or something?”

The question is too casual. His tone too carefully light.

You shrug. “He just shows up sometimes. He’s nice.”

“Mm,” Jimin hums, gaze flicking back to the hallway. “He’s also really there lately.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” he says quickly. “Just… curious.”

The silence stretches.

You tap your pen against your notepad. “It’s not like that.”

Jimin looks at you for a moment longer—like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t. Finally, he stands and stretches.

“Cool,” he says lightly. “Just checking.”

He leaves with a crooked smile that doesn’t feel quite right.

You stare at the door for a long while after it shuts.

You didn’t plan to stay this late.

Again.

The hall lights have gone into energy-saving mode, leaving a soft dimness that reflects the end of the day. Your monitor glows faintly through the half-open office door, and you rub your temples, exhaustion settling in behind your eyes like a weighted curtain.

There’s a light knock on the doorframe.

You glance up, a little startled.

Seo-Jun.

Holding two cups of something hot.

“I guessed wrong once already,” he says, holding both up. “This one’s tea, the other’s some kind of sugary latte situation.”

You blink. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says simply. “But your eye twitch was getting louder and it started to bother me.”

You huff a tired laugh and take the tea. “How observant of you.”

He shrugs, settling onto the edge of the desk next to yours. “I’ve got a good eye for overachievers on the edge of burnout. Especially the ones who pretend they’re fine when their voice gets all chirpy and fake.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That’s oddly specific.”

“You’re oddly easy to read, sometimes,” he says, not unkindly.

You glance back at your screen to avoid that look—the way his face softens when he talks to you like he knows there’s something hiding underneath all your composure.

For a minute, you sip your tea in silence.

Then he says, carefully, “You’ve been a little quiet lately. Quieter than usual.”

You hesitate. “I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

“About?”

You shrug. “Work. Life. The occasional existential spiral.”

“Any particular reason you don’t talk about it with the rest of them?”

You lift a brow. “Why, when I can trauma dump on you for free?”

He smirks. “Exactly.”

But then his tone shifts, just slightly. “I mean it though. I see the way they look at you sometimes. Like they’re trying to figure out where to place you. Like they still don’t know if you’re one of them or just… someone passing through.”

You feel something flicker in your chest.

He’s not wrong.

And the worst part is—you’re not sure either.

“Sometimes I don’t think they know what to do with me,” you admit. “Like I’m too involved to be uninvolved… but not really part of the circle either.”

Seo-Jun nods slowly, like he’s been waiting for you to say that.

“I know that feeling,” he says. “Floating somewhere in between. Close enough to hear everything, but far enough to pretend it doesn’t affect you.”

You glance at him, your defenses dipping just a little. “Is that why you’re nice to me?”

He grins. “No. I’m nice to you because you’re funny when you’re pretending not to be overwhelmed.”

You snort.

“And because I like your face,” he adds, more casually than you’re ready for.

You almost choke on your tea. “Okay. That’s enough honesty for tonight.

“Was it too much? Should I have texted it instead?” he teases.

You don’t know what to say. Your heart thumps awkwardly in your chest—caught off guard not by what he said, but how easy it felt coming from him.

And maybe that’s what scares you a little.

You glance at the time.

“You should go home.”

“You too.”

You both stand, but neither of you moves.

Then Seo-Jun says, quieter this time, “You don’t have to always be half-in, half-out. With anyone. Including me.”

You nod.

But you don’t promise anything.

The day drags on slower than you’d like, filled with meetings and fleeting moments where your attention drifts toward your phone. Between glances at the time and half-hearted attempts to concentrate on the project in front of you, the weight of reality starts to press down on your chest.

You don’t know when you started to dread the idea of returning to university after the internship ends. It should feel like a break—getting back to what was familiar—but somehow, the idea of leaving this behind doesn’t sit right. The longer you’re here, the more you wonder whether you belong with this group of people—or if you’re just in the way.

It’s not something you’ve shared with anyone, but the unease lingers quietly in your thoughts. You’re here. But not for long.

You let out a breath and turn your focus back to the group.

The boys are clustered around, a mixture of friendly banter and half-distracted comments as the team finishes setting up for another session. It’s chaotic in the best way, but something’s different today. As the conversation shifts and the focus drifts toward the work, you catch Jimin’s eyes across the room. He gives you a smile, a little brighter than usual, but there’s something else in it, too—something you can’t place.

Then, Seo-Jun enters the room, his usual confident gait making its way to the group of managers in the back. He waves at you, and instinctively, you wave back, a smile tugging at your lips as you exchange a quiet greeting.

You don’t see it immediately, but you sense the change. Jimin’s gaze sharpens, his attention switching between you and Seo-Jun in a way that makes your pulse pick up.

You ignore it, busying yourself with some notes, but you feel the tension shift in the room. Seo-Jun’s presence never fails to bring an ease to the space, yet today it feels like something else lingers—like the air is thickening with unspoken thoughts.

Jungkook, who’s been quiet all morning, suddenly clears his throat. “I didn’t know you two were so close,” he says, his tone casually off-handed.

You glance up, feeling something you can’t quite define. Jungkook isn’t looking at you—he’s still focused on whatever conversation he was having with Taehyung, but his words hang in the air, a little too pointed.

Seo-Jun chuckles, the sound easygoing. “We’re not that close,” he replies with a grin, but the look he gives you—almost teasing, light-hearted—makes your chest tighten.

Jimin, who had been smiling just moments ago, suddenly shifts. His expression darkens, just slightly, as he looks at you and Seo-Jun. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something you can’t decipher.

Jimin’s smile tightens, and he raises an eyebrow at you in a way that feels like he’s asking a question that you don’t have an answer to.

You’re caught in the middle, and for the first time, the weight of it feels heavier than it has before. They’re noticing you and Seo-Jun. The growing tension between you and the two boys has only escalated, and now, Seo-Jun’s casual proximity to you in the group feels like a spark in the room.

Jungkook, picking up on the shift, leans back in his chair, throwing a glance your way. “Don’t tell me, Y/N,” he teases, “someone already trying to steal my coffee buddy, too?”

You force a laugh, though it comes out a little more strained than you intended. “It’s not like that.”

It’s a deflection.

It’s always easier to hide behind humor.

Seo-Jun glances over at you, his grin softening. “No stealing involved.” he says, making sure his voice is light. But something about the way he’s looking at you—almost too knowingly—sends another ripple through the room.

The boys don’t let it drop, though. Jungkook raises an eyebrow, his usual playfulness tinged with something sharper, and Jimin, ever the observant one, quietly observes.

“You sure about that?” Jimin’s voice carries a quiet edge, and you notice the way he’s looking at Seo-Jun, his expression unreadable.

Seo-Jun’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something passing between him and Jimin. It’s almost imperceptible, but you catch it—a quiet challenge, an unspoken question.

“Don’t worry, Jimin,” Seo-Jun says lightly, though his words feel heavier than they should. “We’re just having some tea and talking about work. Nothing to steal.”

Jimin watches him for a moment longer, and you can see the tension in his jaw. But he doesn’t say anything else.

You don’t know what’s happening—whether it’s just the stress of the day or the weight of all the things you’ve been carrying, but it suddenly feels like everyone’s watching you. Their eyes on you, but their minds somewhere else. The air’s too thick, the silence too loaded.

Seo-Jun doesn’t seem to notice it, and Jimin doesn’t address it further, but you’re painfully aware of how your presence in the group feels like it’s shifted, and maybe not in a way you can control.

It was finally the weekend.

After the whirlwind of awkward silences, confusing tension, and long days of tiptoeing around unspoken things at work, the neon lights and music felt like another universe. The girls had practically dragged you out of your apartment—and you were glad they did.

You weren’t sure what to wear. You’d stood in front of your mirror too long, trying on outfits you didn’t even care about, until Yoshi yelled through your door, “You look hot in anything! We’re late!”

Now, an hour in, you were letting yourself breathe for the first time in days.

The bar-turned-club pulsed with bass-heavy music and flickering strobes. Sana was already tipsy and dancing with someone she swore she didn’t like. Mitsuki was talking with a cute bartender, and Yoshi kept bouncing between the group and taking pictures of the night.

Seo-Jun stayed close.

Not hovering—but always within reach.

He was comfortable to lean on. A familiar, steady kind of presence in the chaos. You’d caught him glancing at you more than once, but he didn’t act on it. Just stood nearby with a lazy grin and a drink in hand, answering your sarcastic comments with his own dry humor.

“You okay?” he leaned in to ask, his voice almost drowned by the music.

“Yeah,” you shouted back, nodding. “I’m good.”

You wanted to be good.

So when a remix of an old song you loved started playing, you grabbed his hand for a second and spun toward the dance floor with a “Come on!” before letting go and disappearing into the crowd. He hesitated, watching with that unreadable look again, but didn’t follow.

You danced with Yoshi at the edge of the crowd. Song after song it was only hits, songs that you knew way to well. You danced with also the strangers around you sometimes singing with them and feeling yourself in this moment. And you loved doing this. Dancing.

Not for anyone, not for attention—just because your body finally felt light again. Like you could shake off the complicated week, the stares, the weird feeling in your chest every time one of the boys looked at you like they knew you too well—or not at all.

And then… you realized something.

You were alone. Somehow you had drifted into the crowed and Yoshi had vanished. Maybe she went to the toilet?

You turned slowly, blinking through the red and blue haze. Your friends were still on the other side of the dance floor, but now you were in a patch of strangers. Faces you didn’t recognize. Bodies too close.

That’s when it happened.

A hand touched your waist. Too low. Grabbing you in and pulling you close.

You flinched, turning, only for the guy to smile—drunk and overconfident.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said whispering in your ear, clearly not meaning it. His other hand moved like it wanted to find a place on your back.

You sidestepped pushing yourself away. “I’m good, thanks.”

He didn’t let go. Gripping now your arm.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. You’re out, right?”

You tried again to pull away, but his grip firmed. “Hey, I said—”

“She said she’s good.”

The voice cut through the music like a switchblade.

Familiar.

Low.

Commanding.

You froze, the guy startled enough to back off a step, and that’s when you saw him—Jungkook.

Sweat dampened the strands of hair stuck to his temple, his jaw clenched. Behind him, Taehyung had a drink in his hand and a frown on his face. Jimin stood close too, his eyes fixed on you, unreadable.

You didn’t understand.

They weren’t supposed to be here. Why would they be here?

The guy mumbled something and disappeared before any of them could say more. Jungkook didn’t chase. He turned to you instead, gaze running down your arms as if checking if he’d gotten too rough.

“You okay?” he asked, voice lower now. Less anger. More… shaken?

You nodded, barely.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure—”

“I said I’m fine.”

It came out sharper than you meant, the panic still fresh in your chest. You weren’t mad. You were just embarrassed. The adrenaline still hummed in your blood and now all three of them were watching you like you’d broken.

“I didn’t need a rescue,” you added, softer.

“No,” Jimin said from behind Jungkook, voice quiet, “but you got one anyway.”

You blinked.

It was only then you realized how close they all were.

The three of them.

Watching.

Hovering.

And suddenly, you felt more exposed than you had all night. The walls felt like closing in and suddently you couldn’t completely cacth your breath.

“Thanks,” you said quickly, stepping back. “But I’m fine now. I should get back.”

“To Seo-Jun?” Taehyung teased gently, but something in his tone hinted he wasn’t just joking.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Jungkook’s jaw ticked.

Jimin looked away.

You turned before you could unravel.

You blinked again.

Gone.

The boys were nowhere.

Where Jungkook had stood, there was only a flicker of shifting lights and unfamiliar faces. No Jimin. No Taehyung. It was as if the moment hadn’t happened—if not for the thrum still in your ribs and the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, like they were still on edge.

You pressed your lips together and turned away away again

No one needed to know. Not Seo-Jun, not the girls. Not anyone.

You pushed your way back through the crowd, forcing yourself to walk like you hadn’t just been rattled. Like you weren’t fighting a war between embarrassment and something colder.

“Hey!” Yoshi waved you over as soon as she spotted you. “Where’d you go?”

You gave her a faint smile. “Just wandered off. I’m back.”

She passed you a half-finished drink. “Mitsuki left with that bartender.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Sana chimed in with a giggle, “She texted ‘Don’t wait up’ and a heart emoji. I think she’s fine, but you know. Classic Mitsuki.”

You nodded, pretending to laugh with them. But the night suddenly felt thinner. Less electric.

You glanced toward the bar where Seo-Jun stood talking to someone from another department. As if sensing your gaze, he looked over. His face shifted the second he saw you—shoulders straightening, mouth tightening a little.

He walked over, brushing his knuckles lightly against your arm. Which had you frowning and stepping away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just over it. .”

“Want to go?” His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to pressure you but wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You paused.

“I think I’ll just head out,” you murmured. “You don’t have to leave. Stay and have fun. I’ll be okay.”

He frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you going home alone.”

“I’ll take a taxi,” you said gently, cutting him off before he could insist again. “Seriously, Seo-Jun. I’m just not feeling it anymore.”

He hesitated, clearly torn. But you looked away before he could protest, already pulling your coat off the back of a chair.

You stepped outside a few minutes later, the air cool and damp against your skin. The noise of the club melted into a low hum behind you. You were halfway toward the curb when a voice behind you made your heart lurch.

“Hey.”

You turned, startled.

Jungkook.

He was standing a few feet away, hoodie up, his hands in his pockets. You hadn’t seen him come out, hadn’t even known he’d stayed.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

He smiled faintly. “Taehyung wanted to stay. I just needed air.”

You glanced toward the sky, then back at him. “Yeah. I get that.”

He took a step closer, but not too close. “About earlier…”

You shook your head quickly. “Don’t worry. It was nothing. Leave it be”

That made him pause, caught somewhere between a smile and something sadder. “That’s not what I—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted, gently but firmly.

Jungkook nodded. He looked down, scuffed the toe of his shoe against the sidewalk. “You’re not hurt, right? From the guy?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Silence. He keeps staring at you trying to see through whatever you were trying so hard to cover. His jaw tense and his face more serious than you have ever seen him.

You didn’t know what to say. Everything was so heavy suddenly. Like your body had already left the club, but your mind was still playing catch-up, trying to understand the strange looks, the timing, the strange ache in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“I should go,” you mumbled, stepping off the curb.

He nodded again, slow this time.

But just before you opened the taxi door, he spoke again.

“Y/N?”

You glanced over your shoulder.

“…I don’t like seeing you look at someone else like that.”

The words knocked something loose inside you, something small and quiet and stubborn.

He must be drunk and doesn’t even know what hes saying anymore.

You didn’t answer.

You just slipped inside the cab and shut the door.

chapter 4 - chapter 6

“Okay but like… if I write a letter—nothing weird, just, you know, soul-bearing fan admiration, could you casually slide it to Namjoon? Like leave it near a coffee machine or something?”

That one got a hard click and an eye roll so dramatic it gave you a headache.

But it didn’t stop.

By the eighth call, you stopped saying anything altogether and just sent her straight to voicemail. By the tenth, you blocked her calls — temporarily. You were still polite. Ish. Or at leas that’s what you keep telling yourself

She texted instead.

[My one and only true love] : Y/N, you’re literally the key to world peace right now. Don’t be selfish.[My one and only true love] : Did you breathe the same air as Jungkook today? Did he smile? Did his eyes crinkle? I just need to know if they crinkled.[My one and only true love] : I KNOW YOU READ THIS.

You tossed your phone across the bed and buried your face in a pillow.

The worst part wasn’t even her questions. It was the fact that you wanted to answer them. You wanted to tell her how surreal it was. How Yoongi was intimidating at first but warm in a blink-and-you-miss-it way. How Namjoon gave a small, surprised nod when you held the studio door open. How Jimin was... flirtier than expected. And how Jungkook-

Your phone buzzed again. You reach over lazily, fully expecting to flip Evi off for the last time. But then you see it: Park Jimin

Your heart stumbles just a little and you have no clue why.

[Jimin] : Are you surviving the weekend, or should we send a rescue team?

You snort. Of course he would text like that.

Over the past week, you’d found yourself growing unexpectedly closer to Jimin. He had a way of just being around. He was never imposing, but always present, sliding into conversations with that easy charm of his. He’d casually ask about your day, your favorite coffee order, the friends you missed back home, or what music you listened to when no one was watching. Sometimes, he’d sit nearby and let comfortable silences fill the space, occasionally staring out the window like he was watching something only he could see.

You type back:

[you] :  Barely. I’ve had 13 missed calls from my best friend who may or may not be trying to bribe me into smuggling a letter to Namjoon.”

A bubble pops up immediately.

[Jimin] : Namjoon-hyung? She has good taste. 😂 [Jimin] : What did you tell her?

You pause, then:

[you] : I told her she’s delusional and hung up. Then she called again to ask if Yoongi bites.

[Jimin] :  Okay now I have questions. 

[Jimin] :  What’s her theory on me?

You can’t help but smile at your screen. Of course he would like to know. 

[you] :  She hates you. Says you're the worst.

You send it and you can immediately imagine him frowning and pouting on the other end of his screen. 

[you] : She thinks you’re the dangerous flirt. Her words, not mine.

Three dots appear, disappear. Then reappear.

[Jimin] : Dangerous, huh? That’s a first. Most people just call me cute.

You roll your eyes.

[you] : Don’t let it go to your head.

[Jimin] : Too late. I’m dangerously flattered.

You laugh quietly, kicking your blanket up over your legs. It’s strangely comforting. Light, teasing, normal. Almost what you felt while talking to Jungkook when you didn’t know he was… well, Jungkook. He has been treating you with a cold shoulder until yesterday, when he suddently decided to mess with your head even more by saying all that stuff.

Then comes the next message:

[Jimin] : Anyway, just wanted to check in. You’ve had a crazy first week. Everything okay?

Your fingers hover over your screen for a moment. It feels like a casual question, but you know Jimin, not long, but long enough, to know he wants to know something else.

[you] : “It’s a lot. Not bad, just... a lot. Still wrapping my head around everything.”

[Jimin] : Yeah, I figured. You’re handling it better than most would, though. The last girl almost had a heart attack before she even entered the building.

That makes your chest tighten a little. You weren’t expecting sincerity after all the playful back and forth.

[you] :  Thanks. That means more than you know.

[Jimin] : Don’t overthink stuff too much, okay? If you need someone to talk to... I’ve been told I’m a great listener. 😉

You shake your head, smiling.

[you] :  I’ll keep that in mind. But only if you promise not to flirt mid-therapy.

[Jimin] : No promises. I multitask like a pro 

You toss your phone onto the pillow beside you and cover your face with your hands, grinning like a complete idiot.

God help you.

Because if Jungkook made your heart stumble, Jimin made it dance. Your phone buzzes again.

[Jimin] : So

[Jimin] :   you doing anything this weekend?

You stare at the message. Your brain screeches to a halt.

Wait - what?

You sit up a little too fast, nearly knocking your phone off the bed. This is not happening. Or at least not happening how you think it is. You try to play it off.

[you] : Why? 

[you] :  Planning to send that rescue team after all?

He replies instantly.

[Jimin] : Was thinking more like… coffee? A walk? Something to help you forget your job involves dodging fangirl mail and existential dread.

You blink at the screen, rereading it. Once. Twice.

[Jimin] : . If that helps you breathe.

You don’t answer right away.

Because your first instinct is to say yes. Not because any other reason then hes just been a friend lately and he’s nice to be around. Having a friend is nice and you are craving the company if anyone at your side. Even though that person is Jimin.  But your second is to slam your phone face down and pretend you never saw the message.

[you] : Maybe that's not such a good idea.

And then immediately regret sending it. He takes a moment.

[Jimin] : Too soon?

[you] : No, not that.  [you] : It’s just… you’re not just anyone. You’re… you.  [you] : And I don’t know if you are aware, maybe hanging out with a girl would be putting my head in a spike withing 10 min..

He doesn’t leave you hanging long, but the wait for his new message to show up feels like forever.

[Jimin] : Y/N, I’m not announcing it on Weverse.

[Jimin] : Plus, its just coffee.

[Jimin] : And maybe muffins. 

[Jimin] : Unless you're anti-muffin, in which case this friendship is doomed.

[Jimin] : Its just… a moment to breathe. That’s all.

You bite the corner of your lips as his chat bubble comes on and off. Like he is unsure of what he is typying and keep rewriting the message. 

 [Jimin] : Maybe its more for me then you, to be honest. 

You stare at the screen, your fingers frozen over the keyboard.

You want to believe it’s that simple. That he is that simple. But nothing about this job has been simple since the moment you walked in. And the man behind the other phone, of all people, definitely isn’t.

[you] : I just don’t want to do something that ends up hurting you later. [you] : Or makes people talk. I’ve seen what they do to girls who so much as blink near you guys.

The typing bubbles appear, then vanish. Then appear again.

[Jimin] : I get it. [Jimin] : I really do. [Jimin] : But I also know what it’s like to feel like you're constantly holding your breath. [Jimin] : I’m not trying to make things complicated. I’m just trying to be your friend.

You bite your lip, tension winding in your chest.

Friend. Right.

Just friends.

You glance around your room like the walls might offer advice. They don’t.

[you] : …Okay. But it has to be low-key. Like, “no makeup, hoodie, cap pulled low” kind of low-key.

[Jimin] : That was the plan. [Jimin] : We’re not going to Paris. [Jimin] : We’re going to a café that doesn’t even serve milk alternatives.

You huff a soft laugh despite yourself.

[you] : Fine. But if this turns into a headline, You are paying for my moving to Iceland.

[Jimin] : Cool. I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights. 😉 [Jimin] : Pick you up at 11?

[you] : 11 works. You better not bail.

[Jimin] : Please. I put “dangerous flirt” on my calendar and everything.

You roll your eyes toss your phone onto the bed and fall back with a sigh that turns into a small, helpless smile.

Just friends. Just coffee.

Totally manageable.

...Totally.

Sunday. 10:58 a.m.

You’ve changed outfits three times.

Not because you’re trying to impress him - no, definitely not - but because “low-key” is an annoyingly vague instruction when the guy you’re grabbing coffee with is literally Park Jimin. You’ve quickly came to realize theres not a single moment of the day that he is not stunning. Sometimes cuter then he is hot but stunning nonetheless.

You settle on jeans, a hoodie, and a cap pulled so low you can barely see your own reflection. Besides it being what you had previously agreed on it was perfectly invisible.  Totally inconspicuous… if no one looks at your face. Or voice. Or existence.

Your phone buzzes.

[Jimin]: I’m outside. If you don’t come out in 60 seconds, I’m filing a missing person report.

You peek out the window and immediately duck back down like you’re in some kind of spy movie.

He’s leaning casually against a nondescript black car, wearing oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap, dressed in all-black with the relaxed confidence of someone who knows they look good doing absolutely nothing.

Cool. Great. This is fine. You’re calm. You’re so calm. Since when you got the nervs around him? Maybe it was Evi getting to your head.

You grab your phone and bag and hurry down, shoving your keys into your hoodie pocket and whispering a quick prayer to the gods of awkward social encounters.

When you reach the car, he spots you instantly and grins - this slow, cheeky thing that spreads across his face like sunshine and amusement rolled into one.

“Well, well. You clean up nice for someone trying to go incognito.”

You scoff, tugging your cap down lower. “I look like a sleep-deprived raccoon.”

He opens the passenger door for you. “A cute raccoon. Very urban. Very now.”

You roll your eyes but get in anyway. The car smells like citrus and fabric softener and something unmistakably him. It’s dangerously comforting.

As he slides into the driver’s seat and pulls away from the curb, he glances at you sideways.

“Nervous?”

You snort. “What, about being seen with you? Not at all. I thrive on public scrutiny and mild panic attacks.”

He laughs, warm and unguarded. “Well, good. Because we’re going to the world’s chillest café. I doubt other people truly even know about that place. Just overpriced muffins and the worst coffee chairs in Seoul.”

You raise a brow. “Are the muffins worth the spinal injury?”

He grins. “Guess you’ll find out.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re seated in a tiny café tucked between a used bookshop and an abandoned florist. True to his word, it’s quiet. Unassuming. The kind of place where no one looks twice. Especially not at two hoodie-wearing, sunglasses-inside weirdos sharing a corner booth and a plate with 3 different types of muffins.

“This place is cute,” you say, peeling the lid off your coffee.

“Told you.” Jimin sips his drink and scrunches his nose. “Still terrible coffee though.”

You laugh. Taking a sip of your own coffee. It indeed is terrible. “Then why do you come here?”

He shrugs, looking out the window for a beat before glancing back at you. “It’s quiet. And I like the light.”

You follow his gaze, drawn to the soft warmth of the sunlight spilling through the glass. It pours in gently, casting golden stripes across the table, dancing over the worn wood, glinting off the rim of your cup, and settling in a delicate pattern across the backs of his fingers. His hand doesn’t move—he just lets the light touch him like he’s used to observing rather than participating.

It’s peaceful. Still.

And it hits you, in a way it hadn’t before. This is probably what peace looks like to him. Not the loud cheers of crowds or the frantic energy that buzzes around his name, not the stages or the flashing lights or the cameras always trying to catch him mid-breath. Just this. A quiet table. Warm sunlight.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, nudging your foot under the table, “you’re not overthinking again, are you?”

You jolt, blinking. “I - no. Maybe. Just... it’s weird.”

“What is?”

“This whole thing…” you motion off to the air around you and looking at him for some sort of understanding but finding none “This whole week. It’s like I accidentally walked into someone else’s life and now I’m just... pretending I belong here. Crazy imposter syndrome I guess.”

Jimin’s expression softens, all teasing vanished. He leans in a little, voice lower.

“You do belong here, Y/N. You didn’t walk into someone else’s life. I believe we all are exactly where we need to be. Maybe we don’t know yet the purpose but eveything has a reason.”

You blink at him. Taking in his expression as he continues to sip his coffee.

Then shake your head laughing. “That was surprisingly profound for someone who puts ‘dangerous flirt’ on his calendar.”

He grins again, flashing those trademark eye-crinkles that Evi would absolutely scream over.

“Multitalented,” he says with a wink. “Told you.”

You’re halfway through your muffin—blueberry, surprisingly good—and mid-story about Evi trying to flirt with a guy at a gas station while wearing a werewolf onesie when the café door swings open with a soft ding. You don’t pay attention at first, until Jimin stops laughing and glances over your shoulder.

It’s subtle, but you came to know him well enough now to clock it.

You twist in your seat, turning toward the entrance.

And your stomach drops.

There, framed in that golden end of morning sunlight and looking like he walked straight out of a fever dream, is Jungkook. Black hoodie, sleeves pushed up. Messy hair under a beannie. Bag slung over one shoulder like he’d just rolled out of bed and remembered he existed. He looks sleep-soft, a little puffy around the eyes, but still unmistakably him. And unfortunately for you, unfairly attractive. He doesn’t spot you at first. Greets the barista with a quiet, “Morning,” and a smile that barely tugs at the corner of his mouth.

After placing his order, his eyes flick to the seating area.

And land on you.

He pauses. Just for a second. His expression doesn’t shift much. Jungkook is always hard to read when he wants to be. But there’s the smallest flicker of something in his eyes. Like surprise and amusement and-

Oh god hes walking towards you.

You don’t know whether to panic or laugh at how surreal this moment feels. There’s no way he could have known you were here, right? You were just talking to Jimin like everything was completely normal.

You try to look cool. Nonchalant. Why are you that bothered anyway? You mentally cringe at yourself. Jimin, however, is grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly having caught the slight shift in your expression.

“Oh,” Jimin says casually, glancing over. “Looks like someone’s popular.”

You try to hide the flush rising in your cheeks, glancing back at Jungkook. He’s almost there now, and your stomach tightens. It’s ridiculous. This is just... another chance encounter, right? Another coincidence. Except, your heart doesn’t seem to think it’s a coincidence. It’s beating a little faster, and you are totally blaming it on the coffee and sugar treats you are having.  

“Didn’t know this place had a fan club,” he says, stopping just beside your seat.

Your pulse skips.

Jimin leans back in his seat, one arm slung casually over the back of the chair. He’s smiling, but it’s a touch cooler now. “Didn’t know you were stalking my Yelp reviews.”

Jungkook huffs a small laugh, eyes still on you. “Didn’t know I needed to.”

You try not to fidget under his gaze.

“We’re just grabbing coffee,” you say, keeping your voice neutral.

There’s a pause. Heavy, weighted.

You glance at Jimin, but he’s watching Jungkook now with a look you can’t quite decipher.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Mind if I join?” He grins, leaning against the table, his gaze flickering to Jimin for a moment before returning to you.

Jimin immediately gestures to the empty chair next to you. “Come on, sit down! We’ve got muffins, coffee and Y/N telling embarrinsing stories of her best friend.” He flashes a teasing smile, obviously enjoying the moment far more than you’re capable of right now.

Jungkook pulls up a chair and sits, but not without giving you a playful glance, as if he can sense your awkwardness. His eyes soften for a brief second, but then the playful smirk returns. “I didn’t expect to see you here... but I’m not complaining.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know why it feels so different when he says it. Maybe it’s because you’re so used to the version of Jungkook who’d been distant all week- the one who was so hard to read and had you over analizing every breath he took when in the same room as you.

But this? This Jungkook feels... lighter. Less guarded. Like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, and in a way that makes your heart race.

You clear your throat, attempting to sound casual, but the teasing tone in your voice betrays you. “Is there a VIP section for BTS members I didn’t know about?”

Jungkook chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that bunny smile that makes you forget what you were even talking about. “Maybe we should make it a thing, Jimin” He says face turning more serious as he turns to his friend. Jimin laughs and shrugs making the expression on Jungkooks face soften again “Just happened to walk by and saw you guys.”

“Lucky me,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intended, but there’s no taking it back now. Your face betrays you, coloring a little too much as you glance down at your coffee cup.

Jimin watches this whole exchange with a barely-contained smirk, clearly enjoying the subtle back-and-forth between you and Jungkook. He leans back in his chair, popping a muffin bite into his mouth as if he’s watching a movie.

Jungkook, noticing your hesitation, changes the subject, ever the sweet, playful force of nature that he is.

He glances at your plate. “Blueberry?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Thought so.”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

“You just seem like the type.”

You open your mouth to respond but realize you don’t know what that even means. He doesn’t clarify either, just smiles at his cup like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The three of you chat, and it’s casual. On the surface. Jimin is his usual playful self, asking Jungkook if he’s ever actually finished a full muffin in his life that it wasn’t just a “boring chocolate muffin”. Jungkook fires back with something dry but grinning, and the banter goes on like they’ve done this a thousand times.

But beneath it, there’s a quiet undercurrent you can’t ignore.

Jungkook keeps glancing your way when he thinks you’re not looking. You catch him once, and he doesn’t look away. Just holds your gaze for a second longer than is safe.

And then he smiles.

Soft.

Your breath catches before you can stop it.

You glance away first.

Because it’s safer. Because looking at him too long feels like falling in his gravity and you don’t even know how deep the drop goes.

Jimin’s still talking, teasing Jungkook about something-some inside joke about trainee days and an incident involving a blender and soy milk. You try to follow, you really do, but the air between you and Jungkook has shifted again. Not heavy. Just… charged. Like the moment before rain when everything is too still.

He reaches for your coffee cup without asking, pulls it a few inches toward him, and squints dramatically at the foam heart on top.

"That’s it? You didn’t ask for any whipped cream? No chocolate drizzle?” He pouts, mock-offended. “Where’s the joy, Y/N?”

You blink at the sound of your name. He’s never said it like that before. Like it belongs in his mouth. Like he’s tasted it before and liked the way it settled on his tongue.

You try to play it off. “I didn’t realize I was contractually obligated to order dessert in a cup.”

“Oh, you are,” Jimin says, still chewing muffin. “Jungkook’s a dessert tyrant. He once called my black coffee ‘emotionally unavailable.’”

“Still true,” Jungkook mutters.

“You drink Americanos,” Jimin fires back. “You’re the emotionally unavailable one.”

You laugh under your breath as they bicker, the banter light but threaded with something else—something that doesn’t quite settle. Because even as they go back and forth, Jungkook’s attention keeps drifting. Small, fleeting glances. The kind that most people wouldn’t notice. But you do.

He watches your hands, the way your fingers curl around your cup. The shape of your mouth when you smile. The curve of your cheek in the afternoon light. His eyes always find their way back to yours, lingering there just a moment too long. Again, only when he thinks you’re not watching.

And you feel it. Every glance. Every pause. Like your body is tuned to a frequency only he broadcasts on.

Jimin’s phone buzzes, sharp and insistent, and after a glance at the screen, he sighs and excuses himself to take the call.

And then it’s just you two.

You look at Jungkook—really look this time—and the playful edge in his features is gone. What’s left behind is sharper. Focused. There’s something alive in his expression, something that simmers just below the surface.

You lower your cup, lean back slightly in your seat, and arch a brow—just enough to make him wonder what you’rethinking now.

The corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he knows.

And then neither of you says a word.

But suddenly, silence feels louder than conversation ever could.

His gaze drops for the briefest second—to your mouth, then back to your eyes—and this time, it’s not subtle. Not pretending to be accidental. It’s intentional, and he knows you saw it.

Your breath catches, just barely. Enough for your body to register the shift before your mind catches up.

Jungkook leans forward slightly, his forearms resting on the edge of the table, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, but I am happy that I did” he says. Not casual. Not friendly. Something else.

Before you can answer - before you can even think of how to respond - Jimin’s voice cuts back in, light and unbothered as he slides into his seat in front of you.

“Sorry. That was Mr. Kim. I truly believe he never sleeps.” He says still focused on his screen.

You blink, moment broken. Jungkook leans back like nothing happened, like the air between you didn’t just shift on its axis.

But your heartbeat is still racing. And when your knee brushes his under the table-by accident or fate or something in between-you don’t move it.

Neither does he.  

Chapter 3 -Chapter 5

Chapter Links

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 - 7 June

Chapter 13 - 11 June

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19