Seoul Connection βοΈ JJK βοΈ PJM
CHAPTER 11
Authors Note: Hello! Here I am again hahah I'm just getting excited because things are starting to happen and im also ifuhoidsajd lol so here's another chapter!
I might also be writing like a crazy person to distract myself of the fact that they are almost back and the days cannot pass faster hahah
lots of love! Kiki
ps:
hehe sooooo....
Also, for my people who are waiting on Jungkook, patience my young padawans, his time will come. Fear not ;) ---------
You didnβt mean to fall asleep.
But the light in your apartment is different now β not the pale, unforgiving kind from earlier, but something warmer, stretched long across the floor like the day is trying to leave without making a sound. Late afternoon, maybe. Or early evening. The kind of in-between light that makes everything feel a little softer, a little slower. Dust floats lazily through the air, catching in the golden slant that filters through the half-closed blinds.
It still smells like peppermint. Faint, but still there. Soft and clean and ghostlike. The mug on your coffee table is empty β no trace of warmth left in the ceramic, but the shape of it feels recent. Like someone placed it down gently. Like someone didnβt 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 β Jimin is gone.
He didnβt leave a note. He didnβt need to. You also hadnβt expected a goodbye, not really. He moves through space like water β 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 itβs not a lonely kind of quiet. Not quite. But a bit lonely, nevertheless.Β Β
You exhale, long and slow, letting your head fall back against the cushion.
Thereβs a light pressure behind your eyes β the last trace of the hangover, maybe, or just the ghost of the dream you had before Jimin showed up. You canβt 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. Justβ¦ warm. Like youβve been wrapped in a cocoon you didnβt realize you needed.
And now, you feel the absence.
Your eyes flutter shut again β 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 hasnβt for days.
And yetβ¦
Itβs not just stillness that settles in your chest. Itβs something else, too.
A hum you canβt quite place. A presence that doesnβt belong to the peppermint or the folded blanket or even to Jiminβs 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 β not during a conversation, not in any obvious way, just in a moment you happened to glance up β like he saw something he hadnβt expected to see. The way his mouth had twitched like he wanted to say something but didnβt. The way he didnβt look away untilΒ youΒ did.
You hadnβt thought about it much at the time. Now you canβt seem to stop.
The silence stretches again.
And then β 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 wouldnβt be ready.
You reach for it, thumb dragging across the screen. It lights up β too bright at first β 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]:Β Okay. Iβm really giving you a break today.Β [My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:Β But tomorrow? I want names.Β [My one and only true love 3:45 PM]:And context.Β [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 β and suddenly your fingers pause. [JK 1:12 PM]:Β 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 donβt know why it feels heavier coming from him. Maybe because everything from him feels like it might mean something β even when it doesnβt. Maybe because you still donβt know how much space heβs meant to take up in your day. Or maybe becauseβ¦ you kind of hoped he would text. And now that he has, you donβt know what to do with that hope.
You type back, simple.
[ You 3:46 PM]:Β Depends whoβs asking.
The reply comes faster than you expect. Like he has been waiting near the phone the entire time.Β
[JK 3:46 PM]:Β 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]:Β Amazing. Didnβt realize my downfall was public info.
[JK 3:47 PM]:Β It is now. You set a new record, apparently. Very dramatic.
You roll your eyes. But youβre already smiling. Just a little.
You tap your fingers against the edge of the phone, then type:
[You 3:47 PM]:Β Glad to know Iβm leaving a legacy.
And then β 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]:Β 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 donβt reply. You donβt know how.
Because youβre still figuring out what any of this is.
Still figuring out what it means when someone like Jungkook says something like that β not just to you, butΒ aboutΒ you.
And if youβre being honest with yourself β really honest β you know itβs not just the words.
Itβs 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, itβs 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 β though a blanket still folded neatly on the couch gave away that Jimin had really been there. You hadnβt heard from him since, just a message in the morning sayingΒ βHope todayβs kinder to you.β
You hadnβt answered.
There was too much noise in your head already β leftover static from dreams, memories, text messages that saidΒ you always do.Β 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 wasnβt on purpose.
By 6:40, someone shoved a clipboard into your hands with a breathless βCan you take this to Studio B?β
You were already halfway down the hall when you realized you didnβt mind the errand.
You didnβt really want to be around anyone. Except when you open the door to the smaller recording studio, it isnβt empty.
Jungkookβs already there.
Heβs 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. Heβs got his phone in hand and one earbud in, but itβs hanging halfway out, like he forgot about it.
He doesnβt see you at first. Heβs grinning β really grinning β shoulders shaking with that soundless laugh youβve 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 donβt know why it feels like youβve been caught.
βOh,β he says, still half-laughing. βYou scared me.β
βI knocked.β
βYou didnβt.β
You blink. ββ¦I thought I did.β
He smiles, and it makes your stomach shift a little too fast.
You hold up the clipboard in your hand. βDropping these off. Tomorrowβs call sheets.β
He nods and nudges the coffee table with his foot. βYou can leave it here. Unless you want to read it out loud. Make it dramatic.β
You roll your eyes but cross the room anyway, placing the clipboard down gently on the edge of the table. You donβt miss the way his eyes flick toward you as you do β just for a second. A blink. But itβs there.
βDid you volunteer for this?β he asks, voice light.
βWhy?β
He shrugs, stretching his arms behind his head. βI mean, itβs almost 7. Kind of feels like you wanted the walk.β
You glance at him, trying to keep your voice neutral. βKind of feels like youβre reading too much into it.β
He laughs again β not unkind. Not sharp. Justβ¦ amused.
βIβve been told I do that,β he says shrugging. βOnce or twice.β
You hover by the table a moment longer, unsure if youβre dismissed or just lingering. But before you can move toward the door, he speaks again β this time a little quieter, but still casual.
βBy the wayβ¦ thanks. For the wholeβ¦ mess the other day.β
You blink. βYou meanβ?β
He nods once. Doesnβt elaborate. Just lifts his hand in a little wave like heβs acknowledging something in the air between you both.
βI didnβt know you knew I helped with that.β
He gives a soft scoff. βPlease. Youβre the only one who wouldβve made the managers sound like a calm older sister whoβs also on the verge of quitting.β
You almost smile. βThatβsβ¦ disturbingly accurate.β
βI thought so.β
Silence settles again, but itβs not uncomfortable.
He leans forward to pick up his phone, scrolling aimlessly now. You turn toward the door.
βYouβre on the schedule at 8:45,β you say over your shoulder. βTry not to be late.β
βIs that a challenge?β
βMore like a prayer.β
He huffs another laugh behind you. βSee you tomorrow.β
You donβt look back when you leave, but you do catch your reflection briefly in the narrow studio window β the way your shoulders are still a little too stiff, your expression a little too carefully blank.
But your heart?
Itβs 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 youβd had with either of them, and slid the call sheet onto the production table like it didnβt weigh more than it should.
Run BTS days always carried a different kind of energy. It wasnβt just content β it was the boys being themselves, half-scripted and half-chaotic. Youβd 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.
βY/N!β
It was Taehyung, waving dramatically from across the set like you were half a football field away.
βCome settle a bet,β he called.
You squinted. βDo I want to know what the bet is?β
Jimin appeared beside him, grinning like heβd already won. βYou absolutely do.β
Thatβs when you noticed the screen behind them β the large monitor propped up for playback β currently displaying a paused Mario Kart track. Two controllers were sitting on the table, one already gripped tightly in Jungkookβs hands.
βJungkook challenged me,β Jimin said, bouncing lightly on his heels. βThen 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.β
You blinked and pointed at yourself in disbelief. βMe?β
Jungkook, seated in one of the gamer-style chairs with his legs kicked up like he owned the place, smirked. βYou talk a big game.β
You crossed your arms. βIβve never talked any game.β
βThatβs what makes you dangerous,β he replied, eyes gleaming.
Someone from the staff handed you the second controller, and it felt suspiciously like a setup β 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.
βWatch the drifts in the third lap,β he murmured. βThatβs where he gets cocky.β
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. βAre you helping me or sabotaging me?β
He smiled, all sugar and mischief. βWouldnβt you like to know.β
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 β 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.
Hobiβs 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.
βThat was luck.β
You leaned back, tossing the controller gently onto the couch. βSkill. Coated in humble confidence.β
βRematch.β
βYouβll need time to recover.β You patted him on the shoulder.Β
He huffed, half a laugh escaping before he could stop it. And then he smiled β a real one this time, boyish and bright.
Jimin passed behind you as the camera crew started setting up for the next segment. He didnβt say anything at first β 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.
βYou okay?β he asked under his breath.
You nodded. βI think I just made a mortal enemy.β
He smiled. βNah. Thatβs just Jungkookβs love language.β
Your stomach flipped β 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.
βRound twoβs coming,β he said.
You didnβt 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 β just enough to drop off the folder youβd 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. "Iβm gonna pretend it wasnβt personal."
"Maybe it wasnβt. Maybe Iβm just that good."
Jungkook tilted his head like he was considering that. "Dangerously humble. Itβs a deadly combo."
You smirked, letting the moment stretch just long enough to make your heart feel a little too aware of itself.
βHowβs your recovery from trying to beat Sana in drinking?β He asked casually.Β
Your eyebrows shot up. "How do youβ"
His grin widened. "Letβs just say... death by soju doesnβt go unnoticed."
You narrowed your eyes, trying not to smile. "Iβm going to start interrogating people."
"You wonβt need to. Iβm very susceptible to guilt. And bribery."
You laughed despite yourself, glancing down at the call sheet again. Something about this was easier than it shouldβve 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 didnβt disappoint.
"You know," he said, pointing between the two of you, "if youβre 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. "Hyungβ"
Taehyung raised both hands, backing away slowly. "Hey, hey. Donβt mind me. Iβm 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.
"Heβs going to milk that for weeks."
You sighed. "Guess weβre doomed."
"Could be worse," Jungkook said.
And the way he looked at you β not teasing, not intense, just quietly sure β 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 β 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," Jiminβs 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 heβd been waiting for a moment alone just like this.
You gave a weak smile. "Didnβt know there was a fun part."
He stopped in front of you, leaning a shoulder lightly against the wall. "Thereβs 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, Iβm saying it again."
He smiled at that, then tilted his head slightly. "Want a ride home? Iβve got time."
You hesitated. For a breath. Maybe two. Then nodded. Why not?
----Β
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 β too warm β and you didnβt bother removing your coat. You felt the press of it, like a shield. A weight you werenβt quite ready to shrug off.
Jimin didnβt put on music. You didnβt ask. The air between you hummed with an unspoken rhythm, one you couldnβt place.
"Youβre quiet," he said, glancing at you as the car slowed at a red light. "I thought Iβd 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. "Youβre lucky Iβm too tired to perform."
"Iβm 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. "Itβs just been... an intense week."
"I know the feeling," he murmured. His tone didnβt shift. He didnβt offer advice. He just agreed, like it was the only thing worth saying.
"Itβs not even anything specific. Justβ¦ 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. Itβs weird." You gave a little shrug, as if brushing the weight off your shoulders could make it lighter. "Everythingβs just a bit much sometimes."
He stayed silent. The hum of the car filled in what you didnβt say.
Then, his voice returned, lighter this time. "If it makes you feel better, Iβm 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 Iβve seen all week."
The light turned green, and he eased the car forward. You leaned into your seat and sighed. Something about him β the way he let the serious and silly fold over each other β always managed to unravel you in pieces. Quiet ones.
"Youβre good at this," you said softly.
"At what?"
"Disarming people."
He glanced at you, his smile widening. "You make it sound like Iβm a spy."
"Maybe you are. The charming kind. Gets people talking when they donβt mean to."
"Ah," he said, mock-serious. "So Iβm dangerously persuasive. Noted."
You lifted an eyebrow. "Iβm saying youβre sneaky. Subtle. The kind of person who probably gets away with way too much."
He gasped in mock offense. "Iβm wounded."
"Youβll survive."
He turned onto your street, the familiar row of buildings falling into place outside the window. But he didnβt 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 Jiminβs rested casually on the wheel like he wasnβt in a rush to end whatever this was.
"Weβre okay, right?" he asked after a moment. Quiet. Careful.
You nodded slowly. "I think so."
He didnβt speak right away. You could feel his gaze, warm and open.
"Youβve seemed different lately. Not bad. Justβ¦ like your headβs somewhere else."
You traced another foggy line on the window. "Maybe it is. Everything just feels different, like something shifted and I havenβt caught up to it yet."
He didnβt press. Just waited.
"Itβs not really about the job," you added quickly. "Itβs nothing. And alsoβ¦ not nothing. I guess Iβm still figuring it out."
His voice was low when he answered. "Want to know what Iβm 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 didnβt 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 β like testing the weight of it β he leaned in.
The kiss was light. Barely a whisper between you. A question posed in silence. A warmth you hadnβt realized you were craving. It wasnβt a hot or passionate kiss, but rather something soft, uncertain β like both of you were trying to remember how to breathe through it. It was the kind of kiss that didnβt demand anything, didnβt 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 didnβt shout. It didnβt shake. It justβ¦ existed, tender and fleeting. Like a pause between thoughts. Like a secret neither of you had the words to speak yet.
But it didnβt last for long.
Because just as the moment settled β just as the softness of it bloomed in your chest β you pulled away.
The car felt too close now. Too still. Your hand reached for the door.
"I shouldβ"
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 thenβ
Your name.
Spoken low. Firm.
You turned as he caught up to you.Β
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 β like heβd decided he didnβt want to let you walk away wondering. This kiss wasnβt rushed, but there was urgency beneath the tenderness. A silent insistence that said: I meant that. It carried something heavier than the first β 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 β with his forehead resting lightly against yours β everything else disappeared.
You could feel your heart knocking against your ribs, too fast, too loud. Like it hadnβt 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.Β
You didnβt answer.
But you didnβt let go either. You didnβt know how long you stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, Jiminβs warmth still lingering on your lips.
The street was quiet. Only the distant hum of a passing car reminded you the world hadnβt completely stopped. But in your body? In your chest? Everything felt like it had come to a sudden, terrifying standstill.
He kissed you.
HeΒ kissedΒ you.
Again.
And then heβ
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 hadnβt 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 didnβt work properly. Your brain certainly didnβt.
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.Β
No.
This was your life.
You spun in place, hair swishing with the motion, like pacing would make your thoughts more manageable.
It didnβt.
He kissed you. Again. And it wasnβt 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 youΒ done? You shouldβve kept your mouth shut. Never said anything. To anyone. Ever. In fact, you believe you shouldβve just been able to speak ever again.Β
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:
βYOU DID WHAT? With PARK JIMIN?! Girl, are you INSANE?β
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 hadnβt even taken your makeup off. Your phone buzzed against your thigh, and you flinched like it had burned you.
But it wasnβt him.
Of course it wasnβt.
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 Eviβs name in your contacts.
And stared.
You hadnβt 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.
Β My one and only true loveΒ is FaceTimingβ¦
You screamed.
Not a little gasp, not a startled βohββa 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."
Eviβs 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.
βWhy are you screaming like someone broke into your house?β she asked, calmly sipping from a matcha glass.
You blinked at her. βI thought you were a murderer. Or my boss.β
βCharming. This is the welcome I get?β
βYou scared the hell out of me.βΒ
βYou scare easily for someone whoβs been hiding a man in her apartment.β
Your soul left your body.
You coughed. βWhatβwhat are you talking about?β
βOh, donβt play dumb.β She leaned in dramatically. βI know that look. Youβre flushed. Your hairβs doing that thing it does when youβre stressed but trying not to look stressed. Your eyes are twitchy. And unless itβs -3 degrees outside, that red on your cheeks isnβt from the cold.β
You adjusted your phone. βIt is cold.β
She narrowed her eyes. βAnd yet you donβt look frozen. You look freshly kissed.β
You made a noise that wasnβt a laugh or a protestβjust a long, whimpering exhale.
βY/N,β she said slowly. βWas someone at your place again since yesterday?β
You said nothing.
βSomeone tucked your blanket,β she continued. βSomeone made you ramen. Someone bought you Pocari Sweat. You donβt even like Pocari Sweat. You drink it once a year and call it a ritual. And today you are jumpy and blushing. Spill, bitch. β
You buried your face in your hand. βYou are so dramatic.β
βI am your best friend. Iβm allowed to be. Was it someone from work?β
βEviβ¦β
βWas it one of the boys?β Her eyes widened, manic energy building. βWait. DONβT tell me. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Scratch your nose if itβs complicated.β
You burst out laughing, but it was too lateβyour fingers had brushed your cheek.
βI KNEW IT!β
βThat was not a signal.β
βToo late. Evidence locked in.β
βJesus Christ.β
She grinned at you. βTell me everything.β
βThereβs nothing to tell.β
βThatβs a lie and you know it.β
You stared at her through the screen. Your cheeks still felt warm. Your mouthβGod, your mouthβstill tingled faintly. Like the memory of his lips hadnβt quite left yet.
She tilted her head. βWas it good?β
You sighed. βYouβre impossible.β
βNot a no.β
βStop it.β
βIβm just sayingβif someone kissed me and they were as hot as they sound, I would spiral, like, immediately.β
βOh, I already spiraled.β
She beamed. βThatβs my girl.β
There was a beat of silence, then her voice softened.
βYou okay, though?β 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.Β
You looked away. Then back. βI donβt know.β
βOkay.β
She didnβt push. She didnβt fill the silence with noise like she normally would. Justβ¦ nodded. Like that was enough.
βThank you,β you said quietly.
βOf course,β she replied. Then, after a pause: βCan I complain about my neighbor now?β
You blinked. βAbsolutely.β
She launched into it instantly. βSo this morning? He started blasting Cupid at seven a.m. again. Not even the good versionβthe sped-up TikTok remix. While dancing. In a tutu. On his balcony.β
You snorted. βStill the same three songs?β
βOn a loop. My brain is bleeding. My sanity is held together by two hairpins and a dream.β
You grinned.
She leaned closer to the screen. βIβm serious. If I disappear one day, avenge me. Iβll be the one under the floorboards of his playlist.β
βYouβre ridiculous.β
βYeah, but you love me.β
You nodded. βI do.β
βAnd when youβre ready,β she said, βI want the whole story. Over wine. With snacks. And a cheap galaxy projector.β
You smiled, eyes soft. βDeal.β
βMiss you.β
βMiss you too.βΒ
She gave you a long look, like she was reading every emotion off your face, then winked and hung upβleaving you in the quiet again.
But this time, it didnβt feel quite so loud.Β
chapter 10 - chapter 12 Masterlist














