nikola

His mattress dips under your weight as you lean back, Jungkook’s hand slipping easily around your waist to pull you down with him. The sheets smell like him — clean, a little musky — and his mouth is already on yours before you can settle in.

He kisses like he means it. Slow at first, lips pressing, molding, tasting, until the heat catches and you’re gasping into him. His tongue brushes against yours and the low hum in his chest vibrates against your skin.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, clutching it just to anchor yourself, but he takes it as an invitation to move closer. His thigh slides between yours, pressing firm enough that you instinctively shift against him. The smirk that curves his lips against your mouth tells you he noticed.

“Already?” he teases between kisses, his voice rough from holding back a laugh.

You don’t answer — you just kiss him harder, swallowing the sound of his chuckle. His hand travels up your side, warm under the thin fabric, until his thumb rests just under the swell of your chest. He doesn’t push further, not yet, just brushes the spot lightly until you’re arching into him without meaning to.

The kiss turns messy. Teeth clashing, lips bruising, his breath hot as he whispers your name against your mouth. When you tug his hair, his low groan makes your stomach twist and heat pulse through you.

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, thumb dragging across your bottom lip, still wet from his kiss.

Before you can think of a reply, his mouth crashes back onto yours, hungrier this time, like he’s past the point of pretending to take it slow.

Jungkook doesn’t give you time to breathe. His kisses trail lower, down the line of your jaw to your neck, where he lingers, biting just enough to make your pulse stutter. His hand slips beneath your shirt now, flat against your stomach, fingers splaying wide like he wants to claim every inch of skin.

The heat of his palm makes you shiver, and he notices, lips curving against your throat. “Sensitive, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head back, wordless, but the way your body presses into his says enough. He pushes your shirt up higher, stopping just under your chest. His gaze drops, hungry, and you feel the weight of it even in the darkened room.

When he finally pulls the fabric over your head, you can’t help the sudden rush of vulnerability — but his expression wipes it out in an instant. His eyes drag over you, slow and reverent, and he lets out a soft curse under his breath.

“God, you’re unreal.”

Before the heat pooling low in your stomach can take over, his mouth is on your collarbone, trailing wet kisses downward. He pauses only to peel off his own shirt, tossing it somewhere across the room without care. The sight of his toned chest so close makes your breath catch, and he grins knowingly before lowering himself back over you.

His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your lace bra, while his other hand grips your thigh, squeezing firmly as he settles between your legs. The friction makes you gasp, your hips shifting without permission.

That smirk of his only deepens. “Impatient already?”

His voice is teasing, but the way his lips find your nipple through the fabric is anything but playful. He sucks lightly, then harder, until you’re tugging his hair again, your breath coming quicker.

He looks up at you from under his lashes, lips glistening, and says in that low, husky tone, “I could spend hours just tasting you.”

His mouth is relentless, kissing lower until he’s at the edge of your waistband. He hooks his fingers there, playing with the fabric but not moving it. The deliberate pause has your chest rising and falling too fast, waiting.

“Do you want me to?” he asks softly, the words ghosting over your skin.

The question is unfair — he knows the answer. Still, he waits, his gaze fixed on yours, dark and patient. When you nod, his lips curl into that wicked smile before he presses a slow kiss just above the hem.

He doesn’t take your panties off right away. Instead, his hand skims up your thigh, fingertips barely brushing, enough to make your muscles twitch. He kisses the inside of your leg, open-mouthed and wet, before nipping lightly, dragging a groan out of your throat.

“Pretty when you make sounds for me,” he murmurs, leaving another kiss higher, too close now.

Your hips lift toward him, searching for friction, and he laughs low, holding you down with a firm hand on your hip. “Not yet.”

The control in his voice makes your head spin. He moves back up, covering your body with his, his lips finding yours again — slower, lazier this time, but dripping with promise. His tongue slides against yours, one hand slipping under your back to pull you flush against him. You can feel just how badly he wants you, hard against your thigh, and the sound he lets out when you grind against him nearly undoes you both.

He pulls back only enough to whisper against your mouth, breath ragged, “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.”

But instead of stopping, you do it again, just to see him break. His curse falls hot against your neck, his grip on you tightening.

The shift happens when you push at his chest lightly, making him pause. His brows lift, curious, but he doesn’t resist as you roll him onto his back. His hair falls over his forehead, messy from your fingers, and the sight alone makes heat curl low in your stomach. You quickly took your bra off.

“What are you doing?” he asks, though the smug edge in his voice tells you he already knows.

You straddle his thighs, leaning down until your lips brush his jaw. “Returning the favor,” you whisper, and before he can reply, you trail kisses down his chest.

His breath hitches the moment your mouth closes around his nipple, and his hand shoots up to the back of your head, tangled in your hair but not forcing, just holding. You graze your teeth lightly before continuing lower, kissing across his abs, slow and deliberate. Each kiss makes him squirm, his muscles tightening under your mouth.

By the time you reach the waistband of his sweats, Jungkook’s composure is slipping. He props himself up on his elbows, watching you with blown pupils, chest rising hard and fast. “Fuck, you’re killing me.”

You hook your fingers into the band, tugging it down with deliberate slowness. He lifts his hips to help, and you strip him of both his sweats and boxers in one smooth pull. His cock springs free, hard and flushed, and the sight makes your mouth water.

“Shit,” you breathe without meaning to, eyes locked on him.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but the smirk dies as soon as your hand wraps around him. He drops back against the pillows with a groan, one arm flung over his face while the other still tangles in your hair.

You stroke him lazily at first, dragging your thumb over the slick at the tip, spreading it down his length. His hips twitch, a guttural sound slipping past his lips. “Don’t tease,” he warns, voice already strained.

You ignore him, leaning in to lick a slow stripe up the underside, from base to tip, before swirling your tongue around the head. His breath stutters, a string of curses filling the room.

“Fuck— yeah, just like that.”

Taking him into your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, working him deeper until his hand tightens in your hair, guiding you but never forcing. The weight of him on your tongue makes your core throb, and the low moan he lets out only pushes you further.

You set a steady rhythm, hand working the base while your mouth takes the rest. Every sound he makes — every shaky inhale, every broken groan — sends heat spiraling through you. His thighs flex under your hands, his abs tightening every time you sink lower.

When you glance up at him through your lashes, the sight nearly undoes you. Jungkook’s head is tipped back, lips parted, sweat beading at his temple. His eyes find yours, dark and blown wide, and the raw need there makes your stomach flip.

“Baby,” he groans, voice hoarse, “you’re gonna make me come if you keep… fuck—”

You hum around him, and that alone makes him buck up into your mouth. His hand trembles in your hair, torn between pulling you closer and letting you set the pace.

“Please,” he chokes out, his tone breaking, desperate now. “Please don’t stop.”

You don’t stop. You take him deeper instead, swallowing around him until he’s cursing into the dark, his hand gripping your hair so tight you can feel the tremble in his arm. His hips twitch helplessly, and you hold him steady with your free hand pressed against his thigh.

Every sound spilling from him is raw — moans that break off into groans, low curses, your name dragged out like he’s praying. His abs tighten under your hands, and when you hum again, the vibration pulls another choked noise from his throat.

“Fuck, baby… so good—” His head tips back, jaw clenching. He tries to open his eyes, to watch you, but the pleasure makes them flutter shut again.

You hollow your cheeks and twist your wrist in sync, moving faster now, dragging him to the edge. The taste of him, the heat of him filling your mouth, the way his body is unraveling under your touch — it’s intoxicating.

And then he breaks.

A guttural groan rips from his chest as his hips jerk, spilling into your mouth. You swallow without hesitation, the warm rush hitting the back of your throat, and the way his hand tightens in your hair nearly makes you moan around him. You don’t pull away, not until the shudders wracking his body start to fade, and he collapses back against the pillows with a wrecked gasp.

“Holy shit…” His voice is rough, hoarse, like he just sang for hours. He drags his arm off his face to look at you, eyes glazed and dark. When he sees you swallow again, tongue darting out to catch the last trace of him, his groan turns into a helpless laugh.

“You’re actually trying to kill me.”

You wipe your lips with the back of your hand, smirking as you crawl back up to straddle his hips. “You liked it.”

“Liked it?” He lets out a breathless laugh, tugging you down so you’re chest-to-chest. His lips brush yours as he murmurs, “Baby, I almost blacked out.”

The kiss he gives you is lazy but desperate, like he can still taste himself on your tongue. His hand slips down to your thigh, fingers digging in as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion. He hovers over you, still catching his breath, but the gleam in his eyes is unmistakable — he’s already ready for more.

“Now,” he says, voice low, lips curving into a dangerous smile, “it’s your turn.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste time pretending to be patient anymore. He spreads your thighs apart with his hands, settling between them like he belongs there, and lowers himself slowly. His breath ghosts over your soaked folds before his mouth finally makes contact.

The first lick is slow, deliberate, from bottom to top. Your back arches instantly, a soft cry spilling from your lips. Jungkook hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against your clit as he sucks it into his mouth.

“God, you taste perfect,” he groans against you, and the praise makes your stomach twist with heat.

His tongue works you with precision, alternating between teasing flicks and deep, drawn-out strokes that make your thighs tremble. You try to close them around his head, but his hands grip the insides firmly, forcing you open.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs before burying his face back into you. The wet sounds fill the room, obscene and overwhelming, as his tongue moves in circles, hitting every sensitive spot.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging when he slides two fingers inside you without warning. The stretch is immediate, delicious, and you moan so loudly it makes him groan in response.

“Fuck… so tight,” he rasps, curling them just right.

He finds a rhythm, pumping his fingers as his mouth stays locked on your clit. Every movement drags you closer to the edge, your body thrashing under the pleasure, but he keeps you pinned with one hand against your hip.

The coil inside you pulls tighter with every swirl of his tongue. You can’t think, can’t breathe, only choke out his name like it’s the only word left in your vocabulary.

“Jungkook… please…” your voice is broken, desperate.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his lips glistening, chin slick with you. His fingers never stop moving, pumping into you harder, curling against that perfect spot. The sight of him — wild-eyed, wrecked, mouth wet with your arousal — makes you clench around him.

“Please what?” he asks, voice dark and teasing. “Tell me what you want.”

Your thighs tremble around him, the words spilling out without thought. “Please, Jungkook—just fuck me.”

The smirk that curves his lips is dangerous. He pulls his fingers out slow, making you whine at the loss, then crawls back up your body, his mouth claiming yours in a messy, hungry kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, and the growl that rumbles in his chest when you tug his hair only makes you shiver harder.

His cock presses against your thigh, hot and heavy, and you can feel how badly he needs it too.

“Begging so pretty, baby. I’ll give you exactly what you want.” He breaks the kiss only to murmur against your lips, his breath ragged.

Jungkook kisses you like he’s starving until you can barely breathe. Then, with a low growl, he flips you over onto your stomach. His hands spread across your hips, dragging you onto your knees, arching your back until you’re presenting yourself perfectly for him.

“Fuck…” His voice breaks into a groan as he kneels behind you, palms running over the curve of your ass. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”

You shiver when he squeezes your hips, spreading you wider. The cool air hits you for only a second before the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance.

He teases, sliding just enough to coat himself in your slick, and the friction makes you whimper. You push back against him without thinking, desperate, and his laugh comes out rough.

“Impatient little thing.”

But he doesn’t drag it out any longer. With one slow, steady thrust, he pushes inside, stretching you until your fingers clutch the sheets. A broken moan rips from your throat at the burn, the fullness, the way he fits perfectly.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, gripping your hips harder. “I’ll never get used to this.”

He stays still for a second, breathing hard, then pulls back only to slam into you again, the force driving another cry from your lips. The sound of skin against skin fills the room as he sets a brutal pace, each thrust deeper than the last.

You collapse forward onto your elbows, your body rocking with every snap of his hips. His hand slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens, letting him sink even further.

“God, yes… just like that,” he rasps, pounding into you.

Every movement drags against that perfect spot inside, pleasure flooding you so fast your legs tremble. Your moans are shameless now, filling the room, and Jungkook eats up every sound, grunting your name like he’s unraveling with you.

He leans forward, his chest pressing to your back, his lips hot against your ear. “You feel so good… you’re mine, baby, all mine.” His hand snakes around to your clit, rubbing fast, and the sudden pressure sends you spiraling.

“Jungkook… fuck—” You choke on the words as your orgasm crashes, your walls clenching around him so hard he curses loudly.

He doesn’t stop. He drives into you through your high, chasing his own release. His thrusts grow rougher, sloppier, until with one final groan, he buries himself deep and spills inside you, his whole body shuddering as he comes undone.

For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you trembling, slick and messy where you’re still connected.

The movie had been playing for over an hour, but neither of you were really watching. The flickering light from the screen threw shifting shadows across Jungkook’s living room, painting him in hues that didn’t quite exist. Half of your attention was on the city outside his window, humming softly, endlessly, and the other half was on him — on the way his shoulder pressed against yours, warm and grounding.

He shifted slightly, nudging the bowl of popcorn closer to you without a word. A gesture so small it might have gone unnoticed, except it never did. It always mattered, because that was Jungkook — attentive in silence, noticing the things you never said.

“You’re not watching,” he murmured finally. His voice was low, casual, but the edge beneath it pulled at your chest.

“Neither are you,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

His lips curved faintly, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. You looked down, fingers diving into the popcorn just to give yourself something to do.

It wasn’t supposed to feel complicated. Nights like this were supposed to be easy — soft, quiet, safe. But lately, there was a weight, unspoken and relentless, settling between you.

The silence stretched, filled only by the movie’s muffled dialogue.

“They’ve been talking again,” you said, your voice small, careful.

He stiffened beside you. His hand, resting on the edge of the couch, curled slightly, and he didn’t speak.

“You know who,” you whispered. You didn’t need to spell it out. The fans. Yours. His. Those who dissected every smile, every glance, every accidental brush of hands.

“They always talk,” he said after a moment, exhaling through his nose. His back pressed against the couch, shoulders rigid.

“Yes, but this feels different,” you murmured, quieter, almost to yourself. “It’s not just noise anymore. It’s like they’re starting to believe the rumors.”

His eyes found yours, sharp, unreadable. “And that bothers you?”

The question landed like a stone in your chest. You pressed your palms together in your lap, swallowed hard. “I… I just don’t want it to get out of control.”

“Out of control,” he repeated, tasting the words like they might reveal something. Careful, measured, though the tension coiled beneath his calm.

You nodded. Your throat felt tight, constricted by fear you hadn’t admitted even to yourself. “Maybe… maybe we should give each other some space. Just for a while.”

The warmth that had been there moments ago slipped away like sand through your fingers. Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw tightened just slightly, but his face remained unreadable.

“Space,” he echoed.

The word sounded like glass breaking.

“I don’t mean—” you started, but stopped. You could already see it in his eyes. Not anger. Not exactly. Hurt. Deep, quiet hurt that had nowhere to go but inward until it twisted into something sharp.

The word hung between you. Space.

You hated it.

He shifted forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared at the floor, as if steadying himself against some internal storm.

“You think this is too much,” he said at last, not a question, just a statement.

“That’s not what I—”

“Then what are you saying?” His voice was quiet, careful, but trembled under the surface.

You pressed your lips together, heart hammering, searching for words that wouldn’t feel like betrayal. “I just… I don’t want things to get harder than they already are. People notice. They’re connecting dots that don’t exist, and once that happens…”

You trailed off, staring at your hands. You couldn’t finish it.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened. “Once that happens… you’ll regret spending time with me?”

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t twist it like that.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” he said sharply, but the edge didn’t mask the hurt. “I’m asking.”

You swallowed, heart in your throat. “I’m just being realistic. This… us being this close… it’s risky. They’ll eat us alive if they think there’s something going on.”

He stared at you, long and steady, and the laughter from the TV sounded like a cruel echo.

“So what you’re really saying,” he said finally, softer but no less cutting, “is that you’re scared.”

You flinched. Because it was true. And because hearing it out loud made your chest ache even more.

“Yes, but I’m not scared of you,” you whispered.

“Then what are you scared of?” His gaze bore into you, searching, insistent.

“Of what they’ll do to us. To you. I’ve seen it, Jungkook. You know I’m right.”

His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening. He looked away, toward the flickering screen, but wasn’t seeing it. “And your solution is… to push me away before they get the chance?”

The accusation didn’t need a question mark.

Tears pricked your eyes. “That’s not what I want.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, rising slowly, pacing. His voice cracked, betraying the control he’d been clinging to. “That’s what it feels like.”

His pacing was deliberate, almost careful, as if the floor beneath him could fracture. He raked a hand through his hair, tugging like it might somehow release the tension in his chest.

You stayed on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself. Watching him unravel was a sharper ache than anything you’d imagined.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked finally, half-turned toward you. His voice wasn’t raised, but every word cut. “You think distance makes this easier? For who? You? Them?”

“For both of us,” you whispered.

He laughed, low and bitter. “That’s bullshit. And you know it.”

Your chest ached. “Jungkook—”

“No,” he cut you off. His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. “You sit here, telling me you don’t want change, but you’re asking for space. Do you know what that feels like? To have you here, right in front of me, and still feel you slipping away?”

“I’m not slipping away,” you whispered.

“Then why does it feel like you are?”

The silence after was suffocating. Only the muted TV and your own heartbeat filled the room.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes were glassy, chest heaving unevenly. Terrified, like he was watching something precious teetering on the edge — and you were the one holding the hand that could either steady it or let it fall.

“I don’t want to lose this,” you said, voice raw. “I just… I don’t know how much longer we can pretend this doesn’t mean something. To me. To you. To everyone watching.”

His lips parted, as if to argue, but no words came. He pressed his palm to his forehead, eyes closed, a gesture that made your chest tighten even further.

“You think I haven’t thought about that?” he muttered. “Every day. The cameras, the comments, the looks. You think I don’t know the risks?”

And then he looked at you. Desperation in his gaze, making your breath catch. “But I still choose you. Every single time. And you… you want me to step back like it’s that simple.”

The words cut, like knives you couldn’t dodge. Because you wanted to choose him too. But fear — the merciless, loud fear — had been screaming louder than anything else.

For the first time, you didn’t know if you were standing on the same side anymore.

His shoulders were tense, fists clenched, trying to hold himself together, but the cracks showed anyway.

And you — you were unraveling too.

“You don’t get it,” you whispered. “You’ll survive if it blows up. You always do. But me? I don’t have that shield. If they decide I’m the problem, they’ll destroy me.”

He froze. Hurt deep enough it could fracture bone.

“So I’m untouchable?” he repeated, voice low, trembling. “Is that what you think of me?”

You couldn’t stop now. “I think… you don’t realize how different it is for me. You’ll still have your career, your fans, your music. I… I’ll have nothing left if this goes wrong.”

Jungkook shook his head slowly, a bitter, windless shake, like the words had stolen the air from him.

“So that’s it,” he whispered finally. “That’s all I am — someone who’ll be fine no matter what. Someone you can walk away from because you’re scared.”

“That’s not—”

“No,” he snapped, voice rising, raw and unsteady. “Don’t. You think I’m untouchable, that I’d move on like none of this mattered. Do you even know what you’re saying? You’re not the only one who’s scared. I’m terrified. Every second. Of losing this. Of losing you. And you—” his voice faltered, “you act like I wouldn’t bleed the same way you would.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to explain, but the look in his eyes silenced you. He wasn’t angry. He was broken.

And worse, it was your fault.

The silence pressed down like lead. He wouldn’t look at you. And that hurt more than the words ever could.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you whispered.

His laugh was bitter, sharp. “Doesn’t matter. You still said it.”

The room felt too small, too heavy. You couldn’t reach him.

And the silence stretched, pressing down on you until it felt like the air itself was too heavy to breathe. Jungkook didn’t look up, his face still hidden in his hands. You waited — waited for him to say something, anything. But nothing came.

And the longer it went on, the more it hollowed you out.

You rose slowly from the couch, your movements stiff, deliberate, like you were trying not to make a sound. He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

“Maybe… maybe I should go,” you murmured, your voice barely carrying across the room.

Still nothing.

You lingered for a moment at the door, half-hoping he’d stop you. That he’d lift his head, call your name, give you a reason to stay. But the room remained unbearably still, and in the end, it was you who broke the silence. The click of the door followed you all the way down the hall. You didn’t look back, though every step away from his apartment felt like a betrayal.

Outside, the night was damp with the weight of an earlier rain, streetlights casting fractured reflections across the pavement. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, but the chill wasn’t from the weather. It was the memory of his silence, the image of him hunched forward, face hidden in his hands, as if the very act of looking at you hurt too much.

You walked faster.

When you finally reached your own place, you shut the door a little too hard and stood there, back pressed against it, breathing like you’d just run a marathon. The apartment was dark, quiet, untouched since you’d left that afternoon. For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like a safe haven—it just felt empty.

You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and let yourself collapse onto the couch. The silence here was worse than his silence, because there was no one else in it. No one breathing beside you, no one tossing popcorn your way, no one to nudge you and tell you that you weren’t paying attention to the movie.

Just you. And your thoughts.

You didn’t cry at first. You told yourself you wouldn’t. But the longer you stared at the blank ceiling, the more his voice replayed in your head.

Your chest ached with the weight of it until finally, your eyes blurred and the tears came hot and fast.

You fell asleep like that — still curled on the couch, phone clutched in your hand like maybe, just maybe, he’d text if you held on tight enough.

But the morning came, and your phone was still silent.

ᯤ

The moment you saw him laughing with her, your chest constricted. Not anger, not yet — but a sharp, twisting knot of jealousy you couldn’t shake. Every rehearsed excuse, every mantra of “it’s nothing,” evaporated instantly.

You turned abruptly, forcing your legs to carry you away before your hands started trembling. Your groupmate followed briefly, but you shook your head, muttering, “I just… need a minute,” and slipped into a quieter corner of the backstage maze.

The corridor was dim, shadows pooling along the walls. You pressed your back against the cool surface, curling your arms around yourself. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, each beat a warning: he’s with her. He’s laughing. Not with you.

You wanted to hate it, wanted to scold yourself for feeling this way — but it burned regardless. The jealousy wasn’t really about her. It was about him. About that part of your heart you’d thought belonged only to you, now exposed and trembling. But it was your fault.

You buried your face in your knees, willing the image to vanish. Breathe. Just breathe. But the laughter — the tilt of his head, the warmth in his smile that had once been yours alone — replayed relentlessly. You didn’t even know why you were feeling so jealous suddenly. He was only laughing with her, wasn’t he?

Minutes — or maybe hours — passed. You lost track. All you felt was the raw ache of wanting, and the frustration that came with it.

Then footsteps. Hesitant at first, measured. Your chest tightened automatically. Not him. Not yet.

And then the unmistakable rhythm of his presence: deliberate, heavy, approaching.

“Hey.” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge of frustration beneath it.

You didn’t look up. “Go away,” you muttered, voice brittle.

“No.” Softer this time, almost pleading. “I want to know why you ran.”

You forced your gaze toward him. His expression was hard, expectant, but underneath that, something else — a flicker of worry that made your chest ache even more.

“I—” Your voice caught. “I just… I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch you laughing with her. Not after… everything. And I know it’s not that serious… but like…”

His jaw tightened. “You think I was laughing with her?” His tone wasn’t anger; it was confusion, hurt, something more dangerous. “Do you even know what I was laughing at?”

“I don’t care!” you snapped, louder than intended. Heat flamed across your cheeks. “It doesn’t matter! Seeing you like that… with her… it isn’t fair. I don’t even know why. I don’t know why I feel that way.”

For a heartbeat, his gaze softened. Then frustration cracked through, sharp and unrelenting. “Not fair?” he repeated, stepping closer. “Do you know what it feels like to see you like this? To see you walk away from me because of some assumption in your head?”

You opened your mouth, but the truth you wanted to voice — a fear that he wouldn’t notice how exposed the world made you — stuck. Before you could explain, he ran a hand through his hair, the restless gesture you knew meant he was unraveling.

“Do you even hear yourself?” His voice dropped, almost a growl. “You think I could laugh with someone else the way I laugh with you? Do you think I don’t miss you at all since you left my apartment that day?”

“Maybe I don’t know anymore,” you whispered, fragile.

He froze, close enough that you could feel the heat of him. “Maybe you don’t know? Or maybe you’re lying to yourself to justify running from me? You’re the one who wanted space. You wanted to step back… from us.”

You flinched. The truth you’d been avoiding all week — the fear of losing him, the jealousy disguised as distance — was laid bare.

He studied you, chest rising and falling, eyes dark with frustration and something else, something desperate. “Stop hiding like that,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “You don’t get to run from me and pretend it’s nothing.”

The words hit like fire. You looked away, hands digging into your lap, curling tighter against yourself. The weight between you pressed down, unrelenting.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before gripping the wall beside you, the motion abrupt and violent. He crouched slightly, careful not to crowd you, giving the space you’d begged for, but not the space your heart had wanted.

“I don’t… I just don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough, almost breaking. “Why you’d want space instead of… fixing this. Fixing us. Why couldn’t we just talk it out?”

Your lips trembled. You wanted to tell him everything, scream that you were just as scared, that every heartbeat in your chest ached with the possibility of losing him.

“I… I just…” Words choked you. Tears blurred your vision. “I thought giving space would… I don’t know… make it easier. For both of us. I wasn’t thinking—”

“You weren’t thinking?” he echoed sharply, the edge fading into something desperate. “Do you know how I feel every second I’m near you? You think I don’t notice how my chest races when you touch my shoulder? Or how I’m always… hoping you’ll look at me the way I look at you?”

Your breath caught. You did. All of it — the heat, the ache, the terrifying flutter of your chest whenever he was near — you felt the same way.

“I… Jungkook,” you whispered, voice cracking, “I feel the same. I… I’m scared too. So scared.”

He inhaled sharply. Neither of you moved. Just the sound of panicked breathing, and the tension thick enough to drown in.

“I… I can’t stand the thought of losing this. Losing you,” he said quietly, raw. “I like you. I like you so much. I don’t understand why… why you’d want distance instead of letting me stay. Letting us try. Together.”

The words hit like a tidal wave. You sank against the wall, trembling, tears streaming freely. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have… called you untouchable. I was scared, I didn’t think—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, voice low, vulnerable. His hand lifted, cupping your cheek lightly, thumb brushing your tears. The simple touch made your chest flutter violently. “I get it. I get being scared. But running… that doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I just… I love you. I don’t want to admit it, but I do. I—”

He leaned closer, the heat of him pressing against you, forehead brushing yours. “I love you too,” he whispered, trembling. “I’ve been trying not to scare you with it. But you… you’re all I think about. Even when you’re not near. And I can’t… I can’t understand why you’d ever want space instead of letting me be here.”

The honesty, raw and unguarded, hit deep. You reached up, trembling hands brushing against him, holding him close. “I was wrong,” you whispered. “I was terrified… but I don’t want space. I want… you. I want this. You. I love you, Jungkook.”

His lips twitched into a fragile smile, eyes soft and glistening. “God… I can’t believe it took this long for us to say it.”

Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance. Tentative at first, the kiss fragile, searching, but it deepened, trembling and hungry. All the fear, doubt, and longing spilled into that one kiss.

After a few moments you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together. “You’re not going anywhere, right?” he whispered, hoarse and raw.

“I’m not,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I won’t.”

The door hadn’t even fully closed behind you before you were in Hyunjin’s arms.

Your bag slipped off your shoulder and landed with a soft thud somewhere near the entryway, but you couldn’t be bothered. The moment you saw him — hair loose, oversized shirt hanging comfortably on his frame — you launched forward and wrapped yourself around him like you hadn’t seen him in months.

“Hyunjin,” you mumbled against his chest, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “I missed you so much today.”

Hyunjin laughed, a warm, low sound that vibrated against your cheek. His arms came around you without hesitation, pulling you tighter against him until you felt caged by his body heat. He tilted his head down, strands of hair brushing your temple as he spoke, tone teasing but dripping with affection.

“You literally saw me two days ago, my love.”

“I don’t care,” you said immediately, hugging him tighter, like if you let go, he might vanish. “It feels like forever.”

He chuckled again, trying to pull back just enough to look at you, but you refused, burying your face deeper into his chest. “Ah, you’re not gonna let me breathe, are you?” he teased, his hand sliding gently up and down your back.

“Not today,” you mumbled stubbornly. “I want to be stuck to you. Like glue.”

Hyunjin shook his head, still smiling, his hands now rubbing slow, soothing circles over your waist. “My clingy baby,” he said softly, almost under his breath. “I swear you get cuter every time you do this.”

Finally, you tilted your head up, pouting at him, eyes wide and warm. He froze for a moment, lips parting slightly as he caught the look on your face — the kind of look that made his chest tighten. Then he grinned, tapping a finger gently under your chin.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he asked, though the question carried no frustration — just affection laced with something a little deeper.

“Just hold me,” you whispered, and that was all it took.

Hyunjin bent down, pressing his lips softly against yours — slow, lingering, nothing rushed. It was the kind of kiss that felt like coming home, like the missing piece of your day had finally clicked into place.

Hyunjin let you cling as much as you wanted, his soft laughter filling the dorm’s quiet entryway. But when your arms refused to budge from around his neck, he sighed playfully, hooking a hand under your thighs.

“Alright, if you won’t let go, then I’m carrying you,” he said, effortlessly lifting you.

You squeaked, clutching him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist. “That’s not a punishment,” you teased.

“Wasn’t meant to be.” His grin was mischievous as he carried you down the hall, nudging the bedroom door open with his foot. The space was comfortably messy — his sketchbook tossed on the desk, a hoodie draped over the chair, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

He set you down on the bed, but before he could straighten up, you tugged on his shirt and pulled him down with you. “Stay,” you whispered, eyes soft but insistent.

Hyunjin braced himself above you, strands of hair falling into his face as he looked at you. His lips curved into a knowing smile. “You really missed me that much?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, tugging him even closer until your noses nearly brushed. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since this morning.”

That made him laugh — quiet, breathy, almost disbelieving. But when his lips finally pressed to yours, there was nothing playful about the way he kissed you this time.

It started slow, like he was savoring the taste of you, but quickly deepened when you fisted the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer. His mouth was warm, soft but insistent, and he tilted his head just enough to slot perfectly against you. The kiss turned hungrier, wetter, the kind that left your head spinning.

Hyunjin’s hand slid along your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he angled you up to meet him. The other hand pressed against your waist, pinning you lightly against the mattress. He groaned quietly into your mouth when you tugged at his hair, the sound vibrating through you.

When he pulled back for only a second, his lips were pink, glistening, his breathing uneven. “You don’t play fair,” he murmured, voice rougher than before.

You smirked, tugging him back down. “Neither do you.”

And then his mouth was on yours again, this time more desperate — his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, asking for more.

The kiss deepened until you were breathless, your fingers tangled in Hyunjin’s hair as if you could anchor yourself with him alone. He groaned softly against your mouth when you tugged, the sound shooting straight through you, making your stomach flip.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he muttered between kisses, his lips dragging down to your jawline. His breath was warm against your skin as he pressed slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your jaw, then lower, toward your neck.

Your back arched instinctively, a soft sound escaping when his mouth found that spot just under your ear. He smirked against your skin, teeth grazing lightly before soothing the area with his tongue. “Missed me, huh? Or just this?” His voice was low, teasing, but laced with something darker.

“Both,” you whispered, gasping when his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, warm fingers brushing against your bare waist. His thumb stroked lazy circles there, possessive and gentle all at once, while his mouth explored every inch of your neck.

Hyunjin hummed, pleased with your answer, before capturing your lips again. This time, the kiss was messier — tongues brushing, teeth clashing lightly. His weight pressed you down into the mattress, his body slotting perfectly against yours. You could feel the way his breathing grew heavier, the way his grip on your hip tightened each time you pulled him closer.

When you nipped at his bottom lip, he groaned — low and rough, the sound sending sparks through you. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hair falling into his eyes, lips red and swollen. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You smiled breathlessly, brushing your thumb over his lips. “Worth it. Your fans and members might kill me if you die, but it’s worth it.”

His laugh was short, almost disbelieving, before he kissed you again — harder this time, like he couldn’t get enough. His hand slid higher under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, his touch burning everywhere it went.

Every kiss felt like fire, every brush of his lips leaving you dizzy and wanting more.

Hyunjin kissed you like he was starving, like every second apart had been unbearable. His mouth moved against yours with raw urgency, lips parting, tongue teasing yours until you were gasping.

When his hand slid further up beneath your shirt, fingers skimming just under your ribs, you shivered, pressing closer. He smirked against your mouth, clearly feeling your reaction. “Sensitive,” he murmured, his breath hot against your lips.

You were about to answer, but then he shifted his hips against yours — just the slightest grind, accidental or not, but enough to drag a sharp gasp from you. His grin turned wicked at the sound.

“Missed me that much?” he teased, his voice low and thick with amusement, though his own breathing was ragged.

“Don’t act like you didn’t miss this too,” you shot back, tugging him down until your lips crashed together again.

The kiss turned sloppy, desperate, teeth grazing lips, tongues tangling until you were both breathless. Hyunjin’s hand found your thigh, squeezing firmly before sliding upward, dragging your leg around his waist to pull you flush against him. The pressure made your head spin, a quiet whimper slipping out before you could stop it.

The sound nearly undid him. He broke the kiss only to bury his face in your neck, biting back a groan as he pressed against you harder, his hips moving in slow, deliberate rolls that left no space between you. His teeth grazed your skin before sucking lightly at the base of your throat, and you could feel him smile against you when your breath hitched.

“God, I love it when you’re like this,” he whispered, voice rough, lips brushing your pulse. “Clingy, needy… all mine.”

His words sent heat pooling low in your stomach, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as you pulled him impossibly closer. Your bodies moved together in a rhythm that blurred the line between kissing and something hungrier, his lips never leaving your skin for long.

When his mouth found yours again, it was fiercer than ever — messy, wet, desperate. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe, swallowing your little gasps as he ground against you with more urgency.

“Hyunjin—” you breathed between kisses, the sound half a plea, half a warning.