Lune

Morning crept slowly into Jungkook’s bedroom. 

They’d forgotten to close the blinds last night, or rather, his blinds were really thin and the brightness of the harsh morning sunlight spilled onto the sheets in stripes of yellow. Dust motes floated through the air, and it was peaceful.

Mira woke up to warmth– a lot of it.

Her nose was buried in something warm and familiar, and something solid was wrapped around her waist. Bergamot and musk hit her senses when she inhaled and she squinted sleepily, then froze.

Her nose was pressed into Jungkook’s neck and her entire body was sprawled on top of him.

One of his arms was wrapped tightly around her waist like he’d pulled her there sometime during the night, his other hand resting against her lower back, under her clothes, and there was a blanket enveloping the two of them.

Mira blinked again.

Her brain started catching up. Slowly. 

The bar, the drinks. His scarf around her neck, peeing with the door open– she groaned into his shoulder. Then, it hit her immediately.

The kiss.

Oh my god.

She didn’t move from her place on top of him, coz if she did, she’d wake him up. And if he woke up–

“Oh no,” she whispered. Because now, the hand under her shirt was moving, down down down, sliding down her side, nudging her knee up and hooking it over his hip, settling it against him and from afar, she looked like a koala on a tree. She lifted her head slowly, not knowing what to do. Then, she decided to rest her chin on his chest, eyes peering down at him– which was possibly the biggest mistake of her life. 

He looked so him. Asleep, the innocence in his face came out. Gone was the furrow between his eyebrows, gone were the sharp features. There was a soft flush to his cheeks with marks from where she’d clearly been smushed against him for hours.

She stared– at the scar on his cheek, the light part of his lips and his hair that formed a halo on his pillow. She could absolutely die right there, right then, because she could quite literally feel the pink ribbons of affection flowing from her heart to tie a knot around his.

Slowly, carefully, she pulled his hand off of her thigh and eased the arm around her hip off inch by inch, lifting herself of of him, rolling onto the empty side of the bed. The moment she was free, she placed an arm over her eyes, wondering how she was going to explain kissing him yesterday. 

Drunk Mira, she decided, was not to be trusted.

Jungkook turned in his sleep, like the magnet she was yesterday, as if she’d somehow turned him into one too. What was it she learnt in 6th grade science class? Magnetic induction. His arm reached out, searching for her, and when north pole found south, pulled her against him and rolled on top of her.

Mira let out an oomph at the sudden change in position. He was flat on top of her now, face buried against her neck like it was the comfiest pillow he’d had in his lifetime and his hands were now holding her hips.

Then, when he’d separated from his magnetic counterpart, he lifted his head to blink up at her. He squinted at her, brain half asleep still and grunted out, hoarse. 

“Why are you under me?”

She scoffed, flicking his forehead and he groaned, lifting a hand to rub at it. “Why are you on top of me?”

He blinked at her again, slower this time, his brain was trying to load the situation and failing. Then he exhaled hard, dropping his head back for a second before rolling off her with a tired groan.

“I’m using your bathroom.” she announced, scrambling off of the wrinkled sheets, already halfway across the room.

“Mm.”

The cold water she splashed on her face helped. Slightly. The mirror did no justice to the war that was happening inside her head and it was as if the universe decided to show in high definition how he’d kissed her back last night.

She groaned, palms on the sink, head dropped like she was in prayer. She could still feel it, the warmth of his palm on her neck, the cold metal against her lower lip. His hands on her hip that morning, nose against her neck, sleepy voice in her ear.

She shook her head. “Enough.” 

Splashing another handful of water on her face and brushing her teeth with her spare brush that she always kept here, she walked out, towel in hand, still in yesterday’s clothes. The bed was made, and it looked like Jungkook tried to remove every single wrinkle that would’ve reminded her of them exchanging body heat in bed.

God.

She wanted to yank her brain out, give it a good lecture and throw it back in. Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook, that’s all it said at the moment, and when she stepped out of the bedroom into the kitchen, Mira.exe stopped working.

He was leaning against the counter, flipping an omelette on a pan, sweatpants low on his hips with no shirt. Forcing her face to stay neutral, she hopped on a stool at the kitchen island.

“God, wear a shirt, Jeon.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, unimpressed. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t ‘good morning’ me,” she muttered, reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring herself a cup. “Put something on.”

He simply shrugged. “You’ve seen me shirtless before.”

“Not at eight in the morning when I’m hungover.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

She squinted at him over the rim of her mug, taking a long sip just to avoid looking at… whatever was going on with him at that moment. “You’re very comfortable for someone hosting a guest.”

“You’re not a guest,” he said, easy, flipping the omelette again. “You have a toothbrush here.”

He wasn’t really wrong about that. She’d left so many things at his place over the past two years. A toothbrush, her deodorant, that mustard pillow on his sofa. She was the one that framed their portrait to keep in his house in case he felt lonely. Last year she’d pushed a box of tampons into the top shelf in his bathroom because he thought it was crazy that she’d have to go all the way back home to take care of a very normal bodily function.

“That’s not the point.”

“It kinda is.”

Mira huffed, crossing one leg over the other on the stool, drumming her fingers against her knee. Normal. This was normal. They always did this.

Except it suddenly didn’t feel that way. Because everything felt impossibly in front of her face, begging for her to notice.

His back flexing when he moved around, his hair messy from bed, his goddamn tattoo spreading to his pec that made her want to–

Nope. We’re not crossing that line.

She cleared her throat. “Hey,”

“Mm.”

“What happened yesterday?”

Jungkook didn’t turn around immediately. He slid a toast onto the omelette, took his time like she wasn’t asking him about their not-so-accidental kiss.

“You passed out.”

Mira nodded slowly, as if she was processing that. “Right.”

He finally faced her, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing loosely over his chest. His expression was neutral, devoid of the casual facade he always had on. It felt weird. 

“You don’t remember?”

She let out a small, awkward laugh. ‘Course she did.

“Not everything… I remember walking up the stairs and kicking my heels off, and then poof. It’s like I hit my head somewhere.”

“Why?” she added. “Did I do something embarrassing?”

His gaze flicked over her face, before settling to stare at the window in the living room. “You peed with the door open.”

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. She did not want him to remember that. “Oh my god, not this again.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, looking down at his feet. A pause settled between them, and she felt unsettled. It was never this… quiet when they hung out. The only sound that surrounded them was the sizzle of the pan and the gurgling pot of coffee.

She was either yapping his head off, or he was making fun of her running when he dragged her to the park on weekends. He’d pull at her ponytail, she’d shove his head, there was always some sort of disorder.

“You’re being weird.” she said.

Jungkook looked up at that, eyes lingering on hers a second too long before he reached for his mug. He was trying to pace himself. Act like she hadn’t just called him out on his suspicious behaviour.

I mean, what was he supposed to do? He’d just spent the majority of his night in her arms, constantly inhaling citrusy shampoo and it drove him crazy. He couldn’t move her without waking her up, he couldn’t even move himself without the fear of waking up with a semi.

Seeing her in his bed, under him out of all places, made his pea brain scream and show him a BSOD. 

“No I’m not,” he said, setting the mug down.

Mira blinked at him. “You are. You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you act like everything’s normal, everything’s fine, but you’re brain is going haywire.”

He exhaled, reaching up to tame his bed head. Nobody could fool Mira. Mira who knew-it-all. It was all she’d been doing these past two years of their friendship. “That’s just my face.”

“No, it’s not.” she shot back, leaning forward on the counter. “Your face is usually annoying. This is… suspicious.”

His mouth twitched, tugging at a corner into an almost smile, but he shook his head. “You’re overthinking.”

“I’m not overthinking,” she insisted. “You’re under-explaining. Did I say something? Do something? Break something? Insult someone important? Yourself, maybe?”

“You insult me daily,” he said dryly. “I’ve built immunity.”

“Answer the question, Kook.”

He turned around, switching the stove off and sliding the eggs and toast onto a plate. “I told you,” he said, pushing the plate towards her, plopping the bottle of ketchup next to it like a placeholder. “You passed out.”

Mira stared at him for a second longer, like she was trying to peel the answer out of his skull by force, make him say it out loud.

He held her gaze, steady and unhelpful. “You’re hiding something,” she muttered, repetitive the way it was in her thoughts.

“I’m really not.”

“You are.”

“Mira– ”

“Fine,” she cut in, grabbing the fork and pointing it at him like a weapon. “Fine! Keep your secrets. See if I care.”

“Seems like you do.”

“I don’t,” she said immediately, shoving a bite of omelette into her mouth, then another before she could finish chewing. She looked like an angry chipmunk.

He raised a brow. “You sound very unbothered.”

“I so am,” she said around the food, nodding aggressively, cutting into another piece. “Ekshtremely unbodhered. Could not care lesh.”

“Mm.”

“Stop ‘mm’ing me.”

“Eat your food.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

That made her pause. Her chewing slowed, eyes flicking up to him, but he’d already turned away– picking up his mug again, like the conversation was over. Like nothing had happened.

Mira swallowed. This new side to him… it sounded dangerous. How was she going to do the podcast normally anymore? What if he did the same thing that night with all the avoiding and the half glances, she wanted to–

“You’re… still being weird.” she said, interrupting her own train of thoughts, quieter this time.

“Finish your breakfast, Mira.” he replied, as if he was refusing to look at her, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

She scoffed under her breath, but didn’t push again. Just ate, faster now, pieces off eggs stuffed into her mouth as if she had somewhere to be. Or like staying felt dangerous to her heart.

A few minutes later, she slid the plate away from her, fork aside. She needed to leave. Go somewhere far, run a marathon. Use all this energy she suddenly felt rushing through her veins.

Sliding off the stool, she grabbed her phone he’d dropped on the counter last night.

“Okay– great– food was amazing, five stars, I’m alive, we’re good.”

“You’re leaving already?” he asked, watching her grab her bag.

“Yes,” she said, way too fast. “I have things to do.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay?”

“I do!” she protested.

“You don’t.”

She pointed at him again, backing toward the door. “Stop exposing me.” That got a real laugh out of him, teeth and all, and it almost made her stay.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she added, fingers already on the lock keypad. “Podcast.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Tonight.”

She nodded once, quick, because if she lingered any longer she’d say something she shouldn’t. “Don’t be late.”

He rolled his eyes, pocketing his phone, turning to the counter to crack another egg.

“Bye, Mira.” he called out, and she shook her head, resigned, hand at the doorknob, hesitant on whether she should leave or stay.

“Bye.”

And then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her and silence settled into the apartment, thick and unmoving.

Jungkook stood there for a moment, turning his head to stare at the spot she’d just been in. Then, slowly, his tongue pressed against the inside of his lip ring, like it was trying to remember her.

…

Mira was going to throw up.

She knew it in the same way she felt it last night when her belly was full of tequila– that low unsettling feeling under her ribs, curling and tugging at her restraint.

Rue purred from her place on Mira’s lap, completely unbothered by the turmoil in her mom’s mind. Sprawled across her lap like a weighted blanket, she licked at her paw. The living room was warm and the lights were warmer, dimmed to suit whatever vibe they usually wanted for their chill podcast recordings.

The clock showed: 7:59 pm. He’d open the door any minute now.

“You don’t get it,” Mira muttered, scratching behind the cat’s ear on auto-pilot. “Maybe I should have played dead when he woke up. Then I would’ve fallen asleep on him again and be spared the embarrassment.”

Rue blinked.

Mira tapped her head softly. “Exactly. No thoughts. Head empty. Must be nice.”

Her fingers stilled for a second, mind drifting again the way it had for the past few hours– Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook. She groaned, head thrown back. Maybe she should cancel, tell him her microphone isn’t working or there’s no power.

“And the worst part?” she whispered, leaning down conspiratorially like Rue was about to spill tea back. “He’s acting normal. Like nothing happened. Which is– rude. Very rude, no?.” She was lifting Rue now, looking into her, trying to get something, anything to slap the idea out of her head that her Podcasting Partner™ would even return an inkling of affection ever again the way he did last night.

The lock beeped.

Mira froze.

Rue’s ears twitched before her head lifted, eyes trained toward the door like a tiny, traitorous sentinel.

Mira straightened immediately, placing Rue back on her lap, smoothing her shirt down like she hadn’t just been having a breakdown with her cat. There was a shift in how her chest felt, like the butterflies lodged in the pupa that hung from her ribs finally emerged and fluttered around.

The door swung open.

Jungkook stepped in like he always did– casual, like he owned the place by association (which he kinda did, since he knew the code). Hoodie, duffel slung over one shoulder, car keys tossed somewhere behind him without looking.

And then he lifted the plastic bag in his hand slightly, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled at her.

“Peace offering,” he said.

Beer cans moved softly against each other.

Mira’s lips curved automatically. “Oh thank god. I was two minutes away from cancelling on you and blaming it on emotional distress.”

He huffed, toeing his shoes off. “You’re my emotional distress.”

“Shut up,” she shot back, already getting up, Rue hopping off her lap with a soft thud. “Give me that.”

She took the bag from him, their fingers brushing for half a second too long and she jerked back, thinking about the way he said my emotional distress.

Or maybe she just imagined it.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

Normal.

They were being normal.

“I got the good maekju,” he added, shrugging his duffel off onto the couch. “Not the sad, watered-down ones you keep buying.”

She gasped, offended, placed one hand on her chest on her way to put the cans in the fridge. “Those are budget-conscious decisions, Kook-ah. Not all of us are reckless with money.”

“You spend six hundred on candles.”

“They’re aesthetic investments.” The light of the open fridge on her face made her look like she was giving a ted-talk. She grabbed one out of the four, placed it on the counter and cracked it open like this was the highlight of the evening and took a chug. Highlight or not, she definitely could not handle tonight sober.

He snorted at her hubbub, already pulling his laptop case out of his bag, before she could reach in and pull the laptop out. But she still walked over, reached in anyway, yanking it out like it was part of the routine.

It was part of the routine.

Everything was fine.

“Mic’s in there,” she said, nodding toward her bag, already popping open the laptop with more force than necessary. “Don’t pretend like you don’t forget to set it up every other day.”

“I don’t forget, I just test your patience.” he smirked, walking over to her bag.

“Congratulations,” she plopped onto the couch, legs stretching to rest on the coffee table in front of them. “You’re succeeding.”

Rue, meanwhile, had made her decision.

She leapt up onto the back of the couch just as Jungkook bent down to grab the mic, landing directly onto his shoulder like she’d been waiting all week and burrowed herself into the hood of his sweatshirt.

“ –oh my god,” Mira groaned. “Traitor.”

Jungkook didn’t even flinch, like this was routine, just adjusted slightly so Rue wouldn’t slide. “She has taste.”

“She has abandonment issues,” Mira corrected. “Stop enabling her.”

Rue blinked slowly, smug. Then lifted up to rest her face on his shoulder. Jungkook turned to look at her, warm smile on his face at the way she’d comfortably positioned herself on him.

“Yeah,” Jungkook murmured, scratching under her chin. “She said you’re the problem.”

Mira rolled her eyes, but her smile came easier now. Familiar. Safe.

Soon enough, mics were placed in their normal positions, he was settled across from her on the couch, legs crossed and laptop settled on his knee. She, on the other hand was sitting as far away from him as she could. 

Her legs were tucked under her, back leaning against the arm rest of the couch.

He’d noticed the moment he’d climbed onto the couch, the way she’d stiffened and flattened herself against the other corner of the couch like touching him would give her cooties. But he’d shrugged it off, set up the mic, and she pulled up their recording software, adjusted levels, checked notes.

Mira cleared her throat, snapping her gaze to the screen. “Mic levels are good.”

“Mm.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he echoed, nodding with his eyebrows raised.

She slapped her hands together once, too loud. “Okay! Recording before I spiral.”

He gave her a look. “Too late.”

She kicked his knee, extracting her leg from its Jungkook quarantine underneath her. “Shut up.” He caught her ankle, giving her a look and she paused. And before things could escalate– she hit record, slowly pulling her ankle from his warm, tempting hands.

And just like that– Podcast Mira slid into place, and spoke into the mic, pressing play on the intro jingle. “I’m MJ,”

“I’m JK.”

“Hello, hello, beautiful disasters,” she sang into the mic, letting the intro jingle fade away, voice bright, teasing, like she hadn’t spent the last hour contemplating her life choices. “Welcome back to Two Interns Walk into HR–”

“ –a podcast where MJ exposes people from work and I nod along,” Jungkook cut in dryly.

 “ –a podcast where we ask the important questions,” she corrected smoothly, shooting him a look. “Like– does Mr. Graham really have three backup assistants?”

Jungkook leaned back in his place, one arm slung over the back, Rue still perched like she was his princess on his shoulder. “He does. There’s even an update I heard from a little birdie,” he added, thoughtful.

“Pray, tell, Mr. JK.”

Jungkook’s hand reached out to rest on Rue’s head absentmindedly. “Remember last week when we said he had ketchup on his tie throughout the board meeting?”

“Uh, yeah. He looked like a messy toddler.”

“Well,” he cut in. “Dude got one of the three assistants replaced coz she didn’t tell him about the stain.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “How was it her fault when she didn’t even see him before the meeting?”

Jungkook shrugged. “He’s a serial assistant changer.”

“Wait, also– why do they all wear the same outfit?” Mira continued, fully in it now, gesturing wildly. “Like– cream shirt, brown pants, same ponytail. It’s giving cult.”

“It’s called a uniform.”

“It’s called he is not okay,” she insisted. “You don’t need three assistants unless you’re either– one, running a secret operation, or two– emotionally dependent and incapable of sending your own emails. Was he dropped as a child? Did his mom ignore him?”

Jungkook snorted. “You can’t send your own emails.”

“I choose not to. It’s different.”

“Right. And you make me write them for you instead.”

She ignored him and clicked open their comments tab, scrolling. “Okay, let’s see what the people are saying before JK starts accusing me of identity theft.”

“Someone has to be the voice of reason.”

“You?” she scoffed. “That’s hilarious.”

She read out a comment, laughing halfway through, the rhythm of it all settling back into something easy. Familiar, like the chaos built together. “‘JK, do you need a girlfriend?’”

Jungkook smirked, “Do I?”

Mira huffed, pushing her bangs back with her free hand. Brought the mic closer to her mouth. “Guys, he’s like 50% as emotionally dependent as Mr. Graham is. Trust me.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Wait wait wait, remind me, who was it that brought your drunk ass home yesterday?”

“MOVING ON– ”

“No no no, see you guys? Both of us are emotionally dependent. Next comment.” He leaned over, slapping her hand away and scrolling up the comments with a laugh stuck in his throat. Mira didn’t know what she wanted to do, pull his hair or kiss him all over again.

For a moment– just a moment– it almost felt like nothing had changed.

He cleared his throat. “‘What’s your workplace disaster story?’”

Mira groaned instantly, dragging her hands down her face before letting them drop into her lap. “We already told them about the yogurt explosion,” she said. “Mr. Gupta’s desk is still recovering, by the way. I don’t know if we can top that unless someone actively sets the office on fire.”

Jungkook hummed, still scrolling, then paused like something clicked. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Okay wait,” Jungkook said, leaning forward, suddenly remembering something. “Speaking of workplace disasters– the new intern?”

Mira’s eyes lit up instantly. “The blonde, blue-eyed hunk of meat? Oh my god, yes. Tell me everything.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes at the description. Knew who was next on his punch-list. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t gatekeep,” she shot back, shifting a little closer, not remembering she was supposed to sit as far away from him as possible. “What did he do?”

“He hooked up with that divorced woman from finance.”

Mira choked on her beer. “No.”

“Yeah.”

“No way.”

“In the storage room.”

She slapped the table. “That is– first of all, iconic. Second of all, disgusting. Third– how old is she?”

“Mid fifties, I think.”

“Good for her,” Mira nodded, approving. Made the ‘clock-it’ gesture with her fingers. “Honestly. Get it.”

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “You would say that.”

“I will say that. Men her age barely know how to– ” she cut herself off, her hand still gesturing, then didn’t, because when had she ever stopped? “ –function.” She shifted her weight to one side, turning towards him.

He raised a brow “Function?”

She groaned. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Don’t act dumb.”

“I’m not acting, I actually don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt, then tipped her head back with a sigh like she was about to regret this. “Men don’t know how foreplay works. There. I said it.”

It was something she kept telling herself to justify the bad relationships she’d surfed through in the past. It was either her fault she couldn’t come no matter what they did, or they just didn’t know how to get her there.

Jungkook blinked, clearly not expecting the sharp turn. The way she said it didn’t sound like a joke to him, she sounded so sure of it. “That’s a generalization.”

“It’s a statistic,” she shot back. “Ask any woman.”

“Have you conducted a survey?” he asked her, eyebrows up in curiosity.

“Lived experience,” she said flatly, taking a sip of her beer.

He studied her for a second, something flickering across his face– maybe amusement, maybe something else. But there was a shift in the way he looked at her now. “Oh? And how extensive is this… experience?” His voice had somehow gone lower.

She shrugged, playing it off. “Enough to know that it’s underwhelming.”

“Or,” he countered lightly, tilting his head. “you just have bad taste.”

She scoffed, pointing at him. “No, they have bad technique.”

“You know what, maybe you’re right.”

“Shut up,” she laughed, shaking her head, nudging her foot into his knee, then jerking it back. That habit of hers was getting out of hand. “I’m serious. Like– half the time it’s just– zero effort. Straight to the point like it’s a speedrun. Jackhammer till they get off and then roll over.”

“That’s tragic.”

“It is tragic,” she agreed, more emphatic now, gesturing with her can. “And then they’re like– ‘did you finish?’ No, Kevin, I did not finish. I barely started.”

Jungkook barked out a laugh, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Kevin caught a stray.”

“Kevin deserves it.”

He was still smiling, but it faded slower this time, gaze lingering on her a second longer than necessary. “So what– you’ve just… never?”

Mira hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Then she shrugged again, forcing casual. “Not with another person, no.”

Then with a small grin, “By myself tho? Heck yeah, baby.”

Light. Tossed out. But her words didn’t land that way.

Jungkook went quiet. I mean, he couldn’t not think about it. The way she’d said it so easily, like it didn’t matter, when it clearly did in ways she wasn’t saying out loud. He wanted to do something about it.

He was always casual with his hookups but he for sure knew that he'd never leave them hanging without an orgasm– it was like a rule of thumb. Thinking Mira hadn't ever experienced that… changed his train of thought.

“Damn,” he said after a beat, softer this time, like he wasn’t entirely joking anymore.

She waved it off quickly, leaning back. “It’s fine. I’ll live. I have a personality to compensate.”

He huffed a laugh, but his eyes didn’t quite leave her face. “Yeah,” he murmured, quiet. “You do.”

And for a second, it felt like they weren’t talking to an audience anymore.

Mira reached forward, tapping the laptop to awaken it. “Okay,” she said, voice a little brighter. “Next comment before we get carried away.”

Jungkook nodded, snapping back into place, reaching up behind him to bring Rue out from his hood and into his arms, as if cuddling her to his chest would make his racing thoughts slow.

They moved on after that, question after question. They slipped back into rhythm easily, making familiar jokes and the back-and-forth that their listeners loved. But something had shifted.  It resonated in the pauses that lasted a second too long, in the way their laughter didn’t overlap with conversation like it always did. 

Soon enough, Mira and Jungkook had said their goodbyes, and Jungkook reached over to click off the recording button and the red button blinked once under his finger before going dark.

He leaned back with a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, and for the first time since that evening, there was nothing buffering the silence between them.

Mira could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. 

She stared at the waveform from their recording on the screen, the last spike from his laugh still there, and felt something twist in her stomach. This… pretending and slipping back into routine, ignoring the kiss– it was making her feel worse than actually kissing him felt like.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her shorts.

“I know.”

The words left her before she could soften them, quiet but steady enough to cut through the silence and grab attention. Across from her, Jungkook stilled.

He didn’t look up immediately. In truth, he never did in cases like these. Always dragged things out, thought there was nothing so important that would require him to snap his neck up like an ostrich. 

His hand hovered near the laptop like he’d forgotten what he was doing halfway through, then, he leaned back into the couch, gaze finding hers.

“Know what?” He said, sounding careful.

Mira swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She grabbed her beer, found it empty, and placed it on the table, reaching over to grab his half-full can and chugged. She exhaled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and putting the can back in place. “I know I kissed you.”

Something in his expression moved– he wasn’t surprised- but it was more of a tension that was being released in his features. He went still for a second, eyes fixed on her, then gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You did.”

The confirmation made her stomach flip.

She let out a breath that came out more like a rush, words tumbling over each other before she could organzie them. Future her would want to pull all the words she was going to say and stuff it back into her mouth. “I’m sorry if you hate it okay? I was drunk and I didn’t– I mean, I did mean it but not like– ugh that sounds worse.”

She inhaled sharply, eyes flicking away from his waiting gaze. “Look, I’ve… I feel things for you now, okay? Like these two years you’ve taken care of me, you’ve been my best friend, but I wanted to make it more and– like, if this messed with us, I get it. I can just forget about it, we can both forget– ”

“Mira.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it made her stop her train of thought, and she stopped mid-sentence to look up at him.

Jungkook was still watching her, browns drawn just enough to show something was brewing under the calm. “Is that what you think?”

She hesitated, shoulders lifting in a small, helpless shrug. “You didn’t say anything after,” she admitted. “This morning, you just… acted like it didn’t happen. I thought you wanted to erase the memory or something.”

The second the words left her, something in his face tightened. 

He huffed out a breath, and Rue, sensing the tension, jumped from his lap to go back to her cat bed. Jungkook pushed a hand through his already messy hair, grabbing at it like the idea bothered him. “Erase it?” he repeated, like it didn’t sit right with him that he’d want to erase the feel of her pink lips on his. No.

When he looked at her again, really looked this time, something in his gaze sharpened. From where he sat, he shifted slightly, one hand coming to rest against his thigh  and he patted it once. Casual in a way that spooked her a lil.

“Come here.”

Mira blinked.

Her eyes dropped to his thigh, then flicked back up to his face like she needed confirmation as to what he’d just said. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

She pointed at herself, then at him. “You want me to– ”

“Mira,” he cut in, warning threaded into the way he said her name, quiet but firm. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Her heart was pounding.

For a second, she sat rooted at her spot, weighing the options, overthinking the outcomes. Then, she exhaled, pushing off of her side of the couch and crossing the small space between them.

She settled into his lap carefully, both legs dangling from the side of the sofa, settling her weight down, hyper-aware of the heat of him even through the thin fabric between them.

Up close, it was worse. Her breath mingled with his and she could vividly smell his musky cologne and she desperately wanted to bury her nose in his neck and just inhale.

She kept her gaze moving, away from his face– his shoulder, the tattoo on his arm, the recording on their laptop.

“Happy?” she muttered, attempting nonchalance and failing just a little.

“Not really.”

Her breath slowed before she could stop it.

“C’mon,” he said, softer. “Look at me.”

There was a pause– a small one just because she was stubborn– before she finally met his eyes and whatever she’d expected to find in his expression, it wasn’t this. 

There was no teasing, no flection, no easy humour that came to him when he wanted to switch topics. This was just him.

Watching her after he’d been holding back for too long.

His voice dropped, rough and quiet in a way that made her lean in without realising. “Do I look like someone who didn’t want that?”

Mira’s brows furrowed, confusion colouring her face. “What?

“You kissed me, he said, eyes not leaving hers. “And then you passed out on my fucking shoulder like nothing happened.”

Something about the way he said it– low, controlled, still frustrated– made her chest tighten.

“I wanted to wake you up,” he continued, jaw tightening. “Push you against the wall and do it properly.”

Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the words alone, but the conviction in his voice as he said them. She searched his face for a sign of anything– hesitation, or a hint that he was playing. But there was not even a flicker.

“Then why– ” her voice faltered for a second. She cleared her throat, her gaze moving from his eyes to his lips. “Why are you just sitting there?”

Because he was. He wasn’t touching her.

One arm was stretched along the back of the couch behind her, close enough to cage her in without actually doing it, and the other rested at his side, fingers absent-mindedly fiddling with the hem of her shorts like he was restraining himself from doing more.

It didn’t match what he was saying.

Jungkook let out a slow breath, eyes dipping for a second before coming back to hers. He lifted his face a little, nose brushing hers, feather-light. “Because if I start,” he said, voice quiet and steady as if he knew it was dangerous. “I won’t hold back.”

The words were pruposeful and heavy, and they settled between them. 

“I’m not touching you,” he added, like it was a reminder for himself too, “until you tell me what you want.”

Her pulse spiked, and she felt a fervour of energy rush through her. All that control and restraint in his voice– it made everything seem more intense.

Mira swallowed, hands coming up to rest against his shoulder, lifting herself up until both her knees were bracketing his hips, settling onto him. She leaned in a little more, nose brushing against his, eyes on him.

He went completely still. His breathing paused, like even the smallest movement from him would scare her away.

Her voice when she spoke then, was softer. More certain. “What if I don’t want you to hold back?”

She closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his– slow, soft, she was testing the waters and wanted to feel every second of his lips molding against hers instead of rushing.

He didn’t move at first. Alarm bells were ringing in his head and for half a heartbeat, he just let it happen because he was giving her the chance to pull away.

She didn’t pull away. And the shift was immediate.

One second he was holding back, the next his hand was on her thighs, firm and grounding as he pulled her closer, the kiss deepening in a way that made her breath hitch and gasp against his mouth.

It wasn’t rushed or messy. It was intentional, he’d been waiting for this moment ever since he saw her asleep in one of the twin beds in their hotel room in Berlin.

Mira’s fingers curled slightly into his shirt as she leaned into him, and when she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against his– just to catch her breath. Her eyes dropped to the glint of metal on his lip.

“Fuck– ” he breathed, one hand trailing under her t-shirt, resting against her spine, the other hand sliding up her thigh and into her shorts. The skin twitched in recognition and her spine glowed at the warmth.

Her thumb hovered near his lip ring before she even realised what she was doing, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his piercing to preserve a memory.

“I don’t want you to stop, Jungkook.”

And that was the moment something in him snapped.