#Limelight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s4svnn · 1 month ago

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Limelight . JJK oneshot (2)

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; After five years of chasing her dreams abroad, Iris returns to her small hometown, eager to embrace a fresh start with a new degree and a quiet apartment. But the peace she craves is quickly shattered by the relentless sounds of punches and grunts echoing from the apartment next door. What starts as a tense confrontation soon sparks a fiery chemistry neither of them expected as she comes face to face with her high school crush, now a determined, world-renowned boxer. As their paths cross once more, Iris can't help but wonder if this unexpected encounter might lead to a chance at the love she once thought was out of reach.

↳ pairing; Boxer Jungkook x reader

↳ strangers to lovers, rekindling old flames, fluff

Kofi

Previous part

Part Two

I made my way to his door, my hands slightly clammy as I knocked. I shifted my weight back and forth on my heels, the nerves bubbling up despite my determination to appear calm. The door opened after a moment, and there he stood, cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers, an expression of mock surprise plastered across his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone laced with feigned innocence.

I crossed my arms, leveling him with a look. “Why are you acting as if you didn’t just invite me over two minutes ago?”

His lips curved into a slow, smug smirk, and he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Maybe I wanted to see how serious you were about showing up.”

“Well, I’m here,” I shot back, brushing past him into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “So, what now?”

He chuckled, shutting the door behind me. “Someone’s in a mood,” he teased, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “Relax, will you?”

I glanced around his apartment, it was just as chaotic as I expected: clothes draped over the back of the couch, empty coffee mugs scattered across the table, and a faint haze of smoke lingering in the air. It was exactly the kind of space that fit him, messy but oddly comfortable.

“Did you clean up just for me?” I asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed as he flopped onto the couch, one arm slung over the back. “Nah. Didn’t want to ruin the authentic experience for you.”

I shook my head, leaning against the armrest of the couch but keeping a little distance. “Right. Wouldn’t want that.”

He studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp but unreadable. “You’re still standing. You nervous or something?”

“Nervous?” I repeated with a scoff. “Please.”

“Then sit down,” he said, patting the empty spot next to him. When I didn’t move, he smirked again, tilting his head. “You scared you might like it here?”

I rolled my eyes but sat down anyway, careful to keep a little space between us. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said with a grin, blowing out another stream of smoke. “But you’re here anyway.”

I looked at him, trying to decipher what game he was playing. But there was something in his tone, something unguarded, that made me pause.

“What’s your angle?” I asked finally.

“My angle?” he repeated, leaning back with an exaggerated air of offense. “Can’t a guy just want some company without being accused of scheming?”

“You? No. Not a chance,” I said, my voice dripping with skepticism.

He laughed again, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, I forgot why I was trying so hard to keep him at a distance. “Alright, you got me,” he admitted, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. “Maybe I just like messing with you.”

“And maybe I’m starting to regret coming here,” I quipped, though my tone was softer than I intended.

“Liar,” he said, his voice dropping just a little. “You’re curious about me. Admit it.”

I didn’t respond right away, and the silence between us stretched. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at me, his expression a little more serious now.

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right—I was curious. Curious to see if he was still the same guy I’d had a crush on all those years ago, or if time had turned him into someone completely different. But instead of saying any of that, I deflected, asking my own question to steer the conversation somewhere else.

“Why the hell are you up at stupid hours boxing?” I asked, leaning back on the couch, my arms crossed.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Are you pretending not to know, or are you really this clueless?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you on about?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Nothing. Forget it,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. Then, as casually as ever he added, “I’m a professional boxer.”

I blinked, pretending to be caught off guard despite having looked him up just a few hours before. “Wait. What?” I asked, leaning forward. “You’re serious? Like, you actually get paid to fight people?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching out on the couch, looking completely unbothered. “The gloves, the ring, the bright lights. That’s me.”

I tilted my head, still processing. “You don’t look like a professional anything,” I said, glancing over at the ashtray and the mess around the apartment. “Never mind a boxer.”

He smirked, clearly entertained. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But yeah, it’s my job. Fights, training, all that. The late nights are just part of it.”

“Why at night, though?” I pressed, still trying to wrap my head around it. “Why not train during the day like a normal person?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and for the first time, his tone lost some of its teasing edge. “Because at night, it’s quiet. No distractions, no people around. Just me and the bag, or the ring, or whatever. It’s the only time I feel...clear.”

I paused, taken aback by the sudden honesty. “Clear?” I asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting back again. “It’s just me. No noise, no expectations, no one telling me what I should or shouldn’t be. I can just focus. On the work, on getting better, on what’s next.”

I looked at him for a moment, really looked at him. He seemed different now, not so much the arrogant, cocky guy I’d always known, but someone more complex, someone I hadn’t fully figured out yet.

“Well,” I said finally, breaking the silence, “I guess that’s not the worst way to spend your time.”

“Oh?” he asked, his smirk returning. “I’m glad I have your approval.”

“Don’t push it,” I shot back, though there was a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

He laughed, leaning his head back against the couch, the sound deep and unguarded. For a moment, the room felt lighter, as if we’d settled into some unspoken understanding. Then he turned his head toward me, his smirk softening into something more curious.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing here? Living alone in a place like this?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean, a girl like me?”

“You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely in my direction. “You seem like the kind of person who’d have a ton of friends around, maybe a roommate or two. Not someone who spends their nights alone in a quiet apartment.”

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at him. “And what exactly do you think you know about me?”

He shrugged, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Not as much as I’d like to,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “But you don’t strike me as the loner type.”

I hesitated, his words digging into a part of me I wasn’t sure I wanted to share. “Maybe I just like my space,” I said finally, keeping my tone light.

“Or maybe,” he countered, leaning forward slightly, “you’ve gotten used to being alone even when you don’t want to be.”

His words hit harder than I expected, and I felt a flicker of defensiveness rise in my chest. “What are you, some kind of armchair therapist now?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He smiled faintly, unbothered by my tone. “Just making an observation. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. I couldn’t tell him he was wrong—not completely, anyway.

Instead, I looked away, letting the silence stretch between us. “It’s not that simple,” I muttered.

“It never is,” he said quietly, his voice softer now.

I glanced back at him, surprised to find that his usual cocky demeanor was gone, replaced by something that looked almost... understanding.

After a beat, he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “But seriously, why this town of all places?

I froze for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. Why this town? He’d asked it so casually, but the question hit me like a brick. I felt my chest tighten, a wave of panic bubbling just beneath the surface.

Because the truth was, I couldn’t tell him. If I admitted I grew up here, it would open the door to a conversation I wasn’t ready to have. He’d start asking questions—questions about school, about my life back then—and it wouldn’t take long for him to realize we’d gone to the same high school. And the moment he pieced it together, he’d also realize that he had no memory of me. None. Because why would he? I was practically invisible back then.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. “Why not this town?” I said, keeping my tone light, casual.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “That’s not an answer,” he said, his lips curving into a small smirk. “Come on, what’s the story? Job? Fresh start? Or did you just randomly pick this place on a map?”

I laughed nervously, shifting in my seat. “Something like that,” I said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s…quiet, I guess.”

“Quiet, huh?” he repeated, leaning back again, still watching me like he was trying to read between the lines. “Doesn’t really seem like your style.”

“And what exactly do you think my style is?” I shot back, more defensive than I meant to be.

He shrugged, his smirk softening. “I don’t know yet,” he said simply. “That’s why I’m asking.”

I let out a breath, forcing a small smile. “Well, there’s not much to figure out. It’s just a town. A place to live. That’s all.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he could sense I wasn’t telling the whole truth. But thankfully, he didn’t push any further. Instead, he leaned back, letting his head rest against the couch again.

“Fair enough,” he said, his tone easy again. “Guess I’ll just have to keep asking questions until I figure you out.”

I rolled my eyes, though my heart was still racing. “Good luck with that,” I muttered, hoping he couldn’t tell how relieved I was to dodge the conversation.

Because the last thing I needed was for him to realise I was the same girl who used to sit in the back of the classroom, too shy to even look in his direction.

He let out a low chuckle, one that was far too smug for my liking. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got time. Plus you’re not as much of a mystery as you think.”

I raised an eyebrow, masking my nerves with mock annoyance. “You’re awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me.”

“Nothing?” he repeated, pretending to look offended. “I know plenty already.”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

He smirked, leaning forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he gestured lazily toward me. “Well, for starters, you’re defensive as hell. Like you’ve got walls up higher than that building across the street.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “You should quit boxing and become a therapist.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it.” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You act tough, but you’ve got this… thing about you. Like you’re carrying something heavy and trying to make sure no one sees it.”

His words hit too close to home, and I looked away, focusing on a crack in the coffee table. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered.

“Maybe,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “But you’re not exactly hiding it, either.”

I shifted uncomfortably, desperate to change the subject before he could dig any deeper. “What about you, then?” I asked, throwing the spotlight back on him. “If you’re such an expert on me, let’s hear something about you.”

“Me?” he said, his smirk widening. “I’m an open book.”

“Yeah, right,” I shot back. “All I’ve learned so far is that you box, you smoke too much, and you think you’re way more charming than you actually are.”

He stretched his arms behind his head, his gaze drifting off as if he were replaying old memories in his mind. “Well, I grew up here,” he said casually, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Born and raised. Went to Ridgeview High, right on the other side of town. You know it?”

My stomach twisted, but I managed to nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” I said lightly, like it was just another random high school.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the trip down memory lane. “Man, that place. It felt like I was at the center of the universe back then. I was captain of the football team. We had a killer run my senior year—undefeated in the regular season. Everyone was hyped. The stands were packed every Friday night. We were basically celebrities,” he said with a laugh, his voice full of pride.

He leaned forward slightly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “You couldn’t go anywhere in town without someone knowing who you were. Teachers, parents, even random people in grocery stores—they all knew our names. I’d walk into school, and it was like… I don’t know, like I owned the place.”

I tilted my head, pretending to be intrigued. “Really? Sounds like you were living the dream.”

“Oh, I was,” he said, leaning back again with a grin. “There were pep rallies, team dinners, parties almost every weekend. And after we won the state championship everyone wanted to be part of the team’s circle. It was like being in some exclusive club.” He glanced at me, his smirk widening. “Not to brag or anything, but, yeah… I was kind of a big deal.”

I forced a small laugh, acting like I was hearing all of this for the first time. “Wow,” I said, widening my eyes slightly. “That’s… impressive. Captain of the football team, state champ, popular… You had the whole package, huh?”

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “What can I say? I peaked early.” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of nostalgia in his voice, as though part of him missed those days more than he’d admit.

“And this town?” he continued, gesturing vaguely toward the window. “Back then, it felt so alive. The whole place revolved around football season. Every diner, every corner store—they’d put up signs with our names on them. ‘Go Ridgeview Panthers!’ and all that. Even now, when I drive by the old field, I get this weird feeling, like I’m still that kid everyone was cheering for.”

I nodded, keeping my face calm even as my chest tightened. I already knew all of this—every detail. I’d heard the chants at the games, seen his name written on posters in the hallways, watched him from the sidelines like everyone else. But, of course, he didn’t know that. He didn’t know I was even there.

“That sounds incredible,” I said, carefully feigning surprise. “I mean, it’s kind of the classic high school experience, right? Like something out of a movie.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning back and resting his arms along the top of the couch. “It was. I mean, not everyone gets that kind of high school experience. I know that. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It made me who I am, you know?”

I nodded again, my pulse quickening. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as he studied me. “But you…You don’t really strike me as the type who’d be into all that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my tone light, though my heart was racing.

“I mean…” He paused, that damn smirk tugging at his lips. “You just seem different. Like maybe being in the spotlight wasn’t really your thing.”

I forced a laugh, glancing away as I scrambled for a believable response. “Oh no, I was definitely the football and cheerleaders type back at my old high school. Totally into sports and all that.”

“Really?” he said, raising an eyebrow, his chuckle deep and skeptical. Then, just as quickly, his expression shifted—his smirk softened into something sharper, his dark eyes locking onto mine with unsettling precision.

“Yep, that was me.”

“You know,” he said slowly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing drawl, “you didn’t really strike me as a liar, Iris.”

My breath hitched, and I blinked at him, my mind racing. “What?” I said, my tone a little too defensive.

“You heard me,” he said, leaning back slightly, his smirk reappearing. “You’re not exactly convincing when you’re making stuff up. The whole football and cheerleaders thing? Not buying it.”

I narrowed my eyes, my stomach flipping. “And what makes you think I’m lying?”

He shrugged, but his gaze stayed locked on mine, unwavering. “Did you think I wouldn’t remember you.”

My chest tightened, my breath catching as his words sunk in. “Remember me?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone almost casual now, though his smirk had turned into something more knowing. “You didn’t think I’d figure it out, did you?”

I stared at him, my face growing hot. My mind raced, trying to process what he was saying and how he could possibly know who I was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “You’re bad at this, you know.”

“Okay, seriously,” I said, forcing myself to sound calm even as my pulse thundered in my ears. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied me. “I’m talking about the fact that we went to the same high school. You know, the one I just spent the last ten minutes bragging about.”

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up.

“You remember it, don’t you?” he continued, his voice softer now, almost curious.

“I—” I started, but my voice cracked. I quickly cleared my throat, forcing a laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t grow up here.”

His smirk widened, like he could see right through me. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I remember seeing you around. Quiet girl, always sitting in the back of the class. Didn’t talk much, but…” He trailed off, tilting his head as if he were piecing something together. “Yeah, I remember now. You always had your nose buried in a book or something.”

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He did remember. And somehow, that made it worse.

“You’re imagining things,” I said quickly, trying to brush it off. “That wasn’t me.”

“Hmm,” he said, his tone amused. “If you say so.” But the way he was looking at me—like he’d just uncovered a secret I hadn’t meant to reveal—made it clear he didn’t believe me for a second.

The real question lingered, heavy and unnerving—how did he know who I was?

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