Archive of Our Own

Work Text

The shrill blare of your alarm yanks you out of sleep, echoing sharply from somewhere across the room. With a groggy whine, you fling a pillow in its direction—only to notice the noise is coming from your phone. You groan and peel yourself out of bed, checking your phone after turning off the alarm. The time blinks back at you mercilessly. Your first day back at university, after almost a week, you’ll be late if you don’t hurry.

Muttering a quick curse under your breath, you throw down your phone and grab some clothes from your closet: a red and black plaid skirt, fishnets, a random band tee you stole from Taehyung, and your well-worn, thrifted combat boots, a staple of yours. You quickly throw on some simple makeup with heavy and smudged black eyeliner and brush your hair with your fingers before grabbing your phone and bag and practically running out the door.

You barely make it to school on time, breathing a sigh of relief as you glance down at your phone:

8:00 a.m., Monday, October 4th.

"I have about 15 minutes before my first class,"
you mutter.

Before you can tuck your phone into your bag, you feel it vibrate. You smile as you see ‘Yoon Man’ flash across the screen. You answer, unable to resist teasing him a little. “Well, good morning to you, too,” you say, knowing exactly how much he despises being up this early.

A low, annoyed groan filters through the line. “Don’t start,” Yoongi mutters, his voice thick with irritation. He pauses, sighing heavily. “Just calling to remind you we’ve got practice today.”

“As if I’d forget.” You scoff, feigning offense as you fall into step, strolling down the hallway. Yoongi chuckles softly on the other end before you hear the

'beep beep beep'

of your call being cut short. He unknowingly helped calm your nerves about being back at school.

"Hey, you!" A voice sharply calls out behind you. Before you have time to turn around and react, you feel a firm grip on your wrist pulling you down the hall.

As you glance up, you spot the back of a boy’s head—his longer, wavy hair gathered into a loose ponytail. You barely have time to process it before being pulled into the bathroom. He slams the door shut, locking it behind him with a quick, decisive click.

You look up, and there he is—

Jeon Jungkook.

You’ve never formally met him, but his reputation precedes him, shadowed by countless rumors. He grins at you, a sparkle in his eyes that you can’t quite read and an air of casual ease that somehow makes him even more infuriating. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap, narrowing your eyes as you rub the soreness from your wrist, still stinging from his grip.

He smirks, clearly enjoying your irritation, and leans in, his voice dropping to a smooth, playful tone. “I need you to do something for me.” His head tilts as he studies you, flashing a lopsided smile that’s a touch too practiced, a hint too fake—and it sends a chill down your spine despite the easy charm in his gaze.

You look him up and down, finally getting a good look at him before crossing your arms across your chest. "And the way you want to ask me this is by locking me in the bathroom?" You raise an eyebrow, your voice thick with irritation.

He lets out a low, frustrated groan. “I just need you to listen to me for a minute, okay?” He sounds as if he’s trying to keep his usual smooth charm intact. He steps closer, his playful smile fading just enough to reveal a flicker of annoyance beneath it.

As he moves closer, it’s impossible not to notice just how handsome he is. He has big, round, doe-like eyes that are a beautiful shade of brown. His nose is flat at the tip, and his fake smile is charming, even if it does creep you out a little. "I never said I wasn't listening." You reply, trying to mask your unease.

You feel the cold bathroom door against your back as Jungkook steps closer, his hands sliding to rest on either side of your shoulders. He takes a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. "I need you to do me this favor." He looks deep into your eyes, making you even more uncomfortable about the situation.
Your eyebrows furrow at his words. "A favor? I don't even know you; I only know of you." Your voice wavers slightly, frustration bleeding into the words. And what I know isn’t exactly promising.
You attempt to brush his hands off your shoulders, but he tightens his grip in response. You feel your chest growing heavy with anxiety and irritation.

Seriously? Who does he think he is? The main love interest in a drama?

He’s close—too close—and the faint scent of him invades your senses: clean clothes fresh out of the dryer, undercut with a hint of musk, probably his deodorant. You feel your stomach twist, a mix of annoyance and something you’d rather not name.

Focus. He’s not special. Not even close.

"It's not that deep, okay? Just hear me out." He rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh before his gaze locks onto yours once more.

Your heart stutters in your chest, the intensity of his stare igniting a fresh wave of anxiety. Not that deep?

That’s rich coming from someone who has me pinned against a door like this. What kind of ‘favor’ even requires this level of dramatics?

"Well, spit it out then." You almost hiss in response. You can feel your patience growing thin as that heavy feeling in your chest continues to grow.

I’m gonna vomit.

Your palms feel clammy, your fingers curl into loose fists at your sides, nails digging lightly into your palms. Your breath catches in your throat for a moment before you force it out, trying to maintain a façade of control.

He wouldn't actually hurt you. Right?

Your knees lock instinctively, as though bracing yourself for a fight-or-flight moment. A faint buzzing fills your ears, and you’re acutely aware of the heat creeping up your neck. He’s still staring at you, his dark eyes unwavering.

Why won’t he just get to the point already? This is unbearable. What if he—

You shove the thought away before it can spiral further. Your jaw clenches, and you force yourself to hold his gaze, even though the weight of it makes your skin prickle.

Don’t show him you’re rattled.

Just focus. Breathe. Just like Yoongi taught you. In through you nose out through your mouth.

He takes another deep breath and brings his face down closer to yours. "I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for a week. That's all I need you to do." He flashes you another fake, award-winning smile, the kind that’s disarmingly charming yet entirely unnerving.

"THE FUCK?" You yell into his face.

Did he really just ask you that?

The absurdity of the request hangs heavy in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless.

He groans at your outburst, swiftly covering your mouth with his left hand. “Be quiet, will you?! I need you to do this.” You glare up at him, but he remains unfazed, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear. “All I need you to do is pretend to be my girlfriend. Don’t overcomplicate it—just say yes.”

"Why should I?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Is he serious right now?

Your mind races, caught between disbelief and irritation.

Does he think I’m just waiting around for him to swoop in with his ridiculous demands? Who even does that?

Your stomach churns as you try to process what’s happening.

Pretend to be his girlfriend? For what? And why me? There are about a hundred other girls in this school who’d probably jump at the chance. So why is he standing here, breathing down my neck like I’m his only option?

You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms as if that alone could shield you from the mess he’s clearly trying to drag you into.

Whatever his reason is, it’s not good enough.

He groans and backs away from you, placing his hands on his hips. "I need a girl to pretend to be my girlfriend just for a week." He says with a weary sigh.

You huff, the disbelief bubbling in your chest threatening to spill over. “I want to know the reasoning behind this ridiculous request,” you can feel your muscles relax a little no longer feeling that you are in danger. “Because I’d be sacrificing my peace here at school for you.”

And peace isn’t exactly something I have a lot of to begin with. You internally cringe at the thought of the chaos this would bring—the whispers, the stares, the inevitable drama. Being the ‘Golden Boy’s girlfriend’? Yeah, no thanks. Your stomach churns as the reality of it settles in.

Everyone loves him. He’s good at literally everything. Perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect charm. But beneath all that ‘perfection,’ there’s a reputation that follows him like a shadow—his love of women.

Of all the people in this school, he picks me? Why? And why the hell does he think I’d agree?

Jungkook groans, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “It’s my parents,” he admits as he turns away from you. “They keep pestering me about when I’ll get a girlfriend, and honestly, I just can’t deal with it anymore.”

You blink, caught between disbelief and amusement. “Then go get a girlfriend? You’ve got tons of girls interested in you.” Your tone is sharp, almost mocking, because seriously—what is this guy’s problem?

You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh. Does he really not see the irony here? Women practically throw themselves at him for even a sliver of attention. Hell, half the school would line up just for the chance to say they’ve kissed him.

Then a thought hits you, making your stomach churn. Wait, is he pulling that cliché ‘you’re not interested in me, so now I’m interested in you’ nonsense? You nearly gag at the idea. God, gross. Don’t flatter yourself, Jungkook.

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. You can tell patience isn’t his strong suit. "It’s complicated, okay? I don’t need my parents up my ass about a relationship right now, so pretend to be my girlfriend just for a week, and I’ll pay you." His eyes flick down to your wrist, lingering on the faint red mark left behind. His tone softens slightly. “And I’m sorry for being so aggressive. I couldn’t exactly bring this up in the hallway.”

You pause, studying him carefully. He almost seems genuine—or at least as genuine as someone making such a ridiculous request can be. Still, your gaze sweeps over him, searching for something—anything—that might betray his true intentions. His body language screams frustration.

Is he always this impossible to read?

Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms. "You aren’t exactly making me want to say yes," you reply flatly, watching as he closes his eyes tightly, clearly wrestling with his composure.

"Come on, I’m literally offering to pay. What do you want me to do?" He sighs deeply before turning his gaze back to you.

Your thoughts linger on his words.

Pay.

Your band could really use new equipment—Yoongi’s drum set is practically held together by sheer will power at this point. Yoongi and Taehyung have done so much for you; maybe you can survive Jungkook for just a week.

Right?

A shiver runs down your spine as his dark eyes bore into yours. “Beg… on my knees?" He says it like a joke, but there’s a flicker of something desperate in his expression.

You smirk, tilting your head up at him. "That’s not a bad idea."

You’ve already made up your mind to take his offer, but not without teasing him a little first.

His tongue presses into his cheek, his jaw visibly tightening. "You really want me to get on my knees and beg?"

You purse your lips, barely containing a laugh at his irritated expression. "God, no. Take a joke, dude."

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he replies, as you see his right eye twitch. “Anyway, will you help me or not?” He crosses his arms, shifting his weight in annoyance, the frustration clear on his face.

You heave a loud sigh. "You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today." You almost surprise yourself with your willingness to agree to this.

His face lights up as he realizes you are going to help him. "Thank you." He gives you a light pat on the head before walking towards the door.

"Uh, excuse me?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

That’s it? Was he just going to leave with no other context?

He looks back at you cocking his head to the side, his hand already on the doorknob. "What?"

"Are there any terms and conditions I should be aware of?" You shift your weight from one leg to another, slightly uncomfortable and irritated.

He pauses, giving you a once-over before a smug smirk spreads across his face. “Don’t actually fall in love with me, alright?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, a look of pure disgust crossing your face. "Yeah, that’s pretty easy. Don't worry about that."

Good to know he doesn't like you in that way, I guess.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound smooth and a little too confident; he raises his hands in defense. "Hey, I'm just saying I’ve had girls fall in love with me for way less."

You roll your eyes, an annoyed scoff escaping your lips. “God, you’re such a prick. Let me out of the bathroom—now.” He opens the door and steps aside, motioning for you to go first. “Oh, wait. Hold on.”

Jungkook looks at you suspiciously, furrowing his eyebrows at you. "What is it now?" You take a piece of paper from your bag and write down your number.

“If you need me this week, here’s my number. And after the week is over, make sure to delete it,

Mr. Boyfriend.

” You hand him the slip of paper, blowing him a kiss in your usual goodbye fashion before turning and heading off to class.

His hand wraps around your wrist for the second time. “Hold on—I want to set some ground rules actually,” he snaps, clearly annoyed.

"Well, you can talk and walk then because you will make me late for class." You growl back.

“So, other than not falling in love with you, what other rules are there?” you hiss, rubbing your wrist in annoyance as he finally lets go.

He has a bad habit of grabbing you.

You take a mental note.

Jungkook holds up his fingers, counting off each rule as he lists them. “One: no falling in love with me, duh. Two: no doing anything too intimate—no kissing or anything, just holding hands and cuddling. Three: be a convincing ‘girlfriend’; pretend to be all lovey-dovey and stuff.” The way he sounds so confident that you might fall in love with him really pisses you off.

“Well, I also have some rules,” you say with a smirk, mimicking him as you list yours. “One: no falling in love with me. Two: you can only touch my hands, arms, and head; if you touch anywhere else, I’ll break your hand. Three: try not to be insufferable to be around.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “What the hell? I’m going to be insufferable? Don’t insult me like that! I’m

charming

to be around!”

You laugh, giving him a playful pat on the head. “Sure you are, sweetie.” Pausing in front of your classroom, you add, “See you later, Mr. Boyfriend.” You blow him a teasing kiss before heading inside.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll text you later,” he grumbles. Glancing back, you catch him adjusting his hair with a mildly annoyed expression.

You sat through your first class, barely registering anything the professor said. It wasn’t because of your new fake boyfriend but the excitement about band practice with Yoongi and Taehyung after such a long break. This was your fourth time out of the hospital this year. Any surge of stress or excitement left you fainting. Ever since your parents passed a few years back, those intense emotions have felt like too much to handle. You just wanted to sing with your friends again, to feel free—even if only for a while—without worrying about what tomorrow might bring.

After several mind-numbing classes, you barely paid attention to, three o'clock finally arrived—band practice time. You practically bolted out of class, but of course, things couldn’t be that easy. You ran face-first into Jungkook’s chest. Glaring up at him while rubbing your nose, you huffed, “What the hell, dude?”

He looks down at you, flashing a smug grin and raising an eyebrow. “What? I just came to pick up my

girlfriend

after her classes were over.” He emphasizes

girlfriend

, making sure everyone nearby hears him.

Oh, for the love of—.

You can practically feel your classmates’ eyes boring into you.

Realizing that the fake relationship is officially underway, you slip your arm through his, pulling it close to your chest. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you, baby!” you say, flashing him an exaggeratedly sweet smile.

To your annoyance, his arm feels softer than you’d expected. Why does that irritate you more?

Jungkook glances down at you, trying and almost failing to hide a scoff at your sudden shift in tone. “Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” he mutters, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

You give his arm a sharp pinch, making him flinch. “Let’s go, honey!” you say with a forced cheeriness, dragging him around the corner and away from the gawking eyes in the classroom. The moment you’re out of sight, your smile drops, and you scowl up at him. “Don’t

ever

surprise me like that again, Jungkook.”

He quickly pulls his arm free, rubbing the spot where you pinched him. “You know, if I’d known you were this mean, maybe I’d have asked someone else to play ‘girlfriend.’” He frowns, looking down at you with a mix of irritation and amusement.

“Maybe you should have done that, then,” you say, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, sweet as sugar but laced with sarcasm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have band practice.” As you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist, pulling you back to face him. You glare at him, hissing, “You really have a bad habit of grabbing me.”

He quickly releases your wrist, holding his hands up in mock apology. “Sorry. I was just curious about your practice—I didn’t know you were into music, let alone in a band.” His eyes light up and glitter with excitement.

His eyes light up with genuine excitement, and for a moment, you pause.

Why does he seem so interested?

But you don’t have time to unpack it.

“Yes, I am,” you reply coolly, stepping back. “And because of your little stunt, I’m going to be late. So, I’ll catch you later.”

You turn to walk away, but then pause, glancing over your shoulder with a narrowed gaze. “Don’t you dare follow me,” you warn, your tone sharp.

You make a few turns, and with each step, you glance back—Jungkook isn’t behind you. You let out a quiet sigh of relief before pushing open the door to the spare classroom. As soon as you step inside, the annoyed glares of your bandmates, Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung, hit you. They're already looking at you like you’ve committed a crime for being late.

“Late, again,” Yoongi mutters, glancing from his watch back to you with an expression of mild disbelief. “You’re really going to be late on your first day back to practice? You have a bad habit of that.”

Taehyung groans loudly, throwing his head back in mock exasperation. “You’re late again! What is it with you and time?”

You wince, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, yeah, Yoongi. Thanks for the reminder this morning,” you reply with a roll of your eyes before giving Taehyung a playful glare. “And thanks for the moral support, Tae.”

You can’t help but laugh at their irritation. “Alright, alright, I swear, this time I’ve actually got a good reason.”

Yoongi scoffs, rolling his eyes. "What, what was so important that you were late for band practice?" His gaze is intense, a sharp contrast to the concern that’s barely hidden beneath his irritation. While his words are harsh, you know better than anyone that Yoongi could never truly be angry with you over something so small.

"Apparently, I have a boyfriend now." You smile, crossing your arms as you glance between both boys.

Taehyung and Yoongi exchange a look before turning back to you, both clearly confused. "You have a what?" they ask in unison.

You double over, laughing at their stunned expressions. “Jungkook is paying me to pretend to be his girlfriend for a week.”

They both stare at you in disbelief and after a beat, Taehyung finally breaks the silence. “So… he’s paying you to be his fake girlfriend?” he repeats, almost as if to confirm he heard you right.

"Yup! Now we can get some better equipment." You glance at Yoongi's shabby drum set with a raised eyebrow.

Your chest tightens, remembering why he’s stuck with that old kit in the first place. He had to quit his part-time job just to help you keep it together—your mess became his responsibility.

I have to do something for him in return.

Yoongi sighs heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting being involved in this conversation. “Only you would agree to something as strange and weird as that. This better not blow up in your face,” he says, his voice a mix of exasperation and a hint of unspoken concern.

“Oh, please. Like you wouldn’t come running to save me if it came down to it.” You fold your arms dramatically and tilt your head with mock defiance. “You need your vocalist, after all.”

Yoongi snorts. "I’m just saying, this dude sounds like a creep."

"Oh, he definitely is. The most popular guy in school picks one of the only punk girls to pretend to be his girlfriend?” You laugh. “ AT LEAST I’m getting paid.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and leans back, folding his arms as he drops onto the drum stool with a grunt. “Of course, you’re getting paid. That’s the only way you’d agree to pretend to be his girlfriend.” He drums his fingers on the edge of the kit, clearly irritated.

Taehyung blinks, shaking his head like he’s snapping out of a trance. "Wait, how much is he paying you?"

“Oh my god, I forgot to ask!” Your jaw drops, and you slap a hand to your forehead in disbelief.

Of course, you forgot.

Yoongi sighs, mirroring your gesture with his own hand against his forehead. “Of course you did. I’m not even surprised. Did you at least establish any rules with him?”

“Obviously!” You roll your eyes, counting off on your fingers. “Rule one: he’s not allowed to fall in love with me. Rule two: he can only touch my hands, arms, and head. And rule three: he cannot, under any circumstances, be insufferable to be around.”

Taehyung and Yoongi exchange a wary glance; eyebrows raised, clearly questioning your sanity.

You let out a small huff. “His rules? I can’t fall for him; we’re keeping it strictly PG, and I actually have to convince people I’m a real girlfriend.”

How am I supposed to even be convincing? He better have a plan.

"So, all that’s going to happen is you hold hands and… No kissing?" Yoongi’s voice is casual, but there’s a hint of tension as he asks, looking visibly relieved when you confirm it.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, raising an eyebrow. "Hell no," you scoff, rolling your eyes for emphasis. "I’d rather die than kiss him!" You scrunch your face in disgust. "Plus, he can’t get all touchy either—he’s got clear boundaries: head, arms, and hands only."

Yoongi sighs, clearly relieved. "Well, thank god for that. But isn’t it gonna be weird for you? Pretending to be in a relationship with some popular ass guy?"

"Oh no, it’s totally weird!" You scoff, shaking your head as the memory of this morning’s interaction floods back. "I still can’t believe he told me not to fall in love with him. Like, are you kidding me? Fucking ridiculous."

Taehyung’s fingers still over the strings of his guitar for a moment before resuming, the sound soft and almost hesitant. His voice is quieter than usual. "What if you actually do fall in love, though?"

The room falls deathly silent. You and Yoongi both freeze mid-motion, your eyes snapping to Taehyung as though he’s just spoken some forbidden truth. "Are you serious?" Yoongi’s voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and disbelieving, but there’s a weight to it, a subtle threat of unease.

Taehyung leans back slightly, meeting your gaze with an unsettling steadiness. There’s no playful quirk of his lips, no teasing spark in his eyes like he usually has. "What? It happens," he says plainly, his tone disarmingly calm. "People fall in love when they least expect it."

A chill snakes down your spine, cold and unrelenting, rooting you to the spot. The blood drains from your face, leaving you lightheaded. "Don't make me sick, Tae," you snap, but your voice betrays you—lower and unsteady.

Yoongi shifts in his seat. His usual nonchalant expression falters, replaced by something harder to read—something taut and uncomfortable. He clears his throat, his voice rough and clipped as he tries to steer the moment back to safer ground. "Enough of this crap," he mutters, his tone almost forceful. "We have work to do. Let’s get focused."

The weight in the room lingers a moment longer, thick and suffocating, before the soft hum of Taehyung’s guitar strings eases back in. But the tension doesn’t dissipate entirely—it hangs there, unspoken and unresolved, like a shadow neither of you are ready to face.

You all drop the topic of Jungkook and dive into band practice. Hours fly by, and it isn’t until the fading light outside catches your eye that you realize how late it’s gotten. Yoongi and Taehyung start packing up their equipment, while you gulp down some water, trying to cool the dryness in your throat. "Good job today, guys!" you say, grinning.

Yoongi rolls his eyes as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, you did good too, even though you were late—like always." He smirks, clearly waiting for your response.

You shoot him a playful glare. "I told you I had a good reason, didn’t I?"

Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. "Pretending to be in a fake relationship with the most popular guy in school is not a good enough reason to excuse being late to band practice."

You pout at Taehyung, exaggerating the quiver of your bottom lip. “I’m sorry. Could you ever forgive me?” You clasp your hands together, blinking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. Taehyung has always been the softer one with you, and you know exactly how to play your cards.

Taehyung immediately bursts into laughter, clutching his chest in mock pain. “How could I

ever

stay mad at you? You’re way too cute when you’re apologizing,” he says, grinning wide.

You can’t help but smile back, the warmth in his expression settling over you like a hug.

I hope Tae knows how much he really means to me. He always knows how to brighten the mood, even when I probably don’t deserve it.

Yoongi snorts from behind his drum kit, his eyes narrowing as he leans back with his arms crossed. “Cute? More like manipulative,” he deadpans. “You’re

always

asking to be forgiven. Here’s an idea—just show up on time for once, and maybe we won’t have to keep forgiving you.”

“Hey!” You whirl on him, hands on your hips. “I said I was sorry! You’re so grumpy, Yoongi. I swear, you act like being two minutes late is a crime against humanity.”

“It’s never just two minutes,” Yoongi retorts, raising an eyebrow at you. “And being on time is the

bare minimum

.”

“Hardass,” Taehyung mutters, shaking his head as he smacks Yoongi lightly on the arm. “Cut her some slack. She had a long day. Besides, it’s not like you’ve

never

been late before.”

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You two are impossible.”

You flash them both a radiant smile, stepping toward the door with a little bounce in your step. “I’ll

try my best

tomorrow,” you promise with faux sincerity, throwing a playful kiss over your shoulder as you reach for the handle. “Goodnight, boys!”

“Don’t trip on the way out!” Yoongi calls after you, shaking his head, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Once the door swings shut behind you, the room grows quiet, the faint echo of your laughter fading into the hallway. Taehyung’s playful demeanor softens, his fingers fidgeting with the pick in his hand. He glances at Yoongi, his voice lowering. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Yoongi looks at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he lets out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admits, his tone quieter, heavier. “But you know how she is. She won’t say anything until it’s too late. She never does.”

Taehyung nods solemnly, a shadow of concern flickering in his eyes. “I just... I don’t want her to burn herself out. She’s already got enough going on without adding this whole thing with Jungkook.”

Yoongi leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m worried, too, Tae. But you know her. Once she’s made up her mind, there’s no stopping her.”

They sit in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared concern hanging in the air. Finally, Yoongi pushes himself to his feet, grabbing his bag. “Come on. We can’t do much about it tonight. Let’s get out of here.”

Taehyung lingers for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the door where you’d just disappeared, before slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder and following Yoongi out. The two of them walk out into the night, their unspoken worry trailing behind them like a shadow.

Once you arrive home, you start getting ready for bed. As you’re removing your makeup and slipping into your pajamas, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. After climbing into bed, you grab your phone and check the message.

Unknown number:

Hey. It's Jungkook.

You hesitate for a moment before saving his name and number in your contacts, then finally respond.

You:

ok

Before you can even lock your phone, another text comes through.

Jungkook:

Just wanted to make sure this is the right number lol 👍

You roll your eyes, setting your phone down as you start to drift off to sleep. But just as you begin to relax, another buzz from your phone jolts you awake. You groan and check it again.

Jungkook:

Wait, don’t leave me on read, I swear I have a good reason for texting at this late at night!

You:

What is your reason then?

He takes a moment longer to respond than usual, and just as you’re about to put your phone down, a new message pops up.

Jungkook:

I just wanted to talk to my 'girlfriend', can’t I do that? 🥴

You scoff at your phone, your thumb hovering over the screen as you debate whether or not to respond.

You:

well boyfriend if there isn’t anything to talk about then I’m going to bed

Jungkook:

But there is something to talk about, it’s about us 😏

You can physically feel yourself cringe at his message.

You:

what about us darling?

Jungkook:

We need to establish some more rules, there’s something we didn’t talk about this afternoon

You:

go on

Jungkook:

We never talked about public displays of affection. Hand holding is fine but we need to establish how much physical contact is gonna be allowed

You:

Why do we need to do PDA? I figured I would just meet your parents and then we are all good

Jungkook:

They tease me all the time for never seeing the same girl twice.

Jungkook:

They think something is wrong with me and I can’t keep a girl

You re-read his message a few times and think it over before finally responding.

You:

I thought this was for your parents not your friends

This time, his response takes longer. The text bubble pops up and disappears a few times before his message finally comes through.

Jungkook:

I mean yeah, but I need to show my friends also soooo, how’s a kiss on the cheek, holding hands, and having my arm around your shoulders?

You:

that’s fine but don’t get too carried away because i wasn’t joking about breaking your hand

Jungkook:

Wow you’re brutal, I’ll make sure to not do anything that’s too much for you, how could I possibly scare away my fake girlfriend, right? 😏

You groan and your fingers circle your keyboard a few times, frustrated, before you type out another message.

You:

I have a question for you boyfriend

Not even a second passes before he responds.

Jungkook:

Shoot

You:

Why did you pick the one punk girl in school to be your fake girlfriend?

Jungkook takes a while to respond, and just as you're about to lock your phone, it lights up again with his message.

Jungkook:

Well, you’re the only girl that’s attractive at this school that isn’t popular, plus, I’ve been lowkey obsessed with punk girls

You scrunch your face as if you just had a lemon shoved in your mouth.

You:

Gross.

He texts back immediately, his words seemingly laced with offense.

Jungkook:

What do you mean gross? Whats wrong with loving punk girls?

You’re done with the back-and-forth and decide to leave him on read. You lock your phone and set it down, only for it to light up again a few minutes later with another message from him.

Jungkook:

Oh hell no, don’t ignore me, don’t leave me of read again, I know you’re awake, answer me

Jungkook:

Don’t ignore me

Jungkook:

I know you’re awake

Jungkook:

I’ll continue to spam you if you don’t answer me

Jungkook:

punk

You can’t help but laugh at his irritation, finally deciding to send him one last message.

You:

I need my beauty rest, I’ll see you tomorrow 🖕

Jungkook:

Wow, that’s a mean response to your boyfriend, whatever happened to being all lovey dovey with me? 💔

You turn off his notifications and lock your phone, placing it face down on the table, finally allowing yourself to sleep.

Meanwhile, Jungkook is still sitting up in bed, hunched over his phone. He stares at the screen in disbelief. "Is she serious? How can she just stop responding to me?!" He continues to spam your phone with messages a few more times before he finally realizes you're no longer reading them. With a frustrated huff, he sends one final message.

Jungkook:

Whatever, goodnight 'girlfriend'

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You wake up the next day before your alarm even has a chance to buzz, the faint morning light sneaking through your curtains. Your phone sits on your nightstand, the screen lighting up as you unlock it. Seven missed messages from Jungkook. With a quiet laugh, you start scrolling through his frustrated texts, making your lips twitch upward.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffle to the bathroom, your feet padding softly against the cool floor. In the mirror, yesterday’s eyeliner clings stubbornly to the skin under your eyes. A faint sigh escapes your lips.

I really need to stop falling asleep with my makeup on.

After a quick rinse, you start pulling together your look for the day. You adorn yourself with a short black skirt, a cropped band tee, and, of course, the trusty fishnets and scuffed combat boots—the ones that have seen more action than most of your classmates.

Your hair goes up in two spiky buns. You apply your usual heavy black smudged eyeliner. Satisfied with the reflection staring back at you, you sling your bag over your shoulder and step out into the world.

The morning air is cool against your skin, and the walk to school is quiet, almost peaceful. Leaves crunch underfoot as you trace the familiar path. It’s a small pocket of calm, a contrast to the chaos you’re certain awaits you.

But the calm shatters the moment you reach the school gates. Leaning casually against the metal bars, straw between his lips is none other than Jungkook. His sharp features soften into an infuriatingly confident smirk as soon as he spots you.

You stop in your tracks, sighing as he kicks off the gate and strolls toward you like he owns the place.

"Good morning," you mumble, your tone flat as you try to brush past him.

"Morning to you too,

girlfriend,

" he drawls, his voice teasing. He steps into your path, blocking your way as his smirk deepens.

You catch the faint, fresh scent of him—clean, warm, and frustratingly pleasant for someone so annoying. It’s almost... comforting. A strange flutter stirs in your stomach, but you shake it off before the thought can go any further.

You narrow your eyes at him, annoyance prickling at the edges of your composure. "What do you want, Jungkook?"

"I waited for you," he says, holding out his hand with a playful tilt of his head. "Don’t you feel loved?"

The audacity in his tone makes you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. You hum in response and cross your arms.

You scoff. "I'm guessing your friends are lurking around here somewhere this morning?" Your eyes flick down to his extended hand, then back up to meet his gaze.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, that smug grin never leaving his face. "What did I do to get such a smart ‘

girlfriend’

? What gave it away? My charming company or the sheer genius of my plan?" He lowers his hand in an exaggerated motion, placing it casually in his pocket.

You can feel your eye twitch, and you purse your lips.

Charming? Please.

“They’re waiting in the courtyard,” he continues, leaning in slightly, his breath tickling your ear, “Where plenty of people can witness our love story. So, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime,

'girlfriend'

?”

The word drips with mockery, and you can’t help but notice the sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

I could win an award just for tolerating this guy.

You exhale sharply, your mind already racing through ways to get through this without strangling him.

Without missing a beat, you hug his arm and flash him a sweet smile. "Well then, what are we waiting for, ‘boyfriend’?"

You feel Jungkook stiffen at your unexpected touch, but it’s only for a second before he recovers his usual nonchalant demeanor. He leads you through the school hallways, and as expected, eyes begin to follow. Whispers and stares bubble up around you, with a few girls casting you dirty looks. You lean in a little closer to him and whisper, “I hope this is the reaction you wanted.”

He scans the room with a grin that could light up the whole school. “Oh, this is exactly the reaction I wanted, baby.”

You whisper back, maintaining the fake ‘in-love’ expression. “I think you’re sick in the head, dude.”

He chuckles lightly under his breath. "Please, this is the type of attention I'm used to having. People are jealous because they know they'll never have someone as good as me." He says that like it's a fact. His narcissistic personality is on full display.

He stops in front of a group of three boys, all eyes now on you. "Baby, I would like you to meet my friends. Boys, this is my girlfriend."

The boys exchange confused glances before one finally speaks up, clearly stunned. “Well, well, well, it’s the man himself, showing up at school with a girl. Never thought I’d see the day.”

You give a small, polite wave. "It's nice to finally meet Jungkook's friends." They all exchange looks before returning polite greetings, though there's a certain curiosity in their glances.

Jungkook places his hand on the small of your back. "I told you I would introduce you to them soon."

You lean into him just enough to make the movement look casual, but the tension in your voice is unmistakable when you whisper, "Get your hand off my back if you want to keep it."

There's a moment of stillness, and you can practically feel the smirk on his face. Slowly, he pulls his hand away, but not without giving you a playful nudge. "Sorry,

my love

. I don’t mean to embarrass you." His voice is loud enough for his friends to hear, the emphasis on ‘my love’ dripping with sarcasm.

You don't miss the glint in his eyes like he's enjoying every bit of this. And you can't deny you hate how much it gets under your skin.

He wants to play this game? Fine. Let’s play.

You look up at him and speak in the sweetest voice you can muster. "Where are we going on our date later? You said you had something special planned for me!"

You can feel him wince at your overly cutesy tone, but he keeps his cool. "Yeah, I’ve got something special planned for you, but I want it to be a surprise until we get there. I want you to be excited, darling." The word ‘darling’ sounds forced, as if he's trying to get through it without completely gagging. You glance over at his friends, who look like they’re ready to burst out laughing.

"I know, I know," Jungkook continues, straightening up, "I’m the sweetest boyfriend, aren’t I?"

"Aww, you are so sweet!" You lean in close, whispering, "But I don’t think they’re buying this act."

Jungkook leans down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers back, "They think I’m too cool to have a girlfriend; I’m just trying to prove I’ve got the perfect girl, too."

You furrow your brows, narrowing your eyes at him.

What is it about him that always manages to get under my skin?

You try to shake it off, but the warmth of his breath is still there, like an electric pulse on your neck. "What do you mean you have the perfect girl?"

He smirks, then speaks loud enough for his friends to hear, clearly enjoying the show. "You're perfect. Cute, feisty, punk—what more could I want in a girlfriend?"

You bite back a cringe, turning back to his friends with an exaggerated, sugary smile. "It was nice meeting you all, but I really want to spend time alone with Jungkookie." You almost wince as you let the sickly, sweet tone slip out—

God, I can’t believe I just said that.

All his friends snicker, calling him by the cheesy nickname and commenting on how cute and sweet you are. One of them gives Jungkook a thumbs-up. "Wow, you've got a nice one there; how the hell did you get her, man?"

Jungkook smirked, puffing out his chest like he’d just won a medal. "Please, I can have whoever I want. I'm just that cool." He glances down at you with a wink. "And hot." He looks back at his friends, clearly loving all the attention, and they all laugh at his response.

You can't help but smirk up at him. If he wants to embarrass you, then fine, you’ll show him how it's done. You lightly slap his chest, leaning in with a grin. "Jungkookie! You aren’t going to tell them how you cornered me and told me how much you liked me?!"

You can see the panic flash in his eyes, his confident front faltering for a second. He clearly didn’t expect you to throw him under the bus. "Uh, well—" He rubs the back of his neck, glancing at his friends. "Yeah, I did corner her, but only because I wanted to be alone with her. So what? I did get her in the end, didn’t I?"

You push his shoulder slightly, giving a fake giggle. "I didn't even know you before, but you were so persistent about getting me to go out with you. I mean, I just

had

to say yes, right?" You watch as his eye twitches slightly in annoyance, but he quickly tries to mask it.

He lets out an even more cringe-inducing, forced laugh that matches yours, clearly trying to keep up. "I mean, yeah, I just couldn’t let such a sexy girl get away without being my girlfriend." He glances down at you, giving a wink that feels almost too practiced.

You raise an eyebrow at his attempt to keep his cool before grabbing his hand and walking away with a casual swing. "Well, it was nice meeting you all! Bye-bye!" You wave at his friends with exaggerated enthusiasm, savoring every second.

Jungkook’s friends throw him more smirks and thumbs-ups as you walk away. You can hear them whispering to each other, saying how he’s somehow landed the "perfect" girlfriend. Once you’re out of their earshot, you let out a laugh, the satisfaction of making him squirm flooding you.

He smacks your hand away with a quick motion, glaring at you, his face flushed with a faint blush. "You think you're so funny, don't you?" His voice betrays a mix of annoyance and something else—embarrassment.

You wipe away a few tears, letting your grin stretch wider. "Oh my god, I am hilarious!" You can feel your chest tightening with laughter at the sight of him struggling to keep his cool.

He scoffs and crosses his arms, his jaw tight. "Yeah, you’re hilarious—making me look like an idiot in front of my friends. Real funny."

You tilt your head innocently. "That's what you wanted, right? Also, you tried to make me look like the fool first."

He clenches his fists at his sides, his eye twitching in irritation. He clearly doesn't know how to counter your words, and you can see the tension in his features as he tries to argue. "I didn’t want my friends to think I was desperate for you. I wanted to seem cool, badass..." His voice trails off like he’s trying to convince himself.

You shrug, leaning in with a smirk. "Well, I wasn’t exactly lying." You can’t help but relish the sight of his frustration. "You wanted me, so you got me."

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he just mutters something under his breath and looks away, clearly torn between wanting to keep up the act and feeling the sting of your words.

“Why do you even care what they think?” Your laughter starts to die down. “I don’t care if my friends think I’m cool or not.”

Jungkook looks away, rubbing the back of his neck as if to shrug off the discomfort. “None of your business.”

None of my business?

You raise an eyebrow, silently amused.

I just asked one simple question, but I guess it hit a nerve. Not my fault if he’s so concerned about his image.

You scoff, leaning back with a smirk. “Whatever, ‘boyfriend.’”

Jungkook groans, clearly frustrated. "You're enjoying pissing me off, aren't you?"

Oh, absolutely.

You grin to yourself.

I’m loving every second of this.

You give him a carefree shrug, not hiding the amusement on your face. "I gotta have some fun with this situation."

He glares at you, his jaw clenched. "Yeah, and I’m sure you know you’re doing a great job of it, don’t you?"

Yeah, I do know. And it’s too good not to enjoy.

You smile a little too innocently. "Good, then you won't fall in love with me." You reach out, gently ruffling his hair, making a mental note of how soft it is.

This’ll get him for sure. He’s trying so hard to act unaffected, but I think he’s not as cool and collected as he thinks he is.

He immediately smacks your hand away, his face flushing slightly as he fixes his hair, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "You seriously think I’d fall in love with you? You think that would happen?"

"Who knows? People fall in love with others when they least expect it." You laugh softly, replaying the words Taehyung shared with you yesterday in your mind.

Jungkook stands there, silent for a moment, before letting out an exasperated laugh. "Please, I would never fall in love with someone like you. The idea of me getting feelings for you is ridiculous."

You snort and raise an eyebrow. “Good, keep it that way.”

As you blow him a kiss and turn to walk away, you can almost feel his frustration radiating behind you. His voice cracks as he yells, “You don’t have to worry about me falling in love with you. That will never happen. You can be sure of that!”

You laugh and flip him off, not even looking back as you turn the corner.

You can’t help but feel a twinge of amusement and something else that you push down—annoyance? Curiosity? Nah, it’s definitely just how much he annoys you. The thing is, the more you two push each other's buttons, the more you almost... enjoy it?
Maybe it’s because you haven’t had a decent conversation with anyone other than Taehyung and Yoongi in too long.

Behind you, you can hear Jungkook muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable, she's such a cocky little punk.”

You smile to yourself, too proud to care about the words he’s throwing your way. But deep down, something in you feels a little more than just satisfaction.

Your first two classes fly by, but of course, you can’t focus. Your mind keeps drifting to band practice later today. You hear the teacher call your name, snapping you out of your daze.

"Ah, yes, sir?" you respond, blinking as you try to refocus.

He crosses his arms, leaning against the desk with a raised eyebrow. "Did you hear what I said? Do you have an answer?"

You offer an awkward smile. "I was daydreaming a little. Could you repeat the question?"

He sighs at how uninterested you seem in his class. "We were talking about the literature for this semester, and I had a riddle for everyone, which I would like you to answer now." He pushes off his desk and walks up the stairs, stopping in front of your desk. "I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I am sometimes the hardest to express but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many or just one. What am I?"

Your heart jumps in your chest as his eyes land on you, and you look up at him, completely lost in the riddle. The pressure of being put on the spot makes your palms start to sweat. "I am not too sure," you respond, voice small and sheepish, wishing you could sink into your seat and disappear.

He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, his patience clearly running thin. "The answer is love." A few quiet laughs ripple through the class, but it's the next words that make your stomach drop.

"You should know about love with how you were hanging all over Jungkook this morning." A girl snickers from the back. The sound of her laugh rings in your ears, and suddenly, the entire room feels like it’s closing in.

The whispers grow louder, and you can feel every pair of eyes on you. Your throat tightens, and a wave of heat rises in your cheeks as your body tenses up.

Fuck Jungkook. He’s the one who put you in this position, and now you're the subject of every snicker and whisper.

Finally, the bell rings. Lunch. You can’t get out of there fast enough. You grab your bag with a quick motion, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone as you rush out of the classroom.

Once you reach the cafeteria, you spot Yoongi and Taehyung sitting at your usual table. The tension in your shoulders eases a little as you make your way over to them, already feeling a bit more grounded. Yoongi looks up, his expression blank, but his eyes soften when he notices you like he's sensing something’s off. Taehyung, on the other hand, greets you with his usual wide grin as if nothing had happened.

It feels like a tiny safe haven, away from the murmurs and unwanted attention. You can finally breathe.

Yoongi looks up again, his gaze sharpening. When he notices how pale you look, his eyebrows furrow. "You look pale. Did something happen? Are you okay?"

You still feel a little dizzy as you throw your bag on the table and plop down next to him, avoiding his gaze. "I had a couple of people try to embarrass me in class because of Jungkook and I ‘dating.’" You use air quotes as you say the word ‘dating,’ rolling your eyes slightly.

Taehyung throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug. "I know you're pissed at the attention, but try not to pay it any mind. They're just assholes." His touch is comforting and warm. It's just what you needed for the anxiety to completely dissipate from your chest.

Yoongi scoffs, but his muscles relax, and a slight sigh escapes him as if he’s relieved you’re okay. “It’s your own fault for agreeing to do something so outrageous.” He doesn’t even look up at you, instead poking at his food with a fork, but you can hear the underlying concern in his voice.

Your upper lip twitches in annoyance, but you can't argue with Yoongi because he is right. "At least I could embarrass Jungkook in front of his friends this morning."

Taehyung removes his arm from around you, leaning in with interest, his eyes lighting up. "Well, do tell us. Don’t spare any details." Yoongi glances over at you, too, clearly intrigued.

Yoongi lives for tea.

You purse your lips, trying not to laugh just yet. "He wanted to embarrass me in front of his friends, going on and on about how good of a boyfriend he is, showing me off like I was some trophy he won. It really ticked me off!" You scoff at the memory before continuing. "So I just let his friends think that he cornered me because he’s so obsessed with me and begged me to go out with him."

Yoongi spits out a mouthful of water, coughing as he tries to recover, while Taehyung bursts into laughter.

“You are unbelievable! Did his friends buy it?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you, trying to contain himself.

"I think so." You chuckle, leaning back a little, clearly enjoying the moment. "I even told him what Taehyung told me yesterday about how people fall in love with others when they least expect it, and he got soooo pissed."

Taehyung finally composes himself enough to speak again, still laughing. "Yeah, saying that would totally piss him off since he thinks he's not the type of guy to fall in love with someone like you."

You sit up a little straighter, suddenly eager to share more. "Oh my god, get this. He texted me last night, and when I asked him why he asked me to be his fake girlfriend, he said that he thought I was attractive and liked punk girls. So today, I was making sure he wouldn't fall for me."

Yoongi’s face twists, clearly disgusted by the idea. "So, you’re just a fetish to him?"

"Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. So gross." The words leave your mouth, but before you can say anything more, you feel a firm grip on your shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" You turn around, your eyes meeting Jungkook’s. His expression is unreadable.

After everything that happened in class, you’re the last person I want to see right now.

You roll your eyes, annoyance flooding through you. "What is wrong with you now? I’m having a conversation with my friends. Is that a problem?"

He scoffs, his gaze flickering to Yoongi and Taehyung before landing back on you. "So, you're just gossiping about our situation?" His eyes darken as he looks you over, the tension palpable.

You push his hand off your shoulder, not backing down. "Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

"That?" His jaw tightens, and you can almost hear his teeth grinding. "You know the whole point of this is for people to believe us, right? How do I know you won’t go and tell others or that these two won’t gossip as well?"

He had better not say what I think he is

. You push your tongue against your cheek, exhaling sharply through your nose to keep your composure. "I only have two friends. There was no rule about not telling anyone."

He closes his eyes in frustration, clearly trying to hold back his anger, and tightens his jaw again. "Well, I’m making it a rule right now. No one else needs to know the details about this fake relationship. Period."

You smirk up at him, not backing down. "I don’t have any other people to tell, darling." You practically hiss the word, letting it hang in the air, sharp and biting.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, and his voice lowers, tense and dangerously controlled. "Who the hell do you think you’re calling ‘darling,’ punk?"

Yoongi and Taehyung's snickers echo behind you, and you can practically feel Jungkook’s glare shift to them, scorching hot, before snapping back to you. His voice tightens, barely suppressing his anger. "You really think Yoongi and Taehyung won’t spill the secret? Are you that naïve?"

Oh, hell no.

Your pulse spikes, heat rushing to your face as anger flares. "Unlike you," you fire back, locking eyes with him, "I have real friends who actually care."

The words hit their mark. Jungkook’s breathing picks up, his expression darkening like a storm brewing. "You don’t

know

that they won’t say anything," he snaps. "Just because you think you know them doesn’t make you a mind reader."

You bang your hand down on the table, the sound sharp in the still air. "Watch your mouth."

He steps closer, eyes narrowing, his voice thick with challenge. "Or else what? You think you can tell me what to do, punk?"

You stand up slowly, looking him over, feeling the weight of the tension between you. For a second, your mind races with ways you could take him down—physically, emotionally, whatever it took. Jungkook laughs, a low, knowing sound. "You really think you could take me? Please."

Taehyung pulls gently on your arm before you can react to Jungkook’s words. "C'mon, let's just go. It's not worth it. HE is not worth it."

You whip your head around to look at him, frustration flaring. "He just insulted you and Yoongi; I won’t stand for that!"

Taehyung sighs, his grip on your arm tightening just slightly. "We know. But he's not worth it. Just leave him be."

You glance at Yoongi, who is staring at you with his usual unreadable expression. His eyes are cold, but there’s something in them—warning. His jaw is clenched, his posture tense.

Let it go,

he seems to say with just a look.

You feel a surge of frustration building in your chest, but the weight of Yoongi’s stare forces you to swallow it down. His expression doesn’t change, but there's an underlying message there:

Don’t make it worse.

With a sharp exhale, you force yourself to let go, the heat on your cheeks cooling. “Fine. I’ll drop it.”

Jungkook can thank Yoongi for saving both his reputation and his life right now.

Taehyung pulls his hand back, his usual smile replaced by something tight and strained. You shoot Jungkook one last glare, the tension still buzzing under your skin. “Don’t push your luck,

boyfriend.

Next time, I won’t let it slide.” Your voice cuts like ice, every word laced with unspent frustration.

Jungkook laughs, his smug grin only intensifying. He crosses his arms and looks you over as if daring you to take another jab at him. "Please. I’m not afraid of a girl like you."

Your stomach turns, and for a moment, you're about to retort. But then, you notice Yoongi's eyes—dark and focused, his arms crossed tightly.

He’s not just telling me to drop it. He’s warning me.

You swallow the words that would make it worse.

A couple of deep breaths steady your hands, but the anger still churns beneath the surface. Focus. You gather your things slowly, each movement deliberately calm. Finally, you glance at Jungkook and blow him a kiss, the gesture dripping with mock sweetness. “See you later.”

Fuck you, Jungkook.

Behind you, Jungkook groans, but you don’t look back. As you turn to walk off with Taehyung, Yoongi’s heavy silence lingers, pressing against you like a warning: Don’t push this further.

I wouldn’t say I’m scared of Yoongi, but I’m definitely not dumb enough to piss him off.

“I’m skipping the rest of my classes,” you mutter, your voice low. “Let’s just get practice over with.” Yoongi and Taehyung say nothing, but their presence feels solid and steady as they follow you without a word.

Once inside the spare classroom you use for practice, you run your fingers through your hair and scream, your frustration pouring out in a burst. "UGH, CAN YOU BELIEVE HIM?!"

Taehyung jumps a little at your outburst but then shakes his head with a small, resigned smile. "He's always been like that. That's just how Jungkook is."

Right. They’ve known each other since middle school.

Your anger bubbles over, your hands clenching into fists as you pace back and forth. "I’m so pissed off! How dare he talk about you two that way!"

Taehyung sighs, grabbing his guitar and beginning to tune it, his calmness in sharp contrast to your energy. "It’s alright. He’s just a big idiot. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He was trying to get under your skin."

You glance at Yoongi, seated behind his drum set, his fingers lightly tapping his drumsticks against the surface. The air between you feels heavy, thick with the tension lingering since the confrontation with Jungkook.

Is he angry?

"You haven’t said much, Yoongi," you say, your voice quieter than you expected. You try to read his expression, but his silence only stokes your frustration.

He shrugs, eyes still focused on the drumsticks in his hands. "I don’t have much to say. Taehyung already said it. You agreed to this in the first place."

The words hit harder than you thought they would. You want to snap back, to defend yourself, but his tone stops you. It’s too calm, too measured as if he’s holding something back.

A knot tightens in your stomach. The silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken. Is he disappointed? Angry? You can’t tell, but something feels... wrong.

Yoongi has only ever been actually mad at me once. Is this what that feels like?

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck. Instead, you glance at Taehyung, who’s strumming his guitar absentmindedly, seemingly unaware of the tension that’s building between you and Yoongi.

"I just…" You start, then stop, the words catching in your throat. "I’m pissed off, okay? I’m trying to keep my cool, but he keeps making it harder."

Yoongi doesn’t react right away. When he finally looks up, his dark eyes are unreadable. "You’re letting him get to you. Don’t give him the satisfaction."

Your heart skips a beat. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it—frustration, maybe something else. It’s sharp enough to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry over this.

You lean back against the wall, forcing yourself to breathe. "I’m not letting it go," you mutter, almost to yourself.

The steady tapping of Yoongi’s drumsticks fills the silence again, but this time, the rhythm feels different—tighter, tenser, like he’s holding something back. You glance at him, wondering how long this can stretch before it snaps.

"If you’re mad at me, just say it!" The words burst from you before you can stop them, your voice cracking under the weight of everything. Tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Fuck.

Yoongi freezes, his eyes locked onto yours. His gaze is cold and distant, but there’s something behind it: a flicker of hesitation like he’s struggling to find the right words.

His jaw tightens, fingers clenching around the drumsticks. Then, with deliberate slowness, he sets them down. The soft thud echoes in the silence, final and heavy.

He stands, movements sharp and precise, and walks toward you. For a moment, you’re sure he’s going to turn away and leave you to deal with this alone. But Yoongi has never left you alone. Sure, he’s been pissed plenty of times, but

he’s always been my rock.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, guarded. "I’m not mad at you." The words are barely a whisper, but they hit you like a punch to the chest.

He rubs the back of his neck, his expression shifting—he looks almost… uncomfortable. "You think I’m mad at you?" He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I’m pissed that some guy is making you feel this way. I’m pissed that you’re dealing with it alone like you always do."

You blink, his words catching you off guard. He’s not mad at me?

Yoongi doesn’t usually talk about feelings, especially not his own. Hearing him admit something like that is like a blow to the chest, unexpected but… grounding.

You try to speak, but the lump in your throat catches your words, and he’s already stepping closer, his hand reaching out—not in anger, but in some attempt to reach you, to close the gap between the two of you. But instead, he lowers his hand.

“Don’t…” Yoongi’s voice cracks just slightly. "Don’t push me away. You think I don’t care?" He scoffs, though it sounds more bitter than mocking. “I’m trying to keep you from fucking getting hurt again."

You can’t help it—the tears are coming now, but this time, it’s not just anger. It’s relief and confusion all tangled together. You just wanted him to show you that he gave a damn, and now, with his raw honesty, he’s done more than that.

As soon as you break down, Taehyung stands up quickly, abandoning his guitar. Everything else fades away as his focus sharpens on you. His usual lighthearted nature is replaced by something more serious, more protective.

“Hey,” Taehyung says softly, his voice filled with concern. He moves to you immediately, gently placing a hand on your arm, his fingers warm and steady as if grounding you in the moment. His brow is furrowed, the usual light in his eyes dimmed by worry. "Don’t... don’t cry." His words are soothing, but there’s a quiet urgency in his tone as if he’s grappling with the need to fix what he can’t fully understand.

“I’m just so angry.” You start to cry a little harder.

He takes a step closer, his expression softening when he sees you try to wipe away the tears in frustration. He takes a deep breath,
his eyes darting briefly to Yoongi as if silently asking for his guidance, then back to you.

"Hey, come here." Taehyung pulls you into a gentle hug, his arms steady and warm, like a shield against everything weighing you down. He holds you close, letting you bury your face in his shoulder, his presence grounding you in the moment.

Taehyung has always been the one to comfort you with warmth and openness, wrapping you up without hesitation. Yoongi, on the other hand, offers his support in quieter, more logical ways. Together, they balance each other out, each filling a space you didn’t know you needed.

You cling to him, gripping his sweater as you cry harder out of frustration. “He gets on my nerves so much, but then there are times when I think I could be friends with him.” You take a few shaky breaths before continuing. “Him embarrassing me in front of his friends made me a little anxious, but I can handle that. When the whole class was laughing at me because I’m his ‘

girlfriend,’

it was too much.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice soft but resolute. He rubs your back in a soothing, rhythmic motion, his warmth grounding you. "But you don’t have to carry your feelings yourself, okay? Not when we’re here."

He leans back slightly to look at you, his eyes brimming with sincerity. "You mean so much to me, to Yoongi. Don’t let that idiot get to you. He doesn’t deserve it."

He pauses, the silence carrying the weight of his care. It’s like he’s carefully choosing every word. "I know it’s easy to push people away when you're hurting, but let us help you. We’ve got your back—always. You’re not alone in this."

Taehyung’s gaze stays steady on you, his expression open and soft, free of any judgment. There’s a quiet intensity to his voice as if he needs you to understand that you’re not a burden and that it’s okay to lean on him. The playful spark in his eyes is gone, replaced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. His whole presence radiates safety, a silent promise that he’s here, no matter what.

"Take a breath," he says, his hand warm and steady as it rubs your shoulder. "You’re strong, okay? Stronger than you think."

After a few minutes of Taehyung letting you cry it out, his sweater damp from your tears, you finally pull back, wiping your face and feeling a little steadier. Yoongi hasn’t moved far, his concerned gaze still fixed on you, his presence grounding you without a word.

You try to lighten the mood with a wry smile. "You know, I should’ve smacked that look right off his

pretty

face."

Taehyung snorts, the sound breaking the tension in the room. "Pretty face, huh? Didn’t know you thought so highly of him."

You curl your lip in mock disgust, swatting at his arm. "Don’t get hung up on that part! I love you two morons, and no one—

no one

—gets to talk bad about either of you."

Both of them can’t help but smile at your words. Taehyung reaches out and pats the top of your head, his touch light but reassuring. "We know," he says softly, his signature boxy smile lighting up his face. "And we love you too."

Unable to resist, you tackle Taehyung into a quick, affectionate hug. He laughs, squeezing you back without hesitation. Then, you turn to Yoongi. Before you can even fully reach him, he ducks out of your grasp, his expression hovering between annoyance and embarrassment.

Taehyung’s laugh is immediate, loud enough to echo in the room. "Not much of a hugger, huh?" he teases, grinning wide as Yoongi shoots him a glare.

You roll your eyes, smirking as you move to the microphone stand. Adjusting the knobs, you say over your shoulder, "He never has been."

Correction: he doesn’t like other people seeing me give him affection. When we’re alone, though? He’s the one pulling me into hugs—or cuddling up without warning.

With the mood lifted, you all dive into practice, the earlier tension melting away as the music takes over. The room fills with the raw energy of your songs, the sound bouncing off the walls, weaving the three of you closer together.

Hours later, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, you start wrapping things up.

Taehyung carefully packs away his guitar, a content smile on his face. "That was a good practice today," he says, his tone lighter than it’s been in days. "I’d say it’s the best we’ve had in a while."

"Yeah! My voice is the best when my emotions are heightened, so maybe I should thank Jungkook for pissing me off." You chuckle, shaking your head as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

You step out of the spare classroom, and—bam!—slam face-first into a solid chest. Pain shoots through your nose as you stagger back, clutching it and glaring up at the offender.

It’s Jungkook.

Of course, it is.

He’s staring down at you, amusement flickering in his eyes and a cocky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, watch where you’re going, punk," he drawls, his tone oozing smugness.

If only he’d keep his mouth shut. He’d be ten times more attractive.

You rub your nose, wincing, and shoot him a sharp glare. "Ouch! What the hell, Jungkook?"

He tilts his head, the grin widening like you just walked into his trap. "What? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already."

Rolling your eyes, you fold your arms across your chest. "Were you waiting here for me, you stalker? Or am I just cursed with bad luck today?"

Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring your stance, and lets out a short laugh. "You seriously think I'd be dumb enough to wait for you? I’m here for my friends."

You raise an eyebrow, slowly glancing down the empty hall. "Hmm, sure," you say, the disbelief in your voice thick enough to cut through the air.

His eye twitches, a crack in his usual cocky demeanor. "You think way too highly of yourself, you know that?" He scoffs, his voice dripping with irritation.

You tilt your head, offering a sugary-sweet smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. "You’re one to talk."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, irritation creeping into his usually calm composure. "At least I actually have a reason to be cocky. What do you have?"

You scoff, pretending to be offended, and casually pull out your phone. "Well," you begin, a sly smirk tugging at your lips, "according to you, I’m attractive."

Jungkook freezes, his confident mask slipping for just a moment. "What?"

Checkmate.

Your grin widens as you scroll to the text he sent you last night, then read aloud, savoring each word: "‘You’re the only attractive girl at this school that isn’t popular; plus, I’ve been lowkey obsessed with punk girls.’"

Behind you, faint snickers drift from the classroom, and you don’t need to turn around to know Yoongi and Taehyung are loving this.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, and a light pink creeps onto his cheeks, betraying the cocky persona he tries so hard to maintain. "Hey!" he splutters, his voice cracking slightly. "You can’t just share that kind of stuff!" His eyes dart over your shoulder, catching sight of Yoongi and Taehyung clearly eavesdropping despite their poorly disguised efforts to look busy.

You flash him a triumphant grin, satisfied with the blush creeping up his neck. "Relax," you tease, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "It’s just us. They’re not paying attention."

When you glance back, Yoongi is intensely focused on wiping down a drumstick that’s already spotless, while Taehyung appears deeply engrossed in tuning his guitar for the third time.

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re impossible," he mutters, though his tone lacks any real bite.

"Bullshit," he grumbles under his breath, his eyes flicking back over to Yoongi and Taehyung. "I know they’re listening to us. They suck at pretending."

You laugh, tilting your head at him. "Well, if you’re really waiting for your friends, should we act like a couple again? You know, for show." You extend your hand toward Jungkook with a playful smirk, knowing full well you’ve caught him in a lie.

Jungkook rolls his eyes but doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand. "Yeah, sure. Let’s give them a show."

With your free hand, you blow a dramatic kiss toward Taehyung and Yoongi. "Ciao Bella!"

Both of them purse their lips, clearly trying not to laugh as you and Jungkook walk away hand in hand. Yoongi’s deadpan expression cracks just slightly while Taehyung covers his mouth to stifle a giggle.

As you stride down the hallway with Jungkook, his grip on your hand feels steady—almost natural—though he pointedly avoids looking at you. "You’re having way too much fun with this," he mutters.

It’s hard to stay mad at him when I’m with him. He still gets under my skin, but being with him feels... surprisingly easy. Fun, even?

You hum in response, keeping your tone light. "Well, Jungkook, I don’t see your friends anywhere. Were you really waiting for them?"

He refuses to look down at you. "Maybe I was lying. What about it?"

You tilt your head, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And why were you lying?"

Jungkook finally glances at you, his gaze sharp with just a hint of frustration. "What do you think? I think you know exactly why I was waiting."

"I really don’t. Please, enlighten me." You lightly squeeze his hand.

Jungkook groans, clearly unwilling to admit anything. "I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to talk to you." He rubs the back of his neck, his posture awkward. "And... apologize for being an ass at lunch."

You laugh, the sound soft but teasing. "Gross."

"Shut up." Jungkook mumbles, and you catch the faint blush creeping up to his ears.

Cute...

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I glance at her, humming a sweet melody, my fingers still intertwined with hers. The pressure of her fingertips suddenly making me aware of how close we are. Why am I feeling like this? I’ve had plenty of girls—whether in bed or just by my side—but she’s… different. I feel a mix of irritation and flustered nerves building up inside me. I’m even more irritated she made me admit I wanted to talk to her."Well, since your friends aren’t around, we don’t have to hold hands, you know." She chuckles, her eyes meeting mine.I glance down at our hands, the warmth of her touch still lingering. The heat rises to my face, and I pull away quickly, clearing my throat. “I suppose you’re right.” I turn my head, avoiding her gaze—I don’t want to see the smug look I know she’s wearing right now.The silence stretches long enough to feel awkward before she casually breaks it. “Wanna grab some food on the way home?”I glance at her, and for the first time, she’s not looking at me with annoyance or sarcasm. Her expression is softer, more neutral. My breath catches in my throat as I really notice how stunning she is, the way her eyes seem to hold a light that I can’t quite place. My chest tightens, and I quickly look away, hoping she didn’t catch me staring.“Sure, whatever,” I say, forcing my tone to stay even as I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “As long as it’s not somewhere fancy or expensive.” The sensation of her touch lingers on my fingertips, making it impossible to shake the strange mix of nerves and warmth that’s settled in my chest.“You think I have money?” She laughs softly. “Look at me! We’re getting fast food.”I look her up and down, then snort. "I mean, I kind of got that. I don't either, don't worry."She raises an eyebrow as she takes me in. "Oh, really? You look rich."A surge of irritation flares up, but I force it down. Maybe she isn’t so different after all. I tighten my jaw a few times before responding, “Look, just because I wear nice clothes doesn’t mean I’m rich. Far from it, actually.” The words catch me off guard—more than I expected. I didn’t mean to be so honest, but there it is.Instead of pressing, she gives a small, reassuring smile. "I won’t pry, don’t worry."I blink, caught off guard. Most people would dig for more, pushing for details, but she doesn’t. It’s like she’s giving me space, but the space feels heavy somehow.
"Seriously? You’re not going to ask questions?" My voice cracks. I want her to ask. I want to tell her everything , to open up, but something’s holding me back. I’m not sure if it’s the silence or the fact that she’s not pushing—but it makes me uneasy. I almost wish she would. Her respect for my boundaries feels too strange. Why does it feel so… intimate? She gives another small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes—there’s a quiet weight in them, like a hidden ache. "I understand how hard it is to talk about some things." She rubs the side of her arm awkwardly, her gaze drifting away.I soften at the sight, my muscles relaxing, but I quickly look away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "Ah, right. Let’s grab some food then." The rest of the walk to Wackdonald’s is quiet, the air between us heavy with unspoken words.I follow her into the fast food place, the bell above the door jingling as we step inside. I glance over at her, trying to catch her expression in the dim lighting, but she’s already scanning the menu with a focused intensity. It makes me wonder if she’s always like this—so quick to shift gears, to hide what she doesn’t want others to see. But I don’t push it. Not yet. I’d rather enjoy the moment. "So, what are you getting? Something from the dollar menu?" I tease, trying to shake the thoughts that linger in the back of my mind.“Bingo!” She winks and points a finger gun at me, her expression bright and teasing once again like the previous moment of tension never happened.I can’t help but laugh at her cute reaction, a little warmth I don’t quite understand bubbling up in my chest. “You don’t even deny it, do you?”She shrugs casually, her shoulders lifting slightly as she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m not the type to lie like that.”“Then why don’t you tell me how much money you have as of right now?” I half expect her to roll her eyes or tell me to screw off, but she surprises me once again.She stares at the menu again for a moment, her brow furrowing as if lost in thought. “A whole twenty-four dollars,” she says casually, not even sparing me a glance.For a moment, as I watch her side profile, I catch something in her expression—a flicker of vulnerability, quiet and fleeting. It’s there and gone in an instant, replaced by that resting face of hers that practically screams don’t talk to me , a wall she puts up so effortlessly.She orders a small burger meal, and I go for a chicken sandwich. The cashier punches in our order with a bored expression, and as I glance at her again, I catch the way she absently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s not looking at me, but I can tell it’s like she’s uncomfortable with talking about herself.When our food is ready, we find a quiet table in the corner. The low hum of the restaurant buzzes around us, but the silence at our table feels heavier. It’s not awkward, exactly—just full, like there’s too much left unspoken, and neither of us know how to talk.My mind races. I can’t stop wondering who she really is beneath that guarded exterior and why she works so hard to keep it in place. But then another thought slips in, sharper, more insistent: Why do I care? She’s just helping me because I offered to pay her. She hates my guts. So why do I want to know more about her? I shake the thought, but it clings to me stubbornly. I don’t want to pry. I shouldn’t. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t hold it in anymore. I lean forward slightly, my voice quieter than usual. “Can I ask you something?”She looks up, meeting my gaze for the first time in a while, her eyes narrow slightly with an eyebrow raised. There’s a flicker of something there—annoyance? Curiosity?—she responds, her tone flat. “Sure.”I hesitate, the question swirling in my mind, weighing me down. Part of me wonders if I should just leave it alone, but my curiosity pushes me forward. “If you only have twenty-four dollars right now, how do you afford like, clothes and other things?”She looks down at her food momentarily before she answers, her tone once again flat and unbothered. “My parents died a few years back, so I get money in paychecks almost, so after rent and groceries, this is what I have left.”The words hit me like a slap to the face. Any trace of a smile I had disappears instantly, and for a long moment, I’m at a loss for what to say. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin, my stomach dropping as I realize how thoughtless I’ve been. I drop my gaze to my food, suddenly feeling sick. Good job, Jungkook. “I— I’m sorry,” I stammer, my words coming out in a rush. “I didn’t realize. You didn’t have to answer if you didn’t want to.” What do I do? I don’t know how to comfort her. Would she want a hug?... I shift uncomfortably in my seat.She chuckles lightly, her voice low. “Dead parents make me more punk, huh?” I swear I hear her voice crack for a moment.The laugh doesn’t sit right with me. It feels forced like she's trying too hard to brush it off. "Quit trying to use humor to cover up your pain, will you?"Her eyes flicker to the fries in front of her, her fingers twisting them slowly, but she doesn't meet my gaze. "It doesn't really hurt anymore; my parents and I didn’t get along too much, so it’s cool.”I can’t keep the disbelief from crossing my face. I lean forward, trying to get through to her. "You can't be serious? Your parents died, and you think it's 'cool'?"Her eyes flicker briefly, a faint sadness crossing her face before she shrugs too nonchalantly for my liking. She still won’t look at me. “What do you expect me to say?”
I know we’re not close, and it’s not really fair to expect her to open up, especially about something like this. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something unsettling about the way she brushes it all off. It stirs something in me—anger, maybe? A mix of frustration and confusion. Why would she act like it doesn’t matter?
I think she notices my anger, the tightening in my jaw, the way my fists clench under the table because her eyes finally meet mine.For the first time, I see real sadness there—raw and unfiltered—something she’s been hiding behind her words. “I don’t think it’s cool they died, no,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I know I’m okay. Ignore my poor choice of words.”While her voice softens, it doesn’t close the distance between us. It’s like she’s offering me a glimpse, then quickly pulling it back, making sure I can’t reach her. I feel the weight of her words settle over me, and I know my face betrays the concern building in me. I want to hug her. As I open my mouth to say something, to comfort her, she shifts uncomfortably, quickly changing the subject. “So, since you’re asking about my life, let me hear about yours.”I glance away, trying to avoid her gaze. Being the one in the spotlight is uncomfortable. "What about my life do you wanna know?" I can feel her eyes boring into me."Why do you care what everyone thinks about you?" Her words hit me harder than I expected. She hit the nail on the head. I keep my eyes fixed on the table, licking my lips a few times before I answer, the words feeling heavier than they should. “It’s not that I care what everyone thinks. I just don’t want anyone looking down on me. It pisses me off when people think they’re better than me.”She tilts her head slightly, studying me. “Is there some deeper reason for that? No one likes being looked down on.”I take a slow breath, closing my eyes tight as I think about how to explain this. “People have been looking down on me since I was a kid. It’s more like a pet peeve of mine now because of it.” Obviously, it’s more than that, and if she asks, I would tell her without a second thought. She hums softly, her expression softening as she processes what I said. “Sounds personal. I won’t push.” She rests her head on her hand, still studying me. It’s like she can hear my thoughts with the way she looks at me. I blink, genuinely surprised. This is the second time she’s respected my privacy without trying to dig deeper, and it catches me off guard. My gaze snaps to hers, and my words come out quieter than I intended. “Thank you.”She stands up, grabbing her bag. “Well, thank you for eating dinner with me. I’m heading home now.”I rise to my feet so quickly that I almost lose my balance. My mind races, scrambling for a reason, any reason, to keep her here just a little longer. Why does it feel like my throat is closing whenever she mentions leaving? It’s not like I don’t want her to go home—she’s probably sick of me by now—but... no, I don’t want her walking alone in the dark. That’s a decent enough reason, right? “Wait. I can walk you home. I don’t want you walking in the dark alone.”Her eyebrow arches, and a smirk tugs at her lips. Her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Why, thank you, boyfriend .”The word hits like a punch to the chest, and for a second, my brain short-circuits. Boyfriend? Oh— she’s fucking with me. Obviously. Why did I even offer? I just... don’t want her to leave yet. Not when the conversation’s been this easy, this real. I don’t think I have had more than a surface-level conversion with anyone in… I don’t even know how long. “Shut up. We’re not dating,” I say, my voice steady despite my heart pounding in my ears. “I’m just making sure you get home safe.”Her laughter breaks the tension. Light and playful, her eyes sparkle with mischief. “And here I thought you cared about me!” She places a hand over her heart in mock dramatics, her smile both teasing and infectious.“Yeah, I—uh, I just don’t like the idea of you walking alone, that’s all,” I mumble, trying to sound casual, though I’m sure my excuse is falling apart. Does it even make sense? Does she think it’s weird? Why does this even matter so much to me? We step outside the restaurant, and for the first time, walking side by side feels natural. We slip into a comfortable silence, no awkwardness hanging between us. As we walk, I keep a watchful eye, scanning the dimly lit street, my protective instincts kicking in. I don't know why, but something about her being alone in the dark sets me on edge. The quiet sounds of the night seem distant as I focus only on her, feeling a sense of relief when we finally step onto the more familiar, safer parts of the street.After several moments of walking in silence, she suddenly breaks it, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry for threatening you at lunch today.”I chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. “Oh, come on. You don’t need to apologize. Honestly, it was hilarious seeing you get all aggressive like that.”She stops mid-step to glare at me, her brows knitting together in frustration, a small pout forming on her lips. “I’m trying to be genuine here.”Her tone catches me off guard. I pause, realizing she’s serious. My smile softens. “Alright, seriously—you don’t need to apologize. I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to threaten me,” I pause, a playful glint in my eye, “but honestly... it was kinda hot.”Her face twists into a mix of disbelief and disgust as she scoffs, shaking her head. “You really are sick in the head!” But the faint blush creeping up her neck betrays her, giving her away.I smirk, leaning in just a little. “Sick in the head? You’re the one threatening someone twice your size. If anything, that’s a little unhinged, don’t you think?”She narrows her eyes but doesn’t respond, muttering something under her breath as she picks up the pace. I trail after her, unable to stop the grin, still tugging at my lips. Her words try to brush me off, but her reactions? They tell a whole different story. Sometimes, she’s impossible to read, and other times, it’s like I can see right through her. It’s addicting like I’m riding a high just being around her.Then, she stops abruptly, turning on her heels to face me. Her gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, her eyes narrowing as if she’s sizing me up. I swear my heart stops for a moment and then races once again, the air between us growing heavier as something shifts.I raise my eyebrows, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Oh really?” I scoff. “You think you can take me? You’re what, like a little over five feet? I’m easily a foot taller and built way better than you.” I lean down, bringing my face level with hers, letting the challenge hang in the air.Her lips curl into a defiant grin, the fire in her eyes unwavering. “Don’t underestimate me.”The seriousness in her tone almost makes me laugh, but something about her confidence keeps me from brushing it off completely. Her attitude is equal parts ridiculous and impressive. I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head as I straighten up.“You can’t seriously think you’d win in a fight, punk. You’re too small.” I grin, cocking my head. “I could probably throw you over my shoulder without breaking a sweat.”Her eyebrow arches, and she crosses her arms, her expression deadpan but sharp. “You wanna bet?”"Hold up, are you serious? You actually want to put money on a bet where I guarantee I’d kick your ass?" I laugh, but the sound feels forced as if I'm trying too hard to sound casual. There's an edge to my voice—a mix of amusement and something I can’t quite figure out. Why does her defiance make my heart race? Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she waves her hand dismissively. “Not money, god! I only have 20 dollars now.”I roll my eyes, though I never lose the smug grin on my face. She really is something else. "So what do you want to bet on then? Since you don't have money to back that statement up." My words come out smoother than I feel.I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to steady myself, but my heart’s racing for no good reason. What is it about the way she’s looking at me— so confident, so damn sure of herself —that makes me feel like I’m the one being challenged? I don’t even know if I want to win this bet anymore. Maybe I’d rather let her win just to see that adorable reaction she tries so hard to hide.She hesitates for a second, her eyes narrowing as if sizing me up, and then her lips curl into a slow, daring grin. She leans in just slightly, enough to make my breath catch in my throat. "Well, is there something you want from me?"My heart skips a beat, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I mask it with a low chuckle, but my pulse betrays me, pounding louder than it should. There’s an edge to her voice—sharp, teasing—but there’s something else there, too. Something dangerous, and I can’t tell if it’s intentional or if I’m just imagining it. I am definitely imagining it... Right? Raising an eyebrow, I tilt my head slightly, pretending to give it serious thought. "Are you asking if there’s something I want from you?" I let the words hang for a moment, dragging it out just to watch her expression shift. The air between us feels electric like we’re teetering on the edge of something neither of us wants to name.Her face flushes faintly, and the sight gives me more courage than it should. I lick my lips, the smile dropping from my face as I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. "You want me to say it out loud?" I set up my trap. Let's see if she bites. Her eyes narrow, exasperation flickering across her face as she rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh. "That’s kinda the whole point."I smirk, the banter lighting me up in ways I can’t explain. Her attitude keeps me on my toes, and I can’t get enough of it. "Fine." I let the word draw out before stepping closer, just enough to hold her attention. "If I win, you have to do whatever I say." The words slip out so easily, a mix of challenge and excitement bubbling up inside me. I try to play it cool, but the idea of winning this bet feels thrilling— dangerously so. She straightens, her confidence unwavering as she crosses her arms and locks eyes with mine. "Alright, sure. And if I win, you have to do the same for me." Her voice is sharp, her grin wicked.For a split second, I lose my footing—not physically, but mentally. The boldness in her stance throws me off balance, and I’m struck again by how easily she meets me head-on. She’s not backing down. No, she’s playing this game as much as I am. "Okay, sure," I say, recovering quickly, though my heart pounds louder than I’d like. "But I’ve got to warn you—when I win, what I ask of you will be pretty bad." My voice is laced with playful mockery, but inside, I know the truth: I couldn’t bring myself to do anything truly bad to her. Still, the idea of pushing her buttons? That’s way too tempting to resist. She shoots me a sideways glance, completely unfazed. "If you win," she counters, her words dripping with confidence before she continues walking.I trail after her, matching her pace. Laughing lightly, I let the sound carry a challenge. "Yeah, if I win. Emphasis on ‘if.’ But let’s be honest, there’s hardly any chance I’m getting my ass kicked by a little girl like you." I smirk, hoping to provoke her. Why does it feel like this bet means more than it should? She rolls her eyes, her stride never faltering. "We’ll see about that," she says casually, but there’s a spark in her tone—a playful challenge that sets my nerves on edge in the best way. Does she even realize how she gets under my skin so easily? “Let’s head to my house and see this bet play out then.” She tilts her head toward her street, and I trail behind her, the quiet confidence in her voice pulling me along like a magnet. The distance between us feels oddly comfortable, but my chest tightens as I realize I’m about to see her space, her world.The silence stretches between us as we walk, but it’s not awkward. If anything, it feels loaded, like words are hovering just out of reach. My mind races with possibilities— what will her house be like? What parts of her life will it reveal that she hasn’t shared with me? Soon, we’re standing in front of her house. It’s nothing extravagant, just a modest place nestled in the quiet of the street, but somehow, it feels significant, like I’m crossing into territory I don’t entirely understand and possibly don’t belong.I follow her inside, kicking off my shoes at the door. The space hits me immediately—simple, functional, but... empty. No family photos, no cluttered shelves, no quirky decorations. The walls are blank, devoid of any personality. It’s almost unsettling as if the house is a reflection of something she’s trying to keep hidden.I let my eyes wander, careful not to linger too long on anything, but my mind can’t help filling in the gaps. Did she strip this place down on purpose? Does it hurt her to make this feel like home? The thought twists in my chest.“Nice place,” I offer, keeping my tone neutral though my curiosity is screaming. I glance at her to gauge her reaction, but she doesn’t offer much—a shrug and faint smile.“Are you sure no one’s going to interrupt our little fight?” I try to keep my voice light, aiming for playful banter.She laughs, but it feels a little too easy, almost practiced. “I live alone. I mentioned the dead parents, right?” Her tone’s casual, but the words hit harder than they should. “The only people who come over are Yoongi and Taehyung, but they’re not here today.”A strange pain twists in my chest when she mentions Yoongi and Taehyung. It’s not a physical pain, just an uncomfortable knot like my brain is trying to make sense of a feeling I can't name. Wait—Yoongi and Taehyung? The way she mentions them like they’re just a normal part of her life, it’s stupid, but I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong here. That I’m just... an outsider. After all, they’re her friends, right? Of course, they’re going to be around. But the seed of irritation is there, buried deep. It sits in my gut like something that won’t let go. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Probably. But for some reason, I can’t stop.I wince, cursing myself for being careless with my words. “Right. Sorry,” I mutter, quieter now, almost a murmur. I follow her into the living room, my steps slower, the weight of her comment settling over me like a blanket I didn’t ask for.The living room feels like the rest of the house—bare, almost detached. A couch that’s seen better days slouches in the center of the room, a shabby coffee table sits in front of it, and a tiny TV perches awkwardly on a stand, looking too modern for the space it occupies. There’s no warmth here, no personality. This emptiness is… unsettling.“So... what now?” I ask, trying to push past the strange feeling in my chest.“Let me clear some space real quick.” She moves the coffee table to the side, scraping it across the floor with a loud screech, which somehow makes the room feel even emptier.I chuckle, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Trying to give yourself an advantage, are you?” I shoot her a teasing grin, hoping to ease the tension still hanging in the air.She glances at me over her shoulder, her lips curling into that smug smile of hers that I’m learning to like. “No, I just don’t want the pretty boy to get hurt.” Her voice is laced with that same confident attitude. I don’t miss the way she called me pretty, and I can’t help but feel a little pride swell in my chest. She’s not intimidated by me—if anything, she’s enjoying this. I raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “Oh, so you’re worried about me, huh? That’s cute.” But there’s something about her tone that makes me pause, a weird feeling in my stomach. Suddenly, I’m not so sure of myself in this fight. I wasn’t expecting her to be this confident.She turns to face me, the space between us now cleared for whatever’s about to happen. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—challenge, defiance, maybe even a spark of something more—but whatever it is, it makes the air between us feel heavier. My pulse quickens, and I find myself wondering what comes next. God, I can’t wait to see how this goes. I gesture to her with a lazy flick of my hand, the corner of my mouth curling into a smirk. “Bring it.”Without hesitation, she lunges forward, throwing a punch straight at my chest. I brace myself, letting the impact land with a soft thud, but I barely flinch. “Is that all you got? That felt like a butterfly landing on me.” I tease, watching her face twitch with annoyance.She mutters something under her breath—probably a curse, but it’s too quiet to catch. Then, without warning, she throws another punch, this time with more force. It hits harder, but still not enough to knock me off balance. I raise an eyebrow. “Ah, there we go. I wondered if you were trying to go easy on me, love.”She glares at me, frustration creeping into her expression. I smirk, enjoying how her irritation fuels her, but I can’t help but notice the way her hands curl into fists like she’s ready to go at it again. This game’s far from over, and honestly, I’m enjoying this probably more than I should. “You're a bitch.” She grumbles, her voice low and rough, but there's a fire burning behind her words. It’s clear she’s not backing down.I take a step closer, my smile widening as I lean in, voice dripping with amusement. “Aww, poor little thing. Resorting to cursing at me now?”She narrows her eyes and scoffs. “Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fight me?”Before I can react, she tries to trip me, but I plant my feet firmly, my legs flexing to stay steady. Her attempt to throw me off balance doesn’t faze me. I slip my hands casually into my pockets, keeping my cool. “Why would I fight back? I don’t see the need to at the moment.” I flash her a smirk, watching her eyes twitch as her frustration builds. “What? Upset that your little trick failed?”She growls, raising her hand to slap me. I catch her wrist midair, holding it firmly before it can land. I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “Come on. You can do better than that. Put some actual strength into your attacks.”The next thing I know, her knee comes up, slamming into my groin. A burst of white-hot pain explodes through me, and I double over, gasping for air. “Jesus Christ... are you trying to neuter me or something?”She laughs softly, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “This isn’t much of a fight if you aren’t fighting back, you know.”I slowly stand back up, rubbing the spot where she hit me, trying to shake off the lingering pain. “Remind me never to piss you off,” I mutter, taking a few deep breaths. The sharp ache pulses in my gut, but I focus, my gaze sharpening as I square up with her. My voice drops, quieter now—almost challenging. “You really want me to fight back? You sure you can handle that?” There’s no way I’m letting her win now, not after she tried to take me out. She smirks, unfazed. “I thought you were gonna throw me over your shoulder.” Her voice drips with playful challenge, reminding me of my earlier words.I roll my eyes, both annoyed and amused. “Shut up.” I grumble, rubbing my jaw to shake off the last of the tension.She laughs, the sound light but defiant. “Then stop being a bitch and fight me!” Her arms fly up in front of her, preparing to block whatever I throw at her next.I scoff, taking a step toward her, every inch of me radiating the kind of confidence I know gets under her skin. “You asked for it.” My voice drops a little darker, a playful threat hanging in the air.Before she can react, I reach out, swift and sure, grabbing her wrists and pulling them above her head in one smooth motion. The shock in her body is immediate—her breath hitches as she freezes for a split second.Her eyes widen, her face a mix of surprise and outrage. “Hey! What the fuck?!” She struggles, trying to wriggle free, but I hold her firmly in place. The look on her face is priceless— one I’ll definitely be remembering for later. I lean in, my voice a soft, teasing whisper. “You really think I’d just punch you? After you cheated and hit me where it hurts?” I let my smirk widen as I watch her squirm a little in my grip. “Come on, baby. You should know better than that.” I coo.She cracks one eye open, peering up at me, her challenge still there despite her face turning beet red. “So what are you gonna do?”I step toward an empty wall, my movements deliberate. I turn, pinning her wrist up with one hand, my body hovering just close enough but not touching. “I’m going to make you feel powerless in my hands.”She stares at me, eyes narrowed, but I catch that flicker of uncertainty passing through them as I gently bring my other hand to her face, caressing her cheek. Her breath hitches, betraying her normally calm exterior.Her eyes snap open, wide and startled. “Wh-”I chuckle softly, my thumb tracing her jawline slowly. “You look even prettier than usual with your eyes closed. That’s a nice sight.”I lean in a fraction closer, just enough that the space between us feels impossibly small. The air between us grows heavier, and I can practically taste the tension. “Aww, you’re so cute when you’re confused.”Her face flushes a light pink, and I can’t help but smirk, savoring the change in the air. Something’s shifting. I catch the brief flicker of hesitation in her eyes—like she’s trying to fight whatever this is between us. But then again, maybe she’s not. I hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch just a beat longer than comfortable, watching for her next move. It’s almost like she’s waiting for me to say something, maybe even to push a little further. But I know better than to rush it.“Alright, you win. Let me go.” Her voice is tight, but there’s a subtle softness behind it.I lean back just slightly, a playful chuckle escaping me. “You’re giving up already? But I was having so much fun.”I release her wrists slowly, but instead of stepping back, my hands slip to her waist. My pulse quickens as I rest them there, testing her reaction. This is risky. Her rule is clear: no touching beyond her arms, head, or hands. If she pulls away, if she even flinches, I’ll stop immediately—no questions asked. But part of me wants to see how far I can push it. I want to know if she’ll let me get away with it. The air between us feels thick with tension, and I can’t help but wonder how much she’s willing to let slide.She doesn’t push me away. Not yet. There’s a shift in the air between us as if she’s not sure what to make of it. Does she even care about the rule anymore? Or is she letting it slide? The thought alone excites me more than it should.I pull her closer, my hands pressing lightly against her waist. Our chests brush together, and I lean in, lips near her ear. I whisper low enough that only she can hear, a teasing grin tugging at my lips. “Don’t be upset with me. I thought you’d put up a better fight. But I guess you were no match for me after all.”Her body tenses under my touch, and I can feel her hesitation, but there's something else there, too. She’s not shoving me away like she did before. Maybe she’s letting the rule slip— maybe she’s starting to want this just as much as I do. The thought makes my heart beat a little faster.Before I can savor the moment, her hands shoot up, grabbing mine and gently but firmly pushing them off her waist. It’s not angry or forceful but more of a careful stop. A little surprising, but not a rejection. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve crossed a line, and a hint of panic creeps in.“Yeah, I’m no match for you. Whatever.” She steps back, voice still sharp, but I catch the edge of frustration mixed with something else—like she’s trying to hide how flustered she really is. She huffs, crossing her arms, but there’s a faint pink on her cheeks, a softness I can’t ignore. “For the bet, what do you want me to do?”My shoulders relax, a smile tugging at my lips once again. “Do you have classes tomorrow?” If she hated it or hated me, I know she would kick my ass. “No.” She glances at me, brow furrowing in confusion.“Good.” I step closer, a genuine smile spreading across my face—the kind that makes my eyes crinkle, the one people say makes me look like a bunny. “I want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow.”I don’t answer right away, savoring the moment. There’s something about her, something I can’t quite pin down. But as I watch her—still a little flustered, still pretending to be annoyed—I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s starting to like this too.She rubs the bridge of her nose, groaning in exasperation. “Why did I agree to a bet with you?”“Because you thought you could win the fight, and you got cocky,” I tease, laughing at her frustration.She rolls her eyes. “And I will never do that again.”I grab her waist and pull her roughly into my chest. “So, we get to spend the whole day together tomorrow.” I don’t understand my own feelings, but I know I want to be close to her, to learn more about her. She tenses at my touch, her hands pushing against my chest to create some space. “You are so gross,” she groans, throwing her head back dramatically.I let her go, watching as she steps back, the distance between us growing. It feels colder now, and I almost feel the ghost of a pout tugging at my lips. “I think it’s adorable how easily you get annoyed when I do this to you.”“Alright, I’m done for the night!” She points toward the door, her face set in a stern expression.I fully pout this time, playing up the drama. “But I’m having fun here. I don’t wanna leave just yet.”She doesn't budge, her finger still pointed firmly at the door. “Go.” Her tone is sharp, and I feel a strange, unexpected shiver crawl down my spine.I head for the door but pause just before stepping out, turning back with my wide, bunny-like smile on my lips—a rare thing I don’t share often, but one I’ve shared with her twice tonight. “I’ll be back bright and early. I don’t want to waste a second of our date.”She pushes against my chest, causing me to stumble, and before I can recover, she slams the door with a force that makes me chuckle.I catch a glimpse of her flushed face once more before she pushes me away. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart!” I call out as she turns off the porch light, a silent hint for me to leave. My voice is light, but there's something deeper stirring beneath it.As I make my way home, a buzz of excitement fills me. It’s strange—this pull I feel when I’m around her, the way I can’t quite figure her out. But one thing’s for sure: tomorrow’s going to be interesting.
I’m not one for relationships, but whatever this is with her, I’m not ready to let it end after this week.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You’re jolted awake by a knock on your door. For a moment, you stay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to cling to sleep. When the knocking comes again—louder this time—you groan, pulling the blankets over your head. "Who the hell could that be?" you groan, voice muffled by your face in the pillow. It’s not Tae or Yoongi—they have keys for

exactly

this reason.

The sound persists, sharp and unrelenting, grating against your already frayed patience. Huffing in frustration, you fling the covers aside and stomp down the hall, your footsteps heavy against the wooden floor. With one sharp motion, you yank the door open.

Jungkook’s almost innocent bunny-like smile greets you like a beam of sunlight—far too bright for

whatever

ungodly hour this is. His eyes twinkle with mischief, the corners crinkling in that infuriatingly charming way. Slowly, his smile fades into a cocky smirk as he takes in your rumpled state. You wrinkle your nose, shooting him a glare that you’re certain mirrors Yoongi’s

‘how-dare-you-wake-me’

scowl.

"You look adorable just getting out of bed,"
he drawls, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his gaze drifting over you
. His eyes linger on your tousled hair before moving down and staying just a little too long, looking at the way your short pajamas barely cover the curve of your butt.

Confused at first as to why Jungkook is at your place—let alone what made him think he had the right to show up unannounced—you suddenly remember last night.

Right. I lost a bet with him.

With a sigh, you cross your arms and shift to the side, the cool morning air slipping through your thin pajamas and prickling your skin. Jungkook breezes past without hesitation, his stride so confident it makes you want to slam the door in his face. His scent—a mix of fresh laundry and… vanilla?—lingers in his wake, and you can’t help but blink in surprise.

That’s new.

You shake your head, forcing yourself to focus as he saunters in, nudging the door closed behind him softly.

"What time is it, anyway?" you grumble, your voice thick with sleep as you rub at one eye. "If you woke me up early on a day I don’t have school, I swear—"

"It’s not

that

early," he interrupts. "Besides, we’ve got plans, remember? Or are you already too tired to keep up with me?"

Your jaw tightens as you glare at him, though the effect is probably ruined by the way you stifle a yawn mid-sentence. "Plans? Oh, you mean your grand prize for that stupid bet I

barely

lost last night? Right, I’m

thrilled

about this."

Jungkook’s grin only widens, cockier than ever. "Hey, fair is fair. A deal’s a deal. You’re mine for the whole day, remember?"

You hate the way your heart skips at the words,

‘You’re mine.’

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Don’t blame me for your bad decision-making, sweetheart."

You scoff, rolling your eyes, arms still folded. "Sweetheart? Don’t push it, Jungkook."

He shakes his head, grinning at your irritated expression. "Anyways, I was eager to get here this morning, bright and early, to spend the whole day with you. But, uh..." He pauses, glancing at his phone. "Turns out I woke up late. It’s one in the afternoon, by the way."

You let out a tired groan. "Well, make yourself at home, I guess."

Jungkook’s gaze sweeps over you again, slower this time, a teasing glint in his eyes as he licks his lips. "I’ve gotta say, your PJs are adorable. You look so…

defenseless

in them."

You scrunch your nose in mock disgust, scoffing. "You’re disgusting, dude." The words come out sharp, but there’s something under them, something you can’t quite shake. It’s been a while since anyone besides Yoongi or Taehyung has been this close to you—let alone a guy.

Jungkook notices and his grin only deepens. He steps closer, his voice dropping a little, thick with amusement. "Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t like it." His eyes flicker down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "I’m just saying, you’ve got that

perfect

‘I-just-woke-up’ look. It’s like your PJs were made to drive me crazy."

Your heart skips a beat, and you hate how easily he gets under your skin. Even though his flirting is blatant, almost obnoxious, there’s something about it—something magnetic that pulls you in. You can’t help but recall last night, the memory of his hands on you, and you can feel your heart pounding in your throat.

He leans down to your eye level, his posture relaxed, but there’s something predatory in the way he takes in the space between you. “I’m just giving you a compliment, babe. Don’t you think it’s sweet of me to say you look cute in your PJs?”

His words linger, almost teasing, as if he knows exactly what effect they have on you. His eyes flicker with satisfaction, not waiting for a response before adding, “I’d say you actually love it.”

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Typical playboy,

you think.

He probably has half the girls in the city wrapped around his finger.

The thought stirs something in you—something you don’t like one bit. It’s not like you’re unaffected by him. His stupid grin, the way he carries himself—it’s hard to ignore.

But you're not about to let him know that.

"No, I think it’s creepy," you snap, your voice sharp. You spin on your heels, already heading toward your bedroom, desperate to escape the magnetic pull of his flirting. "I’m going back to sleep."

His voice cracks, a whiny sound that catches you off guard, so different from his usual cocky tone. "But I just got here!" He follows too closely, his footsteps light and quick, almost like he’s trailing you. "You’re not really gonna leave me all alone, are you?"

His puppy-like whine tugs at something inside you, a little warmth spreading through your chest—but not enough to keep you from your bed any longer.

You spin so quickly that he almost rams into you. "Yes, I am. Entertain yourself!" you snap, pushing past the sudden urge to see the different sides of Jungkook. You pick up your pace, walking into your room, leaving the door ajar like you always do.

From the hallway, you hear him whine again. "You can’t just go back to sleep and leave me all alone!"

You can’t help but chuckle to yourself.

God, if some of the girls fawning over him could hear how dramatic he sounds just from getting ignored…

"Sucks!" you call out from your room as you crawl into bed. In just the few minutes you were gone, the warmth has already faded, leaving it cold. You sigh but quickly settle back in, wrapping yourself in the comforter and letting yourself relax.

The silence settles around you, and you close your eyes, savoring the warmth of the blankets as the house grows still. Sleep starts to find you once more.

Jungkook peeks into your room, his eyes lingering on the walls adorned with band posters and the guitar resting in the corner. Everything in the room feels alive, filled with memories—so different from the rest of the house. He steps inside quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the space.

Without a word, he lowers himself to the floor, settling beside your bed. His head tilts gently to the side, eyes fixed on you as he watches the peaceful expression on your face—so different from the usual arrogant one he wears.

"Wow," he says, his voice low and almost seductive. "You really

do

look defenseless like this." The words hang in the air, too intimate for your liking.

You sit up abruptly, your heart pounding in your chest as you nearly jump out of your skin. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" The words spill out before you even process what’s happening.

You glance over and see Jungkook looking at ease as he rests his head sideways on the side of your bed. He chuckles, the sound low and amused. "Ah, that was so cute! You're so easy to startle."

"I didn't know you came in here!" You scowl at him, noticing how much he's enjoying himself.

He really just fucking does whatever he wants, doesn’t he?

Jungkook stands up, towering over you, his posture relaxed but commanding. "Of course, I came in here," he says, his voice low, almost mocking. "You left the door wide open." He tilts his head, that same

stupid

smirk on his lips.

"I normally leave the door open because I live alone." You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to roll your eyes again.

God, he’s so fucking irritating. And why does he have to be so... attractive?

The smugness in his voice only makes it worse. It’s like he knows exactly how to push my buttons.

He huffs out a small laugh. “And here I thought you were inviting me in.” His tone is teasing, the words lingering in the air as if he’s daring you to react.

He doesn’t move away just yet, as if testing your patience, letting the silence stretch before speaking again. "I’ll keep you company if you want." His voice is dripping with confidence, but there’s a subtle softness beneath it—like he’s enjoying getting a rise out of you.

"Ugh, I’m going to sleep." You roll over to face the wall, hoping to block out his presence and the stupid, distracting thoughts swirling in your head. You may be irritated, but the one thing about you is that no matter where you are or what’s going on, you can fall asleep almost instantly.

***********

Jungkook stares at you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches your body relax, your breathing steady as you drift into sleep. He sighs quietly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face, careful not to wake you. "How can one girl be so cute while asleep?"

He tenses at the sound of his own words, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

Why does it feel so... natural to be here, by your side? Why does he like you so much?

Huh? Like?

His chest tightens as he tries to shake off the thought, running a hand through his hair. "So that's it, huh?" he mutters to himself, almost bitterly, unsure of what to make of these feelings creeping up on him.

Jungkook swallows hard, staring at you for a few moments longer.

Jungkook likes you.

***********

You wake up a few hours later, your eyelids heavy, fluttering open to the soft light filtering through the curtains. A warmth beside you pulls you from the haze of sleep, and once your eyes focus, you freeze. Jungkook’s face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Your heart jolts like it’s trying to break free from your chest.

Your eyes dart downward. His arm rests lightly around your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The way he holds you feels unnervingly comfortable, as though this is where he belongs.

Heat rushes to your face, a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and anger tightening your chest.

Why does he keep doing this? Why does he insist on invading your space, your thoughts, like it’s some sort of game?

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, your mind racing.

Does he even realize how intimate this feels—or worse, is that the whole point?

Your stomach knots, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing into every corner of your mind. The sheer audacity of it all tips the scales. Your blood boils, frustration bubbling up faster than you can control it.

Without a second thought, your palms shove against his chest with all the force you can muster. "What the hell, Jungkook?" you snap as his body tumbles off the bed, landing with a resounding thud on the hardwood floor.

"Ow!" he groans, rubbing the back of his head as he glares up at you, wide-eyed and disoriented. "What was that for?!"

You sit up, your heart still racing, pulling the comforter tightly around you like a shield. "Are you kidding me? What are you doing in my bed?!" Your voice shakes, your words sharp and laced with the humiliation still clawing at your chest.

Jungkook’s expression falters. The cocky grin he usually wears is nowhere to be seen as he scrambles to sit up, his hands raised slightly in surrender. "Wait—hold on. I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable," he stammers, his voice quieter.

His gaze shifts to the floor, avoiding yours as he bites his bottom lip. "I—I thought it was harmless. You looked... peaceful, and I guess I—" He stops himself, exhaling sharply. "I’m sorry."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard for a moment. Then you remind yourself.

Don’t fall for it. He still climbed into your bed.

"You can’t just..." You gesture vaguely at the bed, still clutching the comforter around you. "You can’t do that, Jungkook."

"I know," he murmurs, his hand raking through his hair. "I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

You scoff. "Didn’t mean to make me uncomfortable? That’s literally all you do."

Jungkook flinches at your words, his shoulders slumping. "I’m sorry. I just..." He trails off, his eyes finally meeting yours. There’s something raw in his gaze—something unguarded that almost makes you feel worse. He sighs deeply. "I just wanted to be close to you. I swear, I won’t do it again."

You hesitate, the sting of his vulnerability settling in your chest. Maybe you overreacted. "I’ll forgive you this once," you mumble, your tone softer than before.

The shift in his expression is immediate. His face lights up, his lips spreading into that unmistakable bunny smile. It’s disarming—so genuine, so different from the cocky smirk he wears like armor around everyone else. This must be his real smile, you think. Not the one he uses to charm the world, but the one that feels... safe.

Real.

But why does he show you this side of him?

Jungkook stands, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned torso and slim waist, catching your attention before you can stop yourself. Your gaze flickers and you quickly look away, heat creeping up your neck.

The smirk that tugs at his lips is unmistakable. He knows.

You clear your throat, forcing an awkward laugh as you glance at the clock. It’s already 3:00 p.m. "I have to get ready. Buzz off for a bit, will you?"

Jungkook mutters something under his breath—too quiet to make out but laced with what you’re sure is a playful insult. With a dramatic sigh, he drags himself out of your room, making a show of his reluctance before pulling the door shut behind him. A moment later, you hear the creak of the couch as he flops down heavily. From time to time, his gaze flickers toward your door, the sharp side-eyes impossible to miss—as if he’s daring you to notice his exaggerated sulking.

Half an hour later, you finally emerge from your room, looking even more over the top than usual. A small leather top clings to your figure, revealing the intricate snake tattoo coiled on your shoulder, its scaled body trailing down your upper arm. Your dangerously short leather skirt barely covers the delicate lace garter tattoo on your thigh, where stars drip in a soft cascade down your leg. Completing the look are your signature fishnets and scuffed thrifted combat boots. Silver rings glint on your fingers, a black and silver spiked collar encircles your neck, and a simple silver chain adds a touch of understated edge. Your hair is styled in a half-up, spiked ponytail, and your makeup remains true to your signature: simple yet bold, with heavy, smudged black eyeliner that sharpens your gaze.

"Finally done getting ready?" Jungkook’s voice cuts through the room as he glances up from his phone. His eyes widen instantly, the phone slipping slightly from his grip. His jaw drops, and for a second, all he can do is stare. His gaze roams slowly—lingering on the exposed tattoos, trailing over your outfit, and finally locking onto your eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. He shuts it again, caught off guard and uncharacteristically quiet.

"Jesus..." His voice is rough, almost reverent, and there's no trace of teasing in it. It hangs in the air, thick with admiration, and you catch the hesitation in it.

You try to swallow the flutter in your chest, your pulse quickening under the weight of his stare. Before you can react, he slowly stands up, dropping his phone. Every move is deliberate, too slow like he’s trying to absorb you entirely. He takes a step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, as if memorizing every detail. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating, and the heat spreading across your skin makes your breath catch.

You fiddle with your rings, fingers a little shaky under the weight of his gaze as Jungkook rakes his eyes up and down your body. You try to keep your voice steady, but it feels like he’s undressing you with his stare. "Yeah, I’m ready. Are you still insisting on bothering me today?"

Jungkook takes a moment, his eyes lingering on you longer than you’re comfortable with, as though he’s searching for the right words—or maybe just trying to get himself together. He exhales slowly, almost like he's struggling to catch his breath. "Of course I am. That’s why I came here."

His gaze sweeps over you one more time, but this time it’s different—slower, almost reverent as if he’s memorizing every detail. He swallows hard before speaking again, his voice softer than usual, edged with awe. "You... you look incredible."

The words hang between you, heavier than any playful remark he’s ever made. There’s no teasing in his tone now, no cocky smirk. Just raw admiration making your heart race a little faster. This isn’t the Jungkook, you know. This version of him, who looks at you with such intensity, leaves you caught between pulling away or stepping closer.

You step closer despite the confusion swirling inside you. You try to brush off the pounding of your heart, but it’s harder now. Grabbing his hand, you tug him toward you with a mix of impatience and something else. "Come on, I have stuff to do; you can come with me."

Even though you’re the one pulling him along, the feel of his hand in yours sends a jolt through your chest, followed by a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. It’s a small, infuriating reaction that makes you wish you could just shake it off, but the heat of his skin against yours lingers in a way you can’t quite explain.

"I'm going to hang off your arm all day. Be warned." He smiles down at you, his expression softening in a way that makes him look almost...

lovesick.

It’s endearing, and you have to remind yourself to stay focused.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to mask the way your stomach flips. "I wouldn’t recommend that where we’re going." Your gaze drifts over his outfit—skinny blue jeans, a plain white tee, and a red cardigan. The usual charm is there, but something about it feels… off for the day ahead.

"Let’s get you a change of clothes," you say, releasing his hand and motioning toward the hall. "You can’t go looking like that."

Jungkook glances down at himself, a frown forming as his lips curl into that same infuriating pout. "A change of clothes? What for? I thought I looked good today."

You laugh, shaking your head as you lead him toward the spare bedroom. "You’re about to enter the lion’s den. Trust me—you’ll need something that blends in a bit better."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, and he hesitates at the doorway, watching you dig through a dresser. "Wait... where exactly are you taking me?"

Without answering right away, you pull out a pair of leather pants and an oversized ripped black-and-red striped sweater, tossing them in his direction. He barely manages to catch them, holding the garments up with an eyebrow cocked high.

"Taehyung’s clothes should fit you," you say casually, brushing past him as if this is no big deal. Because to

you

, it isn't.

Jungkook’s expression shifts instantly, his brows knitting together in what you can only describe as annoyance. "Wait, Taehyung’s clothes? Why does he have clothes here?" His voice is sharper than you expected, betraying more irritation than you’d anticipated.

Hmm, isn't that interesting?

You smirk, refusing to give him the reaction he’s clearly fishing for. Instead, you throw him a cheeky wink and head for the door. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Before he can press further, you slip out of the room, leaving him behind to stew—and, hopefully, to change clothes.

Jungkook scoffs softly at your response as you shut the door. He changes into the clothes, and sure enough, they fit him perfectly. The leather pants hug his frame in all the right places. The ripped oversized sweater drapes casually over his shoulders, adding an edgy contrast that somehow still manages to look effortlessly perfect on him.

When the door opens, you glance up from where you're leaning casually against the wall across the hall, arms crossed and a sly grin already tugging at your lips. "I’m done changing," he says, his tone deliberately nonchalant, but there's a flicker of curiosity like he’s waiting for your reaction.

Your gaze slowly drags over him, and you can’t help but pause a little longer than usual on his thighs, how tight the leather pants are, how they accentuate his body in all the right ways. The way he fills them—it's not just confidence. It’s a raw, undeniable attraction. You exhale quietly before you arch a brow, doing your best to sound unaffected. "You look good in those," you say, your voice steady, but there’s an underlying approval that you can’t completely hide.

Then, to cover the flutter in your chest, you straighten up and nod toward his hair, hoping it will distract you from the rush of attraction. "Now, let me fix your hair. It’s too neat for what you’re wearing."

Jungkook glances back at the mirror, his smile turning smug as his eyes catch yours. A flicker of mischief dances in his gaze as though he's aware of the way you looked him over a little too intently. "You think I look good in them?" he asks, his voice lighter now, teasing, but there's something almost pleased in his tone—like he's enjoying the effect he's having on you.

You're not about to entertain him with another compliment. Instead, you roll your eyes and brush him off with a smirk. "Sit on the bed. I’ll grab some styling products and eyeliner. Don’t move," you say, turning to disappear into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, you return with a comb, hair pomade, and eyeliner in hand.

Jungkook is exactly where you left him, sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unusually patient. You set the items beside him, taking a steadying breath before stepping between his legs. "I’m going to start with your hair, okay?" you murmur.

He nods, his large brown eyes never leaving yours. The quiet intensity in his gaze makes your heart pound in your chest.

The closeness catches you off guard, but you force yourself to focus. You comb his hair back, slicking part of it into place. His unwavering stare, however, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. Your stomach twists, sending a wave of dizziness through you.

Just style his hair

, you tell yourself.

Ignore the way he looks at you. Ignore how warm his skin feels this close.

His hands gently rest on the back of your upper thighs—

a little too high up

. Your breath hitches as your eyes widen, darting down to meet his. There’s no teasing smirk, no cocky attitude, just a soft, almost vulnerable expression. It’s like he’s silently asking you to stay close, to keep touching him.

Your throat feels dry, and you gulp harshly, forcing some moisture back as you refocus on his hair, trying—unsuccessfully—not to wonder

how it might feel to tug on it in an entirely different context

. Heat blooms on your cheeks at the thought, and you physically shake your head as if the motion could dislodge the idea entirely before snapping your attention back to the task at hand.

When you finally finish his hair, you pull back slightly. “Your hair’s done. Now, let me add just a little eyeliner, okay?” Your voice is steadier than you feel. He nods again, surprisingly obedient, and stays still as you carefully trace the liner along the edges of his eyelids.

As you work, you notice the faint beauty marks dotting his face—the most prominent under his lip and on the upper left side of his nose. They stand out now, subtle but striking, and you have to remind yourself to stay focused. His features are even more captivating up close, and for a moment, you forget about the task entirely, simply taking in the details.

Mentally shaking the thought away, you step back to take in the full picture, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “There,” you say, crossing your arms. “Now you’ll fit in.”

Jungkook stretches his arms over his head, his curiosity still simmering. “Alright, now that we’re both ready, can you please tell me where you’re taking me? The suspense is killing me.”

You shake your head with a smirk. “Don’t be so impatient. You’ll find out soon enough.” A quick glance at your phone shows it’s 3:52 p.m., and your eyes widen slightly. “We really have to get going now. Put on Taehyung’s shoes.” You gesture toward a pair of black platform shoes sitting neatly in the corner.

He sighs dramatically but obliges, muttering something under his breath as he slides them on. The platforms add an extra edge to his outfit, making him look even more effortlessly cool—

not that you'd ever admit that to him.

Grabbing your bag, you sling it over your shoulder and head for the door. Jungkook follows close behind, his curiosity practically palpable as he steals glances your way. You can’t help but grin to yourself—whatever he’s imagining, he’s in for a surprise.

Jungkook groans, his steps quickening as he tries to catch up with you. “Seriously, why won’t you just tell me where we’re going? It’s driving me nuts that you’re being so mysterious.”

You glance at him with a teasing smirk, enjoying the way his frustration grows. “Mystery is a part of my charm.”

His eyes narrow as he huffs, walking even faster now, clearly getting more irritated. “If by charm, you mean ‘annoying,’ then sure. But seriously, can you at least drop a hint? I’m not gonna last much longer with this silence.”

You can't help but chuckle under your breath, finding amusement in how much he's struggling. “You’ll find out soon enough. No need to rush it.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue further, though his pace quickens again in protest. Every few seconds, he shoots you an exaggerated glare, which only makes you smile wider. The longer he stews, the more satisfied you feel with your little game.

It isn’t long before you finally reach your destination—a small, hole-in-the-wall punk bar near your place. Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, and his brows furrowed in disbelief. “THIS is where you were taking me?”

You can’t hold back your laughter anymore. You grab his hand, practically dragging him inside.

You wave to the bouncer, Tony, who flashes you a small smile. “I have a plus one for our show tonight!” Tony nods with recognition and waves you both in.

As you step inside, the sound of clashing guitars and bass reverberates through the walls. The small, crammed punk bar is dimly lit, with flickering neon signs casting an eerie glow on the mismatched furniture. The air smells faintly of sweat and spilled beer, and the walls are covered in layers of old band posters and graffiti. It’s loud, chaotic, and a bit dingy, the kind of place where you can hardly move without bumping into someone or knocking over a half-drunk glass.

Jungkook’s eyes widen as the reality of the situation hits him. “Wait, what? You’re performing tonight?”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction, enjoying the mix of surprise and confusion. “Not just me,” you say, leaning in a little closer with a playful grin. “You wanted to bother me today, so now you get to see our first live show. It’s me, Yoongi, and Taehyung.”

You laugh at his bewildered expression as he processes the information. Without missing a beat, you tug him backstage to meet up with Taehyung and Yoongi. On the way there, you notice Jungkook is taking everything in like a deer caught in headlights.

I’m glad I made him look the part. Hopefully, he won’t stick out too much now.

"Hey guys! I brought a new fan." You smirk as you pull Jungkook up to Taehyung and Yoongi.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The moment Taehyung hears your voice, his face lights up with his wide and rectangular smile. He abandons the mic stand he’d been adjusting and strides over with open arms, wrapping you in a tight hug that smells faintly of cherry musk. “You’re here!” he exclaims, his laugh warm and bubbly.

You chuckle, leaning into his embrace as his arms squeeze you just enough to be comfortable. But the moment halts when his gaze shifts to Jungkook. His eyebrows knit together as he leans down to whisper, “Is he wearing my clothes?”

You pull away from Taehyung’s hug, the warmth of his arms lingering. “Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, glancing up at him with a sheepish grin. “Yoongi’s clothes wouldn’t fit him, and I didn’t think mine would exactly suit his vibe.” A chuckle escapes you as your gaze drops to your own skimpy outfit

The moment sours when your eyes land on Yoongi. He’s staring at Jungkook like he’s trying to set him on fire with sheer willpower. His jaw is tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets, but the sharp line of his shoulders gives him away. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice cutting through the noisy bar like a knife.

Oh boy, here we go. If looks could kill, then Jungkook would be dead.

Jungkook blinks, the question snapping him out of his daze. His brow furrows, and a flicker of confusion dances across his face before it’s replaced by that cocky smirk you know

all too well

. “What’s it to you?” he counters, voice smooth but edged with defiance. His stance shifts, shoulders squaring almost as if trying to appear bigger.

The air feels heavier, and the low thrum of the music suddenly too loud. Your gaze darts between them, a knot forming in your chest as Yoongi takes a step closer, his stare never wavering. You can’t tell if Jungkook’s smirk is a challenge or a defense.

You step in quickly, your voice cutting through the tension before it can snap. "Just ignore him today. I lost a bet," you say, offering a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

For a fleeting second, your gaze meets Yoongi’s. The silence between you is loaded and layered, his stubborn protectiveness—it weighs on you like a stone. And yet, you understand. His distrust isn’t really about Jungkook.

Well, maybe it is.

After all, you did kind of cry about Jungkook yesterday, curled into Taehyung’s chest while Yoongi stood there like a shadow. He hadn’t said a word, but it was as if he could feel every crack in your defenses, every unspoken pain. But instead of stepping in, he let Taehyung hold you, his silence digging deeper than his words ever could. It was as if he could sense how much it all hurt, but instead of comforting you, he let Taehyung do it.

Sometimes, it’s hard to understand Yoongi. Well, actually, most of the time

, if you’re honest.

You quickly push that memory aside, focusing back on the moment. It’s not the time to dwell on the unexpressed emotions between you and Yoongi. But sometimes, you can’t help but wonder how much longer this distance will last between you two—the distance he carefully maintains when others are around you two.

I don’t understand why he’s like this, and it always makes situations like this tense.

You hold his gaze, your expression firm, hoping to communicate what words can’t—a silent plea for him to back off, to trust you, just this once. For a moment, something shifts in Yoongi’s eyes, the hardness softening at the edges before he huffs and rolls his eyes. “I still don’t trust him.”

The words hit you right in the chest, the sting sharp and familiar. Part of you itches to argue, to tell him Jungkook is fine and that you’re more than capable of handling yourself. But another part—the quieter, more honest part—knows it’s not about Jungkook at all.

It’s about you.

The way Yoongi’s shoulders tighten whenever your safety is in question. The subtle shift in his gaze when he thinks you’re not paying attention. Even now, his stance screams protective, though he hides it behind his sarcasm and feigned annoyance. He doesn’t just distrust Jungkook—it’s everyone and everything when it comes to you.

You let out a breath, exasperated but not angry. “Just drop it,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, pleading. You offer Yoongi a small, almost apologetic smile, though your chest tightens. “For once, can’t you just… trust me?”

The silence that follows feels suffocating. You glance up at him, your gaze locking for just a moment, and it says more than either of you is willing to put into words.

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, and his shoulders stiffened as though bracing for an argument. But then his eyes soften further, just enough to reveal the cracks in his resolve. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he mutters, so quiet it’s nearly swallowed by the noise around you. The way his voice dips, laced with raw emotion, something he doesn't show often.

The knot in your stomach tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Then what is it?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s everything else I don’t trust,” he says, his tone stiff, though you can hear his worry bubbling just beneath the surface. His eyes flick toward Jungkook, who’s standing off to the side.

Before you can respond, Jungkook steps closer, breaking the fragile moment between you and Yoongi. “Are we done with the heart-to-heart, or should I come back later?” he quips, a smirk playing on his lips that doesn’t quite match the dull look in his eyes.

Yoongi’s expression hardens instantly, the softness from a moment ago vanishing like it was never even there. His shoulders square, and he takes a step back toward the stage. “We’ve got sound check,” he mumbles, his voice curt. Turning back for just a second, eyeing Jungkook up and down, “Try not to get in the way.” He spits out, voice laced with venom.

You watch him walk off, Taehyung already waving him over from the sound booth. The tension doesn’t dissipate with his absence—it clings to the air once again, thick, layered, suffocating.

Turning to Jungkook, you catch the faintest flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, concern, maybe both—but it vanishes so quickly you can’t be sure. You shake your head, trying to brush off the tension and offer a teasing grin. “You’ve got a knack for stirring things up, don’t you?” you say, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

His smirk returns, this time more genuine, and he shrugs as though unfazed by the conflict. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that slips out. "Ignore Yoongi," you say, your voice softening as you give him a small, reassuring smile. "He can be pretty protective, but we’re about to start practice. Just go sit over there for now." You gesture to the sofa in the corner, a little out of the way but still in sight of the group.

Jungkook nods slowly, his gaze flicking between you and Yoongi for a moment before he strides over to the sofa. Even as he sinks into the cushions, you can feel the weight of his stare lingering on you—unwavering and unreadable.

For a moment, you wonder if Jungkook is questioning everything—the tension between you, Yoongi’s hostility, and his own place in all of this. Does he feel as out of place as he looks? You try to shake the thought away, but it lingers, gnawing at your mind.

You tested all of our equipment and began the sound check. As the familiar hum of the instruments filled the air, Jungkook’s eyes never left you. His gaze was fixed, unyielding as if he was trying to read you, trying to understand something only he could see. It was oddly motivating, pushing you to pour everything into your performance.

Even if it was just practice.

Every time you look his way, you feel the weight of his stare—a silent scrutiny that makes you feel... seen. Not just as the person standing there, playing your part, but as someone he’s truly paying attention to in a way no one else seems to. You try not to let it distract you, but it’s hard—his intensity is like a quiet force, pulling you in, making every note you play feel more deliberate than the last.

He does this to all the girls, I’m sure of it. Focus. You aren't special.

As soon as you finish, you place your microphone back on the stand, letting the last note linger in the air. Your body sways gently to the fading hum of the instruments—a calming habit that usually helps you unwind. But then it hits—a wave of cold sweat sliding down your back, your muscles locking up as if your energy is being siphoned away.

You glance at your hands, frowning at the pale, almost ghostly hue creeping onto your skin. The sudden dizziness makes the world tilt, and everything around you feels distant like you’re underwater. Your vision blurs at the edges, shapes and colors bleeding together as the room begins to spin.

"Hey? Are you okay?" Jungkook’s voice slices through the haze, sharper than the ringing in your ears. There’s an edge of worry in his tone, but it feels muffled and far away beneath the relentless pounding in your skull: your vision begins to waver, shapes bending and twisting like heat waves on sun-scorched asphalt.

You blink hard, desperate to focus, but the room tilts dangerously to one side. The faint scent of sweat and old wood from the stage feels overwhelming, mixing with the coppery tang lingering at the back of your throat. Your chest tightens, the air around you thickening with each shallow, labored breath.

Before you can respond, Yoongi is on his feet, moving faster than you thought possible for him. His arm comes around you just as your knees start to buckle, his grip firm and grounding against the rising tide of disorientation.

Jungkook freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm in the blink of an eye. His wide eyes dart between you and Yoongi, and his voice thickens with panic as he calls your name.

But you can’t focus on him—on anyone—over the sharp thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. The relentless dizziness pulls at you, dragging you under. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, each breath too shallow, too strained.

Not again. Not now.

You force yourself to take several deep breaths, though each one feels like dragging air through a straw. Your heart pounds erratically, each beat like a warning bell reverberating in your chest. Your trembling fingers find the loose threads of Yoongi’s sweater, tugging at them with shaky hands as the small, repetitive motion helps anchor you and keep you grounded.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” you say, the words tumbling out unevenly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to sound composed.

Yoongi’s grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your side—not enough to hurt, but just enough to keep you here in the moment. His scent surrounds you, a mix of spicy citrus and something warm, like the smell of home. It’s calming, like a lifeline pulling you back to reality. You focus on it, letting the sharp tang of citrus and the faint heat of spice chase away the dizziness clawing at the edges of your mind.

“You just got out of the hospital,” Yoongi hisses, his voice low but cutting through the haze in your head. “I told you performing so soon wasn’t a good idea.”

His words hang between you, sharp and undeniable, piercing through the swirl of nausea and the spinning room. You want to argue, to insist you’re okay, but your head still feels too light, the world still teetering unsteadily around you. Instead, you lean into his hold just a little more, focusing on the texture of his sweater beneath your fingers and the steadying comfort of his scent.

What would you do without Yoongi? Sure, you butt heads more than necessary, but in moments like this,

he’s your rock—steady, immovable

, exactly what you need.

Jungkook snaps out of his frozen daze, his voice trembling. “Wait, what were you in the hospital for? Are you okay?” His face is etched with concern, eyes wide and scanning yours as if the answer might already be written there.

Before you can even think of a way to deflect, Yoongi butts in, his tone sharp and matter-of-fact. “She has syncope. She’ll faint if she pushes herself too hard or gets overwhelmed.”

Jungkook blinks, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Syncope?” he repeats, the word clumsy and unfamiliar on his tongue. “What does that even mean? Is it serious?”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, his voice growing impatient. “It means her body can’t always regulate blood flow properly. If things get too intense, she collapses.”

Jungkook recoils, the confusion on his face melting into alarm. “Wait, so… you’ll just pass out? That’s what happened earlier, wasn’t it? And you’re still performing like it’s no big deal?”

Embarrassment begins prickling hot at the back of your neck, and you can’t help the glare you shoot at Yoongi for telling him. You didn’t want Jungkook to find out like this—so bluntly.

Hell, I didn’t want him to know at all.

Straightening up, you force yourself to stand on your own, brushing off your clothes with a little more force than necessary. The sharpness of your movements is a weak attempt to reclaim some semblance of control over your body, but it doesn’t work. Your heart pounds harder, a thunderous beat that you refuse to acknowledge. "I just get a little light-headed sometimes," you mutter, trying to steady your voice, but it wavers despite your best effort. "Now that we've practiced and done soundcheck, I can relax until we perform."

The words feel like lies, each one heavier than the last. You hate how easily they slip from your mouth, how little you believe them. And you hate even more that Yoongi told Jungkook, for ripping the curtain back on something you weren’t ready to share. It leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable—like a weight has been placed on your chest, suffocating any chance of pretending things are normal.

Your body has betrayed you again, and you hate it. Hate the way it makes you feel like a burden, hate the way their concerned gazes dig into you, even though you know they’re just trying to help. It doesn’t matter. All you can feel is the sharp sting of your own frustration, clawing at your composure.

"No, that isn’t normal. If performing will risk your health, you shouldn’t do it. I’m worried about." Jungkook’s voice cracks slightly, the worry in his tone piercing through your ears and twisting uncomfortably in your chest.

You look at him, and that familiar spark of frustration flares, sharp and unrelenting, too quick to stop.

Why is he acting like this? I didn’t want his concern, not like this—not when it makes me feel small and weak. It’s not his place to worry about me, not when I could barely handle it myself

.

You hate how exposed you feel, how they can all see what you can’t seem to hide anymore. They’re staring at your weakness, and

that

cuts deeper than anything else.

"You have no right to be worried about me, so knock it off," you snap, your voice sharp, harsher than you intended. Regret laces through you almost immediately, but the heat of your embarrassment burns hotter, spreading through your chest and leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You didn’t mean to lash out, but everything feels like it’s slipping—your control, your pride, and now even your ability to keep people at a safe distance.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, the shock clear in his eyes. For a moment, there’s unfiltered emotion in his gaze—a flicker of hurt—but he smothers it almost as quickly as it appears. His lips part like he’s about to say something, but before he can, Yoongi’s voice cuts through the tension, calm, measured, yet unyielding.

"Are you going to be okay with performing tonight? We don’t have to do this if you’re not feeling up to it."

You exhale sharply, trying to shove your frustration down, but it’s too stubborn, bubbling just beneath the surface. It threatens to spill over, but you force a smile anyway—a brittle, unconvincing curve of your lips that feels more like a mask. You can’t let them see how shaken you are.

Not now. Not with the show tonight.

"I’ll be fine, I promise," you say, your voice soft but strained. You reach up and pat Yoongi’s arm as if to prove it—to him and yourself—but even the small motion feels heavy. "I have to perform at least once."

Yoongi’s expression softens, but there’s still a tightness in his jaw. He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair like he can’t decide whether to rip it all out or just leave the room. "I swear, you push yourself too much sometimes."

His words make you flinch inwardly. You know he means well, but the weight of his concern is too much, as though you’re a problem he’s determined to fix. You’re not fragile, not some delicate thing, but the longer this drags on, the harder it is to believe it yourself. You have to pull yourself together before the cracks start to show.

Across the room, Taehyung steps over, always the peacemaker. He nods in agreement with Yoongi, but the edge to his usual warm smile betrays the worry that’s etched into his features. "If you start feeling bad during the performance tonight, tell us. We can stop," he says gently, though his tone leaves no room for negotiation.

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a bear hug, his arms wrapping around you. For a moment, the tension eases, the solid warmth of his frame almost convincing you to let it go.

Almost.

But then he leans down, his voice low against your ear, and your body tenses all over again.

“Stop taking your anger out on others when they care. Let us care about you.”

His words hit deeper than you expected. You knew Taehyung was talking about how you’d snapped at Jungkook and how you’d been pushing Yoongi away despite everything he does for you.

Hell, Yoongi would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.

Taehyung always noticed things like that, always saw through the cracks you tried to plaster over. And when he spoke to you directly, it was never just a passing comment—it was something you had to take seriously.

Yoongi’s hand came to rest on top of your head, the light pat unexpectedly gentle, protective. His gaze softened, holding an unusual tenderness that caught you off guard. “Please take care of yourself,” he said quietly, his voice threaded with an emotion he rarely let show.

You hugged Taehyung back tightly, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. The rhythm was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind, grounding you, if only for a moment. You let yourself lean into it just enough to feel like the weight on your shoulders might ease if you breathed for a second. He always had that effect—making you feel safe when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

But Yoongi’s words lingered, heavy and inescapable. They curled around your thoughts, a reminder that pushed at the edges of your resolve. Reluctantly, you pulled away from Taehyung, managing a smile that doesn't quite feel genuine. “Thank you, guys.” It was all you could offer without crumbling.

As soon as you let go, your gaze shifted to Jungkook. His change hit you like a cold wind, sharp and jarring. His usual carefree energy was gone, replaced by something uncharacteristically tense. He stood stiffly, his eyes fixed anywhere but on you, his jaw tight and a muscle twitching at the corner of his eye.

You tried to ignore it, convincing yourself it was all in your head, but his distance was glaringly obvious. This wasn’t the Jungkook you knew—the teasing, playful guy who radiated an effortless confidence. This felt like someone else entirely. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if what you’d said earlier had hurt him. Could that really be it?

Clearing your throat, you tried to break through the uncomfortable silence. “We still have two hours until the show starts,” you said, forcing your tone to sound normal. “Do you want to take a look around?”

Jungkook grumbled something under his breath, his words barely audible as he gave a half-hearted nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

His voice was tight and strained, and he still wasn’t looking at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, as if there was something there far more interesting than anything you could say. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, restless and uneasy.

The usual energy he carried—the spark that lit up any room he walked into—was missing. Instead, this withdrawn, unfamiliar version of him stood in its place, and the difference was unsettling.

You could tell something was wrong, something deeper than what he was letting on. But you didn’t press him.

Not now. Not in front of Yoongi and Taehyung.

You gave him a small nod and turned away. The quiet wasn’t unusual, but this wasn’t the same comfortable silence you’d shared the night before. This one felt charged, like a wire stretched too tight, waiting to snap.

As you wandered toward the main area of the bar, the dim lights and faint hum of distant music did little to ease the discomfort settling over you. You told yourself it was okay, that the tension would pass. But the weight begins growing heavier between you two with each step, pressing down on your chest until you can barely take it.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Jungkook’s jaw was still locked tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets. His usual easygoing energy was nowhere to be found, replaced by a rigidness that felt entirely out of place.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice light but tentative. “You seem bothered by something,” you said, careful to keep your tone casual. “Wanna share?”

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he let out a short, sharp breath and finally spoke, his voice carrying an edge of frustration.

“You just touch Yoongi and Taehyung like it’s nothing,” he said, his tone tight. “You’re so relaxed with them. Letting them touch you like it’s no big deal.”

You stopped in your tracks, blinking at him as confusion knitted your brow. “Yeah? They’re my friends.”

When his eyes finally met yours, they burned with an intensity that made your stomach flip. The familiar warmth and sparkle in them was gone, replaced by something dark, something that stung.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You don’t let me touch you. You were so relaxed being hugged by them, but I can’t even get close without you pulling away.”

His words slammed into your chest.

Is he serious?

A sharp wave of frustration rose, burning through you like wildfire. Your heartbeat picked up, the sting of his words clouding your thoughts.

Why would he even bring this up now?

You forced a slow breath, trying to steady yourself, to push the emotion back before it spilled over. “I only just met you three days ago,” you snapped. “I’ve known Yoongi and Taehyung for ten years.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, and you saw the muscle in his face twitch—a small but telling sign of how wound up he was. His body goes rigid, and the air around him feels thick. The tension radiating off him was palpable like something was about to snap.

What’s going on with him?

You could feel how his gaze burned into you, demanding something—understanding?

You could tell there was more he wasn’t saying, something deeper tangled up in that frustration, but you didn’t want to untangle it. Not when everything already felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

“That’s not the point!” Jungkook spat, his voice raw and mixed with irritation. “Just because you've known them for ten years doesn’t matter. It bothers me that you’re so relaxed with them touching you!” He looked away for a moment like he was trying to gather his thoughts, to find a way to make sense of whatever this was. And then, with a slight pout—

no, it was definitely a pout

—he added, “Every time I try to get close to you, you call me gross.”

Was this really about how you pushed him away, or something deeper?

You motioned to the couch, needing space—needing time to process what had just happened, what he was saying. “Come on, let’s sit down and talk about this,” you said, your voice quieter now but still tinged with that same rush of frustration. You needed distance to breathe, to think, but you weren’t sure how much distance he would allow you to put between you both.

Jungkook huffed but followed you, collapsing onto the couch with an exaggerated sulk bordering on childish. You sat beside him, careful to leave just enough distance to keep from feeling cornered but not so much that it would seem like you were retreating entirely.

“Yoongi and Taehyung are family to me,” you said finally, your voice steady but strained. “When I lost my parents, they were all I had left. They took care of me when no one else did.”

You felt the weight of your words settle in the room, and for a moment, his expression softened, the frustration in his eyes dimming slightly. But his brows still knit together, his shoulders tense.

“I get it,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter now, though a faint frustration lingered. “I know Yoongi and Taehyung mean a lot to you, but…” He trailed off, glancing away like he was searching for the right words. “You know, for this whole thing between us to seem believable, it wouldn’t hurt if you were a little more comfortable with me. Just saying.”

You blinked, thrown by his response. “Seriously?” You scoffed, more out of disbelief than anything else. “That’s what this is about?”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name crossing his face. “I’m just saying… if people are going to buy it, you could at least act like you don’t hate being near me.”

The words struck you sharp and unexpected, settling like a weight in your chest. You blinked, caught off guard by the edge in his tone. “I don’t hate being near you,” you said, quieter now, the defensiveness in your voice softening despite yourself. The way he looked at you made it impossible to hold onto the frustration you’d tried to muster.

“Could’ve fooled me.” His voice was low, tinged with irritation, but there was something else beneath it—that he wasn’t saying aloud.

His gaze locked onto yours, unrelenting, and heat surged in your chest, your pulse skipping under the intensity of it. You looked away quickly, the vulnerability in his eyes too much to meet head-on. “Jungkook, we have four days left of this fake relationship,” you said, the words coming out shakier than you intended. “And then we go back to not knowing each other. Why do you care if I relax around you or not?”

He exhaled sharply, biting his lip in a nervous habit that betrayed his usual confidence. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on some distant point before flicking back to yours. “We don’t have to go back to not knowing each other,” he said, his voice quieter now, hesitant like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear it. “Not if we don’t want to.”

The air between you shifted. His words hung there, unspoken meaning rippling just below the surface. Your stomach twisted, unsure if it was panic or something else entirely.

The softness in his tone, the almost childlike uncertainty, made it feel like you were glimpsing at something hidden, something Jungkook didn’t show to anyone. And for a second—just a second—you felt the ground beneath you tilt, leaving you unsteady.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—to fill the silence, but no words came. What could you even say to that?

Remember who he is,

you thought bitterly.

The college campus golden boy. You’re in a fake relationship with him. Who knows—maybe this is just another game to him. A bet, even, to see how far he can push you.

The irritation that bubbled up at the thought was sharp but fleeting, extinguished by Taehyung’s words from earlier.

"Let us care about you."

The memory of it settled something deep in your chest.

Maybe I can try to at least be friends… if he really means it.

You took a deep breath, letting it steady you. “I can try,” you whispered, the words softer than you intended, as if speaking them too loudly would make them less real.

Jungkook’s expression shifted instantly, the tension in his shoulders melting away as if your words had flipped a switch. His eyes lit up—so bright and hopeful it left you momentarily stunned. You had never seen him look like that before, like the teasing confidence he always wore had been stripped away to reveal something almost innocent.

“You really mean it?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and cautious hope. The corner of his lips quirked into the faintest smile, and then, almost shyly, he added, “Can I hold your hand?”

You hesitated. The chaos in your mind screaming at you to pull back, to retreat behind the walls you’d built so carefully. But there was something about him in this moment—unguarded, sincere—that made it impossible to turn him away. Slowly, you reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you bridged the distance between you.

This isn’t going to be easy.

Opening up was foreign territory and every instinct you had screamed to keep your guard up. Still, some small, persistent part of you wanted to see how far he’d go to meet you in this moment.

“You can… this once,” you said softly, your voice etched with anxiety you couldn’t quite hide.

Jungkook paused, his hand hovering in the space between you both as though crossing that gap required more courage than he’d anticipated. This wasn’t like the casual touches from before. There was no bravado now, no careless confidence. Instead, his movements were deliberate and careful, like he was handling something fragile.

This wasn’t the Jungkook you were used to—the one full of teasing smirks and confident banter.

This version of him was softer and quieter as if he understood how fragile this moment was. And somehow, that made it even harder to resist trusting him, even just a little.

When his fingers brushed against yours, a shiver runs down your spine, the gentleness of his touch catching you off guard. He lingered for a moment as if testing the waters before slowly intertwining his fingers with yours. The softness of his grasp was unexpected, almost reverent, and when he pulled your hand closer, it felt like he was holding more than just your hand—he was holding the moment, afraid it might slip away if he moved too quickly.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to quiet, leaving just the two of you suspended in that fragile stillness. And though the vulnerability terrified you, you didn’t pull away.

Your eyes drifted down to your intertwined hands, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. When you glanced back up at him, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension knotting in your chest. “You know,” you murmured, your tone light but teasing, “I might’ve let you hold my hand if you’d asked nicely instead of demanding it all the time.”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to yours; his usual cocky demeanor wasn’t there. His expression softened, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. It caught you off guard, and maybe it caught him off guard too because after a beat, he cleared his throat and looked away, his ears turning a faint shade of red. “Yeah... I probably should’ve asked sooner,” he mumbled.

The corners of your lips lifted at his uncharacteristic awkwardness, and you rested your joined hands on your lap, the moment settling between you. “If there’s anything else you want to talk about—or ask me—go ahead,” you said, your voice quieter now, steady but open. “I’m an open book.”

Jungkook’s expression shifts, and you notice his hesitation almost immediately. You can see his muscles tense. “Can I ask something of you first?”

“Can I hold you?” His voice falters slightly as his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of resistance.

You see the uncertainty in his gaze. You hadn’t expected him to ask something so soft.

You furrow your brows as your back stiffens slightly, but you nod. “Sure?” The word comes out more uncertain than you wanted, your discomfort slipping through despite your best effort to stay composed.

Jungkook looks at you with a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He’s not pushing you; just waiting for you to either confirm or pull away. “Is it really okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

A laugh escapes you, though it’s strained, an attempt to push past the discomfort. “Do it now before I change my mind,” you say, but your voice betrays you—more exasperated than you meant.

The soft, careful way he’s approaching you makes the whole thing feel so much more intimate than you expected from him.

Why is he being so careful? I thought he was some playboy who went through women like socks. Was I wrong?

Jungkook nods, his face softening with relief, and a warm smile spreads across his face. He moves slowly and carefully like he's afraid to startle you. He lets go of your hand and, with a gentleness you didn’t know he had, places it on your waist, pulling you closer. His other arm wraps around you, drawing you in with a tenderness that makes your heart pound in your chest.

There’s a moment of hesitation.
Then, he buries his face into the crook of your neck, and you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.
You take a slow, steadying breath, your chest tight as you wrap your arms around him.

His embrace tightens in response, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels... safe, almost. He pulls you closer, and for a brief moment, you let yourself relax into the hug, the tension easing from your muscles. You can feel his heartbeat steady and strong against you, but your mind is spinning, and you silently pray that he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.

You close your eyes, trying to let yourself enjoy this rare moment of peace. But when Jungkook sighs softly into your neck, you freeze, your body stiffening once again. It’s too much—

too personal, too real.

He notices immediately, pulling his face from the crook of your neck, but his hold doesn’t loosen.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, his voice softer now, laced with concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’m not used to affection from anyone other than Yoongi and Taehyung,” you admit, your voice quiet, almost too honest. The truth feels strange on your tongue, like admitting something you’ve buried.

Jungkook’s grip tightens just a fraction, and his eyes search yours with quiet concern. “Does this bother you? Should I let you go?”

You finally look up, really seeing him for the first time in this close, intimate way. His soft features are more pronounced now—his big, round eyes peering at you through his bangs, the small scar on his left cheek you hadn’t noticed before, the beauty marks on his nose bridge, just under his bottom lip, and scattered all along the right side of his face. Your gaze inevitably drifts to his lips, which are slightly parted, waiting for your answer.

Your heart races even faster, and you quickly avert your eyes, a flush creeping up from your chest to your neck and spreading across your face. "I think you should let go for now," you murmur, just above a whisper.

There’s a brief hesitation, and then Jungkook slowly releases you, his hands lingering softly on your waist. When he pulls away, you catch the worry etched on his face—his brows furrowed, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

"It’s not that I hated it," you add quickly, trying to ease his concern. "It’s just... I’m not used to it."

You scoot a few inches away, and the small gap between you feels much wider now. Without his body heat, you feel a chill. But Jungkook doesn’t seem upset. His smile is soft and understanding—like he’s heard you without judgment.

"I’m just glad you didn’t hate it," he says, his voice light and reassuring.

Quick to distract him from the blush—

you know

is showing on your face, you grab your phone and check the time. '5:32 p.m.' "We still have about an hour and a half to kill before the show,"
you say, putting your phone down and offering Jungkook a warm, genuine smile
. "I’ll tell you anything you wanna know."

Despite the crowded bar, thick with the smell of cheap beer, cigarettes, and sex, you feel at ease.

Maybe he has no ulterior motives after all.

Jungkook bites at his bottom lip again, his usual soft smile replaced by an unmistakable nervousness. "Do you mind if I ask... how you lost your parents?" His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

A sharp pain shoots through your chest. You look down at your hands, the rings on your fingers suddenly feeling heavier, as though they anchor you to the present. "Motorcycle accident," you say, your voice flat. "Some idiot was driving drunk and hit them. They didn’t even make it to the hospital." You say it casually as if the words are nothing, but they taste bitter on your tongue.

Jungkook’s face tightens, a furrow deepening between his brows. "How old were you when it happened?" His voice is so soft and hesitant that
you almost miss the question altogether
.

You purse your lips, glancing back up at him, unsure how to respond. "I’m nineteen now, and it happened when I was in high school." You trail off, your fingers absently twisting the rings around your fingers as you try to steady yourself from the memories flooding back in. "I was fifteen."

The silence settles between you, thick and heavy.
Jungkook doesn’t push, but his quiet sympathy fills the space as if he’s absorbing the pain you’re trying to hide.

He clenches his jaw, his expression flickering with a twinge of regret. "Is that why Yoongi and Taehyung live with you?"

The question throws you off.

Where did he get that idea? I thought I told him I lived alone.

As you notice Jungkook wearing Tae’s clothes, it hits you, and you let out a soft laugh. "No, I live alone. Yoongi and Tae just sleep over a lot... to help me."
Jungkook’s eyes widen, and the concern in his gaze sharpens.
"Wait, have you been living alone since you were fifteen?" His voice drops to a soft murmur. "What do Yoongi and Taehyung help you with? I can’t picture you asking for help."

You shake your head, a bitter smile pulling at your lips. "They really only come over if my panic attacks and nightmares get bad. That's why they have clothes at my house." You gesture to the clothes Jungkook is wearing. "It’s nothing fancy, just... their way of being there."

Jungkook hesitates, shifting uncomfortably as his expression softens. "You get panic attacks?"

His voice is almost a whisper as if the words themselves might hurt. The delicacy in his tone makes it even harder to keep your walls intact. This is the first time you’ve ever told anyone about what happened. Yoongi and Taehyung were there, but you haven’t spoken much about it since unless you were having an episode.

You pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself as if trying to hold everything in. The act itself betrays just how exposed you feel. "I remember the night I got the call about the accident. I fought with my parents before they left the house..." As the words leave your mouth, you can feel tears pricking at your eyes, and your throat tightens painfully. "And sometimes, when I think about how they died thinking I hated them, it makes me panic."

Jungkook’s hand inches toward your arm, a hesitant motion that stops just before he grazes your skin. His fingers hover for a moment before he clenches them into a fist, pulling his hand back to rest in his lap. His gaze meets yours again, soft and searching.

The tears slip from your eyes before you can stop them. You quickly turn away, hoping he won’t notice, but it’s futile. His voice breaks the silence—gentle, almost tentative, as he speaks your name, his tone laced with a tenderness you aren’t used to. He hesitates as if unsure of how to comfort you.

You shake your head quickly, swiping at the mascara-streaked tears on your cheeks. "I told you I’d answer any questions you have," you say before he can even attempt to comfort you.

You rub your eyes hard. The smudged makeup doesn’t matter—it was already messy intentionally.

The silence grows heavy, and your chest begins to tighten once more. You need a distraction—

anything to steer the conversation away.

Your lips tug into a forced smirk as you glance back at him. "So, when am I meeting your parents to convince them you’ve got a girlfriend?"

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably. His posture is tense—almost nervous. "My company wants us both to go over around midday tomorrow," he says, his voice quieter than before. "You’ll meet them as my girlfriend then."

You blink, the words not quite registering at first. Then, it hits you. Your head snaps toward him so quickly that a sharp pain shoots down your neck. "What company?"

The room feels like it’s closing in as Jungkook freezes. His awkwardness melts into something closer to panic. "Oh... right." He lets out a shaky breath, running his fingers through his hair. "I—uh—I asked you for this fake relationship for publicity purposes." His voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight of the confession echoes in the space between you.

Your stomach knots as you watch his face, wide-eyed and horrified, like he’s only just realized what he’s done.

Your legs drop to the floor, and you lean forward, bracing yourself as the unease churns in your gut. "Publicity?" The word cuts sharply through the air, your tone harsh and brittle. "What

the hell

are you talking about?"

Jungkook flinches at your sudden movement, shrinking slightly as though trying to retreat into himself. "Yeah," he admits, his gaze dropping to his hands like he can’t bear to meet your eyes. "I came up with the whole thing so the fans and media would stop with the whole 'international playboy' thing." His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. "They think this is real."

"Fans?!" Your voice shoots up, sharp and disbelieving. The word feels foreign in your mouth like it doesn’t belong in this context. "Who

are

you?!"

Jungkook winces, his eyes darting to yours with a flicker of confusion. "You mean... you don’t know?" His voice is hesitant, almost disbelieving. "Like, you really have no idea who I am?"

"You’re Jeon Jungkook," you snap, the edge in your tone cutting through your own confusion. "We go to university together, and all the girls act like you’re the second coming or something." You narrow your eyes at him, your chest tightening. "Who else could you possibly be?"

You glance around the room, half-expecting someone to jump out and announce that this is some elaborate prank. But there’s no camera crew, no hidden audience—just Jungkook, sitting there with an awkward, almost guilty half-smile.

He laughs, but the sound is hollow and nervous like he’s trying to fill the growing silence. "Yeah... we go to university together. I am Jeon Jungkook."

Your frustration boils over as you lean in closer, your thighs brushing against his. "Spit it out already," you snap, your voice sharp with annoyance and the sting of betrayal. "You’ve been hiding something, and I want the truth." Your chest tightens, the raw vulnerability of what you’ve just shared now making his secrecy feel unbearable.

Jungkook’s blush deepens as his gaze drops to the floor. For a moment, he looks almost boyish, in a way you’ve never seen before. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "I’m an idol."

The silence that follows is deafening, stretching like a chasm between you as his confession sinks in.

"No fucking way," you mutter, your voice quieter now but sharp with disbelief. Your eyes search his face, desperate for any tell—a smirk, a wink, something to prove this is all a joke. But there’s nothing. Just raw honesty... and something else. Fear? Vulnerability? It throws you off balance, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, but it’s devoid of humor, more like the release of tension he can’t hold back. He doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls his phone from his pocket with stiff movements. Your gaze follows his every action as he types, scrolls, and finally selects a video.

Turning the screen toward you, he hesitates, his fingers trembling slightly. "Here," he says softly, his voice tinged with something you can’t quite place. "This should explain it."

The title reads:

"

Jungkook - Standing Next to You (Official MV).

"

You glance at him, brow furrowed, before pressing play. The music swells, and his voice pours from the tiny speakers—rich, soulful, and completely consuming. The silence between you disappears, replaced by the powerful sound. Your heart races as the video unfolds, revealing him in a way you’ve never seen before confident, captivating, and utterly mesmerizing.

When the video ends, you sit frozen for a moment, stunned. Then, as if something snaps, you leap to your feet. "I can’t believe it!" The words spill out before you can think. "You were amazing! Your voice—holy crap, Jungkook, your voice is

incredible

!" Excitement buzzes through you, practically vibrating in the air.

He shifts on the couch, his cheeks darkening into a deep shade of red. He nibbles on his bottom lip, the cocky Jungkook you know nowhere to be found. "You... you really think so?" His voice is small and hopeful. It makes your heart race.

Unable to contain yourself, you mimic one of his dance moves from the video, energy bubbling over. "I mean, look at this! How do you even make this look so effortless?" You twirl dramatically, nearly tripping over your own feet. Jungkook’s laughter fills the room, his bunny smile making a full return—light and genuine—and the sound warms your chest. For a moment, you let yourself bask in the glow.

Then it hits you. You freeze mid-spin, suddenly aware of just how giddy you’re acting. The fluttering in your chest turns to a pang of embarrassment. Quickly, you straighten your clothes and sink back onto the couch, clearing your throat as you try to regain your composure. "Yeah, I guess it was cool," you say, shrugging with a forced nonchalance.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, clearly amused but kind enough not to tease. He leans back with an easy smile, his eyes still sparkling from laughter.

Determined to steer the conversation somewhere less humiliating, you glance at him and ask, "So... tomorrow. Do I need to dress differently for this?"

"My parents are a bit more conservative," Jungkook hesitates. His gaze flickers to your thigh tattoo, lingering just long enough to make you shift uncomfortably as if it’s a silent acknowledgment of how far your style strays from what he’s imagining. "It’d probably be better if you tried... a different style."

You blink, the words settling like a sting in your chest. "You picked a punk girl to be your fake girlfriend," you say, folding your arms across your chest. Your tone is steady, but the irritation beneath it is impossible to miss.

"I know," he replies quickly, his hand shooting up to rub the back of his neck. His eyes dart everywhere, but at you, and for a moment, he looks like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. "I guess I didn’t think that part all the way through."

Your eyebrow arches sharp and challenging. "So what

were

you thinking? There are plenty of other girls who’d help you in a heartbeat if you explained it."

Jungkook’s gaze travels back up your body, lingering at the delicate tattoo etched on your thigh before tracing an unhurried path to your lips and finally meeting your eyes. His expression shifts, the tension in the room thickening as his voice drops a notch. "I’m not dense. I know that."

His tongue darts out, grazing his lips, the motion slow and deliberate. "But I love the way you hold yourself." His gaze softens, a flicker of heat unmistakable in his eyes. "And you already know I find you attractive."

Your breath hitches for half a second—just long enough for his words to settle in and send an unwanted flutter through your chest. But you smother the feeling quickly, rolling your eyes in an attempt to deflect.

"Seriously?" you say, your voice sharp, though it doesn’t quite hide the heat creeping up your face. "You think a compliment is going to fix this?"

His lips twitch into a smirk, and you want to wipe it off his face, but the way his eyes stay locked on yours makes it hard to look away. You fold your arms tighter across your chest, trying to appear unbothered.

"Good to know your ego’s intact, at least," you add, aiming for sarcasm but feeling the edges of it soften.

Damn it.

You clear your throat and let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "So what now? You want me to wear a frilly dress and pearls? Maybe braid my hair while I’m at it?"

Jungkook’s smirk grows into a grin, and his shoulders relax slightly. "I can’t even picture that," he admits, a teasing lilt in his voice. "But no, just... something a little more conservative, I guess."

You raise an eyebrow, disbelief settling into your expression. "Conservative? All my clothes scream, ‘I just left a rock concert.’ Unless your parents are into leather and ripped jeans, you’re out of luck."

He snorts, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe just tone it down for a day? You know, ditch the spikes and chains? I’ll even find something for you to wear."

"Wow, a free makeover from Mr. Idol himself," you say, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the tiny smirk tugging at your lips. "Fine. But if I hate it, you owe me dinner. A nice one."

His grin broadens, and a playful light sparkles in his eyes. "Deal. But don’t blame me if you end up liking it."

The bustling main area is alive with the sounds of last-minute preparations—people rushing around, equipment being adjusted, and the soft hum of music filtering through the walls. The crowd's energy vibrates through the floor, building with the approaching showtime.

"Yeah, sure," you grumble, fingers tapping restlessly on your phone screen. Glancing at the time, you notice it’s 6:50 p.m. The clock is ticking, and your nerves begin shifting into excitement.

"It’s almost time for the show," you say, standing up and stretching. "Go to the front row and watch how cool I am on stage." You flash Jungkook a wide smile before turning to leave.

Jungkook laughs softly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Don’t worry, I’ll catch the full show." He stretches his arms above his head, and his sweater lifts just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned waist.

God, twice in one day? Lucky me, I guess.

You laugh to yourself.

With a wink, you blow him a playful kiss, then head toward the backstage entrance. "See you out there, Jungkook."

As you move through the maze of backstage chaos, you spot Taehyung and Yoongi by the side, both already dressed in their performance gear, looking as composed as ever.

You walk up to them, feeling the familiar camaraderie that makes everything feel a little less intimidating. "You guys ready?" you ask, flashing them a grin full of excitement.

Yoongi looks up from his phone, a small smile that shows the top of his gums playing his lips—something he doesn’t often show. With a soft sigh, he rolls his eyes, clearly amused. "I was born ready."

"I can’t wait another minute! Let’s go!" Taehyung exclaims, his enthusiasm infectious. He grabs your hand, and together, the three of you step onto the stage.

The bright lights hit you instantly, blinding you for a moment as you take in the crowd. The roar of the audience is deafening, a wave of energy that makes your heart race. The atmosphere crackles with electricity, buzzing with anticipation.

You scan the crowd, your eyes searching for Jungkook. There, near the front, you spot him. Your chest tightens, and butterflies stir in your stomach. The way his eyes focus on you makes it hard to breathe for a moment. He’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. It’s a warmth you want just for yourself. It makes you feel seen, more than just a fake girlfriend for publicity.

As your eyes meet, your heart begins pounding in your ears. Jungkook flashes that

damn

bunny smile again. You smile back, offering him a small wave, hoping he doesn’t notice how your fingers are trembling.

His smile widens, and when he waves back, it feels like time slows down. His attention is unwavering, completely fixed on you in the midst of all the chaos. The warmth in his eyes makes something stir inside you—a spark you weren’t prepared for.

And suddenly, it hits you—the tightness in your chest, the flutter in your heart—it’s more than just a friendly connection.

You might actually like him.

The beat pulses through the speakers, and the energy in the air becomes palpable, pulling you back to the present. The rush of adrenaline floods your veins as the music begins. But for a moment, everything else fades away. Jungkook is still looking at you, and you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the start of something... real.

And that scares the hell out of you.

But as the music intensifies, you force yourself to focus. The performance is all that matters now, even though your mind keeps drifting back to him.

Jungkook's eyes never leave you, not even for a second while you perform.

After forty minutes or so, the music stops, and the crowd erupts into applause. Taehyung and Yoongi come up to the front of the stage, and the three of you take a bow, your cheeks flushed and your skin slick with sweat and the remnants of tears. Yoongi pats your head, and Taehyung pulls you into a hug, his grin wide as the adrenaline starts to wear off. You head backstage, trying to catch your breath.

But as the excitement begins to settle, something doesn’t feel right. A strange, dizzying sensation hits you like a wave, and before you can react, your legs suddenly betray you. The world tilts and your body crashes to the ground with a sickening thud. The last thing you see is Yoongi’s terrified expression, his hands reaching out to you, but it’s already too late.

Everything goes black.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

JK

I can’t wait any longer to tell her just how amazing she was. The performance still lingers in my veins, adrenaline mixing with pride as I weave through the thick crowd. My heart pounds—not from exertion but from anticipation—as I burst through the curtain to the backstage area.

My eyes sweep the room, searching for her.

Where is she?

I freeze when I spot Taehyung and Yoongi standing in a corner. Their heads are bowed, and their voices are hushed and solemn.

Taehyung looks up first. His face is unusually tense. He waves me over, his hand slow, as though reluctant to break whatever news hangs heavy between them.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, the excitement in my chest sinking like a stone. Jogging toward them, I blurt out, “What happened?” My voice comes out strained and tight with unease.

Taehyung glances at Yoongi before answering, his voice low. “She fainted. As soon as we got backstage.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, everything around me going silent as my heart slams in my chest. She fainted. My blood runs cold, and for a split second, nothing makes sense.
“What do you mean, fainted?” My chest tightens with every breath, I struggle. The rush of blood in my ears begins to drown out everything else. “Where is she? Is she okay?” I whirl around, my gaze darting, frantic, searching every corner of the room—

Where is she?

Taehyung gives a small nod. “She’s fine, for now. It was just too much excitement for her—she’s in the back room, resting on the couch.”

Relief floods through me, only to be snatched away. The knot in my stomach tightens once more, gnawing relentlessly as panic licks at the edges of my mind. “Can I see her?” My voice cracks slightly, coming out higher than I expect, betraying the anxiety under my skin.

Yoongi’s scoff cuts through the room, sharp and bitter. “Why do you want to see her? You’re not her friend. And you sure as hell aren’t her

actual

boyfriend.”

His words slam into me, cold and unforgiving, sparking a fury that races through my veins. My jaw locks, the muscles in my neck tightening as frustration builds. “I care about her, Yoongi,” I say, stepping forward, close enough that I can feel the tension crackling between us. My voice drops to a low growl, a controlled calm masking the storm roiling underneath. “Contrary to what you might believe.”

Yoongi’s brows furrow, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “Oh? And now you care?” His voice drips with disbelief. “You’ve been acting like this is some game from the start. What’s your angle, huh?”

He gives me a slow, scornful once-over, pausing long enough to make his contempt clear. “You didn’t even know her until a few days ago.” His eyes narrow, and the hardness in them feels like a blade—sharp, unforgiving. “And you think you’re the one she needs right now?”

The tension thickens around us, pressing down like a weight, suffocating everything in its path. Yoongi’s words slice through me, opening a wound I’m desperate not to show—

especially

to him. My fists clenched at my sides involuntarily, my knuckles white. “You don’t know a damn thing about this, Yoongi,” I growl, stepping closer, leaving almost no space between us. “I’m not playing her. I care about her. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow further. “If you care about her so much, then why—why make her your fake girlfriend? What kind of

‘caring’

is that, huh?” He raises his hands, mimicking air quotes.

Once again, his words sting. My chest tightens, a flicker of doubt worming its way into my thoughts.

Why did I drag her into this? Is that fair?

I shake the thought away, grounding myself.

I may have only known her for a few days, but that doesn’t matter. I felt something with her—something real. And I won’t let Yoongi question that.

My frustration bubbles over, spilling into my movements as I step forward, trying to shove past Yoongi. My voice drops to a low growl. “I don’t need your approval. I just need her to be okay.”

Yoongi stands his ground not letting me pass. “I’m not about to let some wannabe cool guy waltz in and steal the girl I love,” he spits, the words oozing with venom. “So when this whole fake dating thing is over, you need to fuck off. Understand?”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat at Yoongi’s words, and for a moment, the world around me fades into a blur. I swallow hard, sickened by the realization that he loves her. The anger surges in me, hotter and sharper now, and I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, leaving painful crescents.

“You say you love her?” My voice cracks with disbelief, but I push on my throat dry as the words come out gravelly. “And yet, she has no idea you feel that way! You’ve never even told her! So why don’t you get your head out of your ass and stop worrying about me ‘

stealing the girl you love

’ if you can’t even say the words to her yourself?”

Taehyung, who’s been standing off to the side, watching the scene unfold, lets out an exasperated sigh. He steps forward, placing a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder to hold him back.

“Yoongi, enough,” Taehyung says, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not helping her by fighting with Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s gaze shifts briefly to Taehyung, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I’m not backing down, Taehyung. This is about her,” he growls, eyes snapping back to me.

Taehyung’s face softens, his eyes flicking between us before finally settling on me. His voice is quieter now, tinged with frustration and an edge of concern. “And you’re not helping her either by acting like this,” he says as if trying to make us both see reason. “She doesn’t need either of you fighting over her, okay?”

I exhale sharply, a tight, bitter laugh slipping from me. I take a step back, trying to collect myself. “I know,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “She’d probably break my hand if she was hearing this right now.” A flicker of her anger surfaces in my mind—a furrowed brow, a glare sharp enough to kill—and, for a split second, it tugs a small, fleeting warmth through my chest.

Yoongi scoffs. “Taehyung, I’m not about to let some fuckboy use her and toss her aside like she’s nothing while we’re left picking up the pieces,” His jaw clenches, muscles tightening, as he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “She’s been through enough, and I won’t let her go through another heartbreak on my watch.”

Yoongi steps closer, his chest almost brushing mine. Despite being shorter, his presence feels overwhelming and suffocating. "Maybe I will tell her," he says, voice low and edged with a quiet threat. "After all, Taehyung and I have been the only ones who've been there for her." His eyes scan me with cold, calculating precision, and a smug smirk curves his lips. "I’ve made sure she’s warm at night."

I scoff, my gaze shifting elsewhere, trying to fight the surge of anger and confusion coiling inside me.

Warm at night? What the hell is he talking about?

The thought gnaws at me, and I feel the ache of my clenched jaw, my teeth grinding together painfully.

Yoongi lets out a low, mocking laugh, and Taehyung shifts uncomfortably between us. Yoongi leans in, his voice sharp. “Let me be blunt. I’ve held her when she was falling apart, made sure she ate…” His voice dips lower, a dangerous, almost seductive edge creeping in. “I’ve helped her change, even bathe. I stayed at her place for weeks and kept her close while she slept—and that’s just scratching the surface. There are things I won’t even mention.” He straightens up, eyes locking with mine, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I’ve been there when it mattered. So if I told her I loved her, we both know who she'd choose.”

My hands tremble as they ball into fists, my knuckles blanching white with the force of my grip. My heart pounds in my chest, jealousy searing through me like wildfire. “Oh, really?” I force the words out, each one coated in bitterness. “How can you be so sure she’d even want you in that way if she knew you had feelings for her?”

"Better than some fake boyfriend who’s using her. You’ll just toss her aside once she’s no longer useful to you." He pokes his tongue to his cheek, the muscle twitching in irritation as the heat of anger rises within him.

I shut my eyes, trying to steady the tightening in my chest as the fury coiling in my stomach threatens to consume me. My upper arms twitch, the fabric of my sleeves rubbing against my skin, grounding me in the midst of this storm. "You keep saying that. What makes you think I’m using her?" The taste of acid rises in the back of my throat, and my vision starts to tunnel as if everything around me is closing in, suffocating me.

Yoongi picks up on the barely contained fury in my tone. “Are you getting angry?” he taunts, a smirk curling on his lips. “Go ahead and hit me. See how she reacts when you hurt her precious friend.”

The challenge hangs in the air like static before a storm. My jaw tightens, and I can hear my teeth grinding together. My heartbeat thunders in my chest, the rhythm crashing in my veins, each beat like a countdown.

“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” I spit the words, my voice tight with barely restrained fury, each syllable seething like a fuse burning too close to its end. “You’re really fucking testing me?” My body feels like it’s wound too tight, every muscle trembling with the pressure, every nerve frayed and on edge, waiting for the explosion.

Yoongi doesn’t back down. His body is rigid, his eyes dark with defiance, and he matches the tension with his own. The space between us crackles with energy, dangerous, like the air before an explosion.

Before either one of us can move, Taehyung’s voice breaks through the simmering tension, his calm tone cutting through the suffocating heat like a bucket of cold water. “Okay, that's enough, you two,” he says firmly, stepping between us with an ease that contrasts the storm brewing around him. “We’re all worried about her, and if she could see you two fighting, she’d kick both of your asses, so chill out!”

My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to steady my breathing, my muscles still twitching with the desire to hit Yoongi. But Taehyung’s solid and calming presence forces the tension to loosen just enough for me to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the adrenaline begins to ebb away.

It’s strange that Taehyung seems to instinctively know how to defuse the situation. We haven’t been close since middle school. After all these years, we’ve drifted apart—lives changing, priorities shifting. But Taehyung’s steady presence still has the ability to calm me, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

“You can check on her. She’s in the room down the hall on the couch.” Taehyung points in that direction with a sharp gesture. His tone is calm but with an edge, and he is clearly irritated with Yoongi's behavior.

I nod, grateful but still a bit uneasy. "Thank you." The words feel heavier than usual like there’s more weight behind them than just gratitude. I give Taehyung a small, genuine smile—something we haven’t shared in a long time—and for a moment, it feels like maybe the distance between us is starting to close.

I glare at Yoongi once more, the tension still simmering beneath the surface, but I force myself to turn and head toward the room where you are.

***********

Taehyung smiles kindly at Jungkook as he watches him head into the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and that’s when Taehyung’s patience finally snaps. Without hesitation, he turns to Yoongi and punches him in the arm, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Taehyung’s voice is low but sharp, the kind of irritation that only comes from someone who’s seen Yoongi’s behavior go off the rails before.

Yoongi scowls, rubbing his arm with a growl of protest. "What? I’m just looking out for her."

"Yeah, well, you’re doing a damn good job of pushing everyone away while you're at it," Taehyung snaps, his patience fraying, voice sharp with frustration. "She can’t just have the two of us for the rest of her life, Yoongi."

Yoongi's gaze drops, and for a moment, his expression crumbles into something heavy—soul-deep and burdened. His voice is quieter when he speaks. "I don’t want to think about that. You know I love her..." His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes as if trying to steady himself. "I can’t just hand her off to some fuckboy who’s slept with half the campus."

Taehyung’s anger bubbles up again, but it’s not just anger now. There’s pain too, the kind that comes from seeing someone you care about lost in their own mess of emotions. He pinches the bridge of his nose, a soft groan escaping him. "You should know better than to believe rumors." His voice softens, but it still carries the weight of disappointment. "Jungkook is a good guy. You should know that by now, I wouldn’t let anyone get close to her if I thought they’d hurt her."

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck, guilt and frustration mingling in his eyes. "Yeah... I know," he admits, the words heavy with something more than just acknowledgment. There's regret buried in his tone, but it's barely visible.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through the silence that hangs between them. "If you really feel that strongly, then tell her how you feel, but you can’t lash out at Jungkook because you’re too much of a coward to face your own feelings." Taehyung’s words land with a sharp sting, and he doesn’t look away, making sure they cut deep.

Yoongi’s expression falters, and Taehyung’s harsh words land heavier than he expected. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he stares at the ground as if avoiding the truth that’s been laid bare for him. His pride and anger rise to the surface, but there's a flicker of something else—embarrassment and regret.

He scoffs. "Coward, huh?" He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "You think it’s that simple? Just go to her, say what I feel, and everything’s supposed to magically work out?" He laughs bitterly, but the sound is hollow, lacking its usual conviction.

Yoongi steps back, the weight of Taehyung’s words sinking in, and there’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes—something he doesn't want to acknowledge but can't ignore. He runs a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the walls he’s built around his emotions are starting to crack. "I don’t even know if she’d want me to say anything. Hell, I don't know if I'm even good enough to say anything."

He pauses for a long beat as if the words are still catching in his throat. "But fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe I've been hiding behind my own damn fear." His voice softens, almost reluctantly. He looks away, avoiding Taehyung's gaze, but there’s a subtle acknowledgment of the truth in his words.

Taehyung sighs, his expression softening as he steps closer. He places a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "I’m here for both of you, no matter what happens," he says gently, his tone calm and sincere.

***********

JK

I stand frozen at the doorway, my breath catching as I see her sleeping on the couch. The soft rise and fall of her chest is the only thing that reassures me. I step cautiously, careful not to shatter the fragile silence hanging in the air. The room carries her scent—a mix of perfume and the lingering stench of cigarette smoke from years of punk shows, the past echoing in every corner.

I move to the armrest of the couch, hovering there for a moment, my eyes drinking in the sight of her. There's a weight lifting from my chest, a sense of relief flooding me now that she’s okay, even if only for now.

As I watch her, my heart steadies, the knot of tension I’ve been holding since the fight with Yoongi loosening. It’s like the weight in my chest lifts, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe without the constant strain.

"Jungkook." Her soft and fragile voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough to freeze me in place. I watch her stir, murmuring my name in her sleep, and the world slows around me, fading to nothing.

I crouch next to her. I raise my fingers and lightly graze them over her cheek, a quiet smile tugging at my lips as I watch the peacefulness settle over her. The warmth of her skin beneath mine soothes something inside me, the chaos of the past hours finally ebbing away as my heart finds its rhythm again.

She furrows her brows. “Jungkook... You pervert.”

I chuckle softly, the sound barely escaping me as my smile deepens. My fingers move to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face, the simple touch sending a rush of warmth through me. I trace the soft curve of her cheek with my gaze, my eyes lingering on the delicate flutter of her lashes against her skin. Every small detail of her—every subtle movement—seems to draw me in, a magnetic pull I can’t ignore. Before I even realize it, my face is inching closer to hers, drawn by something I can’t quite name.

And then, she says it.

“Yoongi,” she murmurs softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, blissfully lost in her dreams.

My smile vanishes, and the warmth drains from my chest as an unfamiliar wave of jealousy crashes over me. The air in the room suddenly feels thick and suffocating, and my stomach twists in tight knots. My gaze sharpens, and my heart sinks

. Does she… like Yoongi?

The question stabs me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I struggle to control my breath, fighting off the tight frustration building in my chest.

Without thinking, I stand up quickly, retreating to lean against the armrest. My arms cross defensively as I try to swallow down the gnawing ache in my gut. I look at her, still sleeping peacefully, and wait for the flood of questions and doubt to subside—waiting for some answer I’m not sure I’ll want to hear.

***********

You begin to stir, the warmth of sleep still clinging to you, but as your mind sharpens, the confusion starts to clear. A soft groan escapes your lips as your eyes flutter open. Everything feels too bright and too loud. "What happened?" you murmur, your voice shaky and still heavy with sleep.

Jungkook jerks up from his seat on the armrest, his expression so raw with worry that it takes you off guard. His eyes are wide, searching you over as if he can't quite believe you're awake. "You're backstage," he says quickly, his voice rushed, a little panicked. "You passed out after the show." The way he says it makes your chest tighten. You’ve never seen him so concerned. It almost feels like he’s been holding his breath.

Your vision clears as you meet his gaze, and a strange warmth rises in your chest. “Jungkook?” You whisper his name, and it feels different—heavier like you realize something you’ve only just allowed yourself to admit. The way his eyes soften when you say it makes your stomach twist, and you remember.

You like Jungkook.

You try to sit up, the room spinning a little as you move, and he’s there instantly, steadying you with gentle hands at your back. His touch sends an electric shiver through you, making your breath catch in your throat. "Where are Yoongi and Tae?" you ask, needing something solid to focus on, even though your head is still cloudy with thoughts of Jungkook.

"Taehyung and Yoongi are still backstage," he says, his voice quieter now, like he's trying to calm himself just as much as you. He crouches down so that his face is level with yours, his gaze intense, like he's waiting for something from you. "They're in another room, talking." He keeps looking at you as if he's trying to read you, and for a moment, you wonder if he can see right through you.

The moment stretches between you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and it's not from the fainting, not anymore. It's from the way Jungkook is looking at you like he’s searching for an answer to a question he didn't ask. Like he’s waiting for you to ask him.

"I bet they're pissed," you mutter, rubbing your temples, trying to shake off the fogginess.

Jungkook’s lips quirk into a small, almost amused smile. "Yoongi definitely is."

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the sarcastic groan that slips from you. "Oh boy, I’m gonna get an earful from him later."

Jungkook's expression falters for just a second, something darker flickering in his eyes. "Yoongi's pissed, yeah, but I don’t think it’s at you." He leans forward, his voice lowering with a mix of bitterness and frustration. "He’s been going on and on about how I’m ‘using you’... like he’s so fucking sure of it. He keeps talking about how you’d choose him over me." He scoffs, but there’s something odd in the way he says it, like it’s bothering him more than he’s trying to let on.

You blink, surprised, not quite sure what to make of what he’s said. Your gaze sharpens, and a small frown creases your forehead. "What do you mean I’d choose him over you?" You’re genuinely puzzled, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. The confusion is real, but beneath it, something else is stirring—anger?

He looks at you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as he seems to choose his words carefully. "He said he's been taking care of you, helping you through all this." Jungkook pauses for a moment, his voice dipping lower, almost hesitant. "He also mentioned... helping you change your clothes."

You sigh and close your eyes, a pang of discomfort rising in your chest. "Yes, he helped me a lot with my panic attacks and nightmares, but so has Taehyung." You shake your head slightly, trying to brush away the awkwardness. "As for helping me change, that was once... when I passed out covered in my own vomit." You cringe at the memory, trying to make light of it, but the sting of the situation lingers.

You look up at him with a small, teasing smile, attempting to deflect the tension. "Are you jealous?"

Jungkook doesn’t show much reaction at first, his expression flat, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays him ever so slightly. "Why would I be jealous?" he responds a little too quickly. His tone is cold and hollow. It stings.

Your heart tightens, an ache settling deep in your chest. Maybe you’re the only one feeling anything between the two of you. The thought lingers, and you can’t shake it off. "Good," you say, forcing a smile that feels too thin, too fragile. "Because we agreed not to fall in love with each other."

Jungkook stands up, his posture stiff, and runs a hand through his hair. "Right. I know..." His voice drops to a low grumble. "I’m not falling in love with you. And you're not falling in love with me." He mumbles the last part under his breath, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.

It's okay if he doesn't feel the same—after all, he could have anyone he wanted. You quickly shove the thought down, reminding yourself that you're here to help him, to be there for him... not to expect anything but his money in return. You stand up and stretch, doing your best to shake the lingering tension from the room. "Well, I guess I had a good nap. I feel better now."

"That's good." Jungkook’s smile is there, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something about the way he looks at you sends a tight knot to your chest. "I'm glad you feel better now."

You take a breath, trying to ease the weight in the room. "The three of us are having a party back at my place to celebrate if you wanna join." The words come out a little more casual than you feel as if you’re trying to break the unsettling tension that’s laid between you two.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker with a spark of interest, and he straightens up a little as if the thought of the change of pace lifts his spirits. "I would love to," he says, his voice light, though you can sense the walls he had lowered earlier have slowly risen again.