#i ramble. i have so many thoughts & feelings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

focusonkayjay · 2 days ago

Text

stuck with you | (1/??)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: computer sci major/ shy/ nerdy! jungkook, econ major/ popular/ influencer! reader, college au, roommates au, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

Summary: Jungkook’s a hopeless romantic—emphasis on hopeless more than romantic. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he swore he heard bells chiming, like the angels from above were giving him a cosmic nudge. But he’s always been the awkward, nerdy guy—the one who blends into the background—while you? You felt like a dream way out of his league. Fate, however, had other plans and now, you’re his roommate and living with you—in all your effortless glory—is equal parts chaos and heaven. The only challenge? Keeping his ever-growing feelings in check. That is—until a cocky fuckboy with not-so-pure intentions sets his sights on you, and suddenly, just loving you from the sidelines might not be enough.

Word Count: 18.8k+

Chapter Warnings: jungkook wears GLASSES !!!! oc has like a whole abg vibe/ style going on if ykwim, jungkook is really awkward but he's a cutie patootie and actually a huge simp for oc cause he can never say no to her, yoonmin couple, random computer sci and econ things that may be inaccurate (pls don't come for me, this is literally just a fanfic :p) , morning wood, vine references, nerdshaming (???), oc is just an oblivious girlie, mature language, lmk if i missed anything.

cher's notes: THE FIRST PART OF SWY IS HERE !!! first, a huge thank you for 900 followers—i can’t even begin to wrap my head around it. it’s surreal to have so many of you here, supporting me, and i appreciate it more than words can say. truly, thank you. second, i’m so grateful to everyone who’s been looking forward to this little mini-series. writing it has been such an experience, and honestly, i think i’ve fallen a little too hard for this jungkook. also, fun fact: i had to do a whole deep dive on rubik’s cubes for this because, for some reason, i never realized that a 3x3 wasn’t the only variation out there lmao. anywaysss, i’d love to hear your thoughts on this part, so let me know what you think !! and stay tuned for the upcoming chapters <333

★ PLAYLIST ★ MOODBOARDS

one: close, but not too close

Jungkook nearly chokes on his ramune soda, the fizz catching at the back of his throat as his fingers fumble to pause the very intense anime scene playing on his monitor when he hears you kick his door open.

"Kook!! Code Red!! Nail Crisis—We're Talking National Emergency!!" you announce, eyes wide as you wag your phone in the air, making your way towards him. He blinks, his brain struggling to catch up but you're already in his space, shoving your phone dangerously close to his face.

"Choose." you command and Jungkook leans back against his gaming chair, adjusting his glasses as he tries to focus on the screen.

Two nail designs stare back at him. Right side: pink, glittery, bow charms—so sweet it looks like it might summon a fairy princess. Left side: silver chrome, the tips are pointy and probably even sharp enough to lowkey stab someone.

Nail lingo? Yeah, he's heard you ramble about it—coffin something, almond something, acrylic something—words that sound more like architectural blueprints or dessert flavors than beauty terms.

Honestly, trying to keep up with your world sometimes makes his brain overheat, but this? This he can manage.

He's used to this by now since it comes with the territory of being your roommate. The unofficial side quest of being your personal beauty advisor. Nail designs, outfit dilemmas, lipstick shade debates... he's seen it all.

Sometimes he feels like he's living inside a live-streamed Vogue consultation, except the model is you, and the consultant is him—armed with nothing but vibes and the occasional "Yeah, that looks cool."

As of now, his inner gamer kicks in as he nibbles on his lower lip, observing the two pictures closely. Chrome looks like it could belong to a cyberpunk warrior or, at the very least, serve as a cool weapon so that's what he goes for. "This one." he taps the silver nails with a sense decisiveness. "It looks very cool." he adds with a smile.

"Oh my god, YES. I was literally thinking the exact same thing." you squeal, clearly overjoyed making Jungkook chuckle under his breath. He knows—has known for a while now—that even if he picked the pink set, you'd probably still go with the design you wanted anyway.

But that's fine. He's just happy to be here.

He watches as you move away from his chair and casually flop onto his bed like it's your own, scrolling through more inspo pics as you ramble on about appointment slots and some nail tech named Jiwon.

You glance over, catching Jungkook listening—really listening—despite the fact that none of this is remotely relevant to him. He's nodding along with the corners of his lips faintly curved.

He doesn't interrupt, doesn't tell you to leave, doesn't look the slightest bit annoyed because he's simply patient like that and that's what makes him so special.

It's been a little over a year since you became roommates with Jungkook.

Two months into freshman year, when you were drowning in campus chaos, you desperately needed a place... something close to university, something that didn't involve suffocating dorm curfews, passive-aggressive bathroom schedules, and the horror of communal showers.

Apartment hunting was hell, but then you somehow stumbled upon Jungkook's listing. He was a computer science major at your university, had a vacant room, and was looking for someone to split the rent.

Practical. Convenient.

But still, you were skeptical mainly because moving in with a guy felt weird and well, not to forget... guys can be very very gross.

But the rent was affordable. The place seemed nice. And it was practically hugging campus. So, you took the leap of faith and decided to move in.

And much to your surprise—and relief—Jungkook turned out to be an amazing roommate.

For starters, he was clean. Immaculately so. Borderline obsessive. The boy worshipped his laundry detergent and had the entire apartment perpetually smelling like fresh cotton most of the time.

He was religious about doing the dishes, cleaned the bathroom when it was his turn without needing reminders, and—bless his soul—put the toilet seat down after he was done using it. Every. Single. Time.

He was a bit of a nerd. No, scratch that—he was a full-fledged nerd. Now that you've lived with him long enough, you can confidently say so and honestly, it's so fucking endearing.

He mostly keeps to himself, stationed in front of his monitor, either binging some random documentary or anime, playing some random game or just furiously coding. He's the kind of guy who could build a fully functional app over the weekend... just because he was bored.

His shelves are lined with books, mangas and also with rubik's cubes in every possible variation... 3x3, 4x4, 5x5, pyramid-shaped, and some monstrosity with like, twelve sides. You stopped keeping count because at some point, you convinced yourself that they just multiply when you're not looking.

He's super shy and introverted, but wickedly smart. Sometimes, he's fixing the WiFi like a tech wizard and other times, he's helping you with an economics assignment, despite having zero reason to know anything about supply curves.

But that's just Jungkook. Quietly capable of doing anything and everything.

And speaking of capable—Jungkook's greatest feat, by far, might be his effortless ability to put up with you.

For someone who had a mile-long checklist for what a good roommate should be... clean, respectful, non-creepy, someone who wouldn't turn your kitchen into a biohazard zone— you were, if you were being honest, not exactly the easiest person to live with.

Not in a nightmare roommate from hell kind of way, but... let's just say, you had a presence. A loud one.

You took up space... in every sense of the word. You were the kind of person who moved through life with a little extra volume, a little more color, and a whole lot of unapologetic flair.

You were, by most standards, the "it girl" of your university. Effortlessly cool, perpetually well-dressed, the kind of person everyone either wanted to be or be around. You didn't just follow trends... you set them.

Your Instagram is basically a curated mood board that half the campus tries to copy. You party hard, ace your classes when you feel like it, and always look good doing it.

You loved being a girl. You loved everything about it—the glittering ritual of makeup, the art of perfecting your nails, the thrill of styling the perfect outfit, the satisfaction of filming a flawless GRWM tiktok, the way a swipe of gloss could make you feel invincible.

And being roommates with Jungkook meant that, willingly or not, he had been drafted into your little glam army. He was your unofficial cameraman, your personal consultant, your human swatch palette.

You would burst into his room—mostly without knocking—waving a lip tint or eyeshadow palette in hand. "Hold still." you'd say, before smearing color across the back of his hand or, on more ambitious days... directly onto his lips.

He had, as you once declared: "The most perfect lips—zero pigmentation. Every color looks good on you. It's honestly unfair."

Sometimes, you dragged him in front of the camera for random tiktoks—the now-iconic Roommate Series, which has somehow become a huge sensation on your account overtime.

The series includes a bunch of videos like: "Doing My Roommate's Makeup (He's Nervous LOL)" "My Roommate Picks My Outfit (Pray for Me)" "Trying my Roommate's Gym Workout Routine (Send Help)" "Cooking With My Roommate (We Almost Burned the Apartment Down)." And so many other classics that your followers absolutely loved.

Jungkook, your shy, introverted, perpetually hoodie-clad computer science major roommate—had somehow become the unwitting co-star of your social media life.

And the wildest part? He never complained. Not once. Never sighed out of frustration. Never rolled his eyes. Never told you to back off.

He just... went along with it.

He let you dust highlighter along his cheekbones because you were "testing undertones". Let you draw little eyeliner hearts under his eyes because you thought "it was cute". Let you turn his forearm into a rainbow of lipstick swatches because you were "deciding on a vibe."

He took your outfit photos with an almost alarming level of precision, learning your angles better than some of your actual friends. He gave honest opinions when you held up two skirts and asked which one was giving.

You even managed to convince him to record voiceovers for a few of your GRWM videos, purely because you thought it would be hilarious and thankfully, his soft, awkward narration had now become a fan favorite.

Jungkook was everything you weren't... quiet, reserved, more comfortable behind a screen than in front of one. He didn't seek attention, didn't chase validation. He was happy existing in the background.

But for you, he stepped into the spotlight. Over and over again.

And you absolutely adored him for it. For his patience. For his kindness. For the way he always—always—made you feel like you weren't too much, even when you knew you probably were.

You know that most of the things you say, most of the things you do, barely register as important in his world. But he listens and helps you do it anyway, only because it matters to you.

Jungkook watches you with a small, almost imperceptible smile as you lie sprawled across his bed, legs lazily kicking in the air while you continue to ramble on about Jiwon and how it's so hard to secure an appointment with her because she's always booked.

It's endearing. The kind of domesticity he never thought he'd find so... warm. You're nothing like him... bright where he's quiet, bold where he's reserved, yet he likes it.

Likes you.

Jungkook remembers the first time he saw you so vividly, like it's burned into his brain. It was on the 2nd day of freshman orientation.

You were wearing these loose, low-waisted jeans that somehow looked effortless instead of sloppy, paired with a top that flashed just a sliver of your hips every time you moved. Your hair fell in layered waves, makeup sharp and glossy, but honestly... he barely registered those details.

What really caught him was your energy. You had this magnetic confidence, the kind that commanded attention without even trying. You laughed easily, made friends within minutes, and seemed to glide through the crowd like you belonged everywhere.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had blended into the wallpaper that day. Shuffling around with his laptop bag, adjusting his glasses every few seconds, hoping no one would talk to him for more than two minutes.

But he had watched you, just for a little longer than he probably should have and thought to himself, wow.

The thing about Jungkook is, he's always been a hopeless romantic. The kind of guy who cries over romance animes at 2 AM, thinks holding hands in winter is peak intimacy, and genuinely believes kissing in the rain might cure the world's problems.

He's also the kind of person who believes that when you meet the one meant for you, the universe will let you know with soft bell chimes in the air, a gentle ringing in your chest, like some cosmic signal only you can hear.

And that day, when his eyes first found you in the sea of strangers, he swore he heard bells.

But unfortunately, Jungkook was also more hopeless than romantic.

Approaching girls? Nope. Eye contact? Terrifying. Flirting? That was an urban legend he had only seen in movies.

Jungkook's never had a girlfriend and high school had been a blur of random girls seeking him out because they thought he was cute, mainly drawn in by his adorable smile and doe eyes. But their interest fizzled out just as quickly as it sparked, the moment they realized he wasn't some effortlessly cool bad boy or charming heartbreaker.

He was just... him. Quiet. Awkward.

The boy who took too long to respond to texts because he was overthinking every word, who blushed when someone sat too close, who found more comfort in rotting in his room solving a sudoko puzzle over the weekend, than navigating the social labyrinth of teenage romance.

So, that day at orientation, all he did was admire you from a safe distance, fully convinced you existed in a league he wasn't even qualified to spectate. He brushed it off, telling himself that you'd never ever notice a guy like him and he was almost certain he'd never see you again.

But fate is funny like that.

Because two months later, you were standing at his door with a fresh set of nails and a cool jacket, asking him if his roommate listing was still open.

And suddenly, the girl who was once nothing more than a fleeting dream was now stealing his WiFi, using his arm as a makeup palette, and casually making him fall for her just a little more every single day.

He loved it when you asked him to take your pictures, loved the way you trusted him so instinctively with your angles, your poses, your vision. Loved that you valued his input, sought his opinions like they actually mattered.

Loved that you pulled him into your silly little videos, even when he was red-faced and stiff, fumbling through whatever tiktok dance or GRWM voiceover you'd roped him into.

Yes, he was shy. Yes, he was awkward. Always unsure of where to place his hands or how to soften his default nervous smile.

But it felt good... really good to be included. To be wanted. To be someone you liked having around.

Because for someone who usually dreaded conversations lasting more than two minutes, talking to you, laughing with you... just being with you, felt like the easiest thing in the world.

"Oh my god, Y/n !!" Jimin exclaims as both of you weave through the econ building, making your way towards the last class of the day. You glance at him and notice the way he's clutching onto his phone, scrolling with his eyes widened in shock.

"What now?" you ask, already giggling as you lean in to peek at his screen. "Your recent tiktok—the one with Jungkook?" He spins his phone around, shoving it in your face. "One. Million. Views. You're both famous, babe."

Your eyes widen, and you fumble for your own phone, unlocking it. The video you'd posted just last week, titled "Styling My Shy Roommate" had absolutely exploded. You scroll through the the screen flooded with heart emojis and a bunch of comments.

"WHY IS HE BLUSHING LIKE THAT?? I'M WEAKKKKK" "Softboy era activated." "Tell him he doesn't need to pay rent—he can just stand in my living room." "Is he okay? He looks like he's being held hostage but also kind of loving it??"

You can't help but grin as your mind flashes back to the memory of filming it. How Jungkook stood in your room like he was awaiting sentencing, stiff as a board while you fussed over his sleeves and buttoned up the cardigan you had handpicked from the men's section after dragging him through three different stores

He had looked so painfully nervous, wide eyes consciously darting to the camera while you just told him to act natural. Well, spoiler alert, he did not act natural. He looked like he was buffering.

"I swear..." Jimin starts again. "You need to start paying him royalties at this point. That poor boy is practically your unpaid intern." he says, making you laugh because honestly, he's not wrong.

"The comments are killing me." Jimin continues. "He's practically the internet's emotional support introvert right now." he cackles while you snort, flicking through more comments yourself. "I should show him these. He'll pass out." you joke.

"Or he'll delete all his social media and go off the grid." Jimin deadpans. "He's so shy, Y/n. Every time I come over, he looks like he's deciding whether to greet me or make a break for the fire escape."

"He's like that with everyone. It's just who he is." you say fondly with a giggle. "Uh-huh. But with you? He isn't so shy." Jimin grins, making you furrow your brows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying... you seem to be the only one who gets him to break out of that socially awkward equilibrium. Everyone else gets market stagnation, but you? You trigger an expansion." Jimin animatedly explains as both of you enter the lecture hall.

"Oh my god, not you sneaking in an econ joke right before class... please, have some shame." you click your tongue, the mock disappointment on your face making Jimin snicker.

"But... maybe you're right. We've lived together for over a year now, so I guess he's just used to me. Besides, I annoy him 24/7, he kind of doesn't have a choice." You chuckle.

"But seriously though... he looked so good in that video, right? Like, you can't tell me the supply-demand curve wasn't absolutely peaking in the comments section." you giggle, nudging Jimin with your elbow.

"Of course you had to drag market behavior into this." Jimin groans. "What can I say? Consumer preferences are shifting heavily towards soft boys in cardigans." you shrug as you settle into your seat.

"And you—" Jimin points accusingly. "—are monopolizing the supply." he finishes, taking the seat right next to you.

You both dissolve into laughter as you pull out your iPads, getting ready for class. As you settle in, Jimin leans over one last time. "Seriously though, next time you get him into a vest or whatever, you owe him dinner. Or, like... a retirement plan." he says, raising his brows.

"Deal. But if he quits, you're my backup model." you grin. "I expect hazard pay." he jokes.

After what feels like an eternity, class wraps up as students shuffle out of the lecture hall. You and Jimin gather your things, falling into step like clockwork, until you reach the point where your paths diverge.

"Yoongi's waiting." Jimin singsongs with a smile, fingers already flying across his phone, no doubt texting his boyfriend. "You literally saw him this morning." You tease, but there's no real bite to it. "And I'll see him tonight. And tomorrow. And forever." Jimin says sassily like he's rubbing it on your face.

Yoongi, Jimin's beloved boyfriend is a music composition major, and they've been in a relationship for as long as you can remember. They moved in together a few months ago, and though they practically breathe the same air from dawn to dusk, Jimin is still giddy every time Yoongi's name rolls off his tongue.

Like he's tasting sugar. Like it's new, every single day.

It's nauseating, really. But... God, you adore it so much because you want that. You want that so badly it aches.

The kind of love that seeps into every corner of a life.

Because beneath the curated facade... the effortless 'baddie' aesthetic you've crafted so carefully for your social feed, the glossy veneer of perfection, the sponsored posts with captions that take you twenty minutes to get just right, the flawless outfit, the perfect make up, beneath all of that, you're still just... a girl.

A girl who dreams of something gentle. A story that doesn't just make your heart race, but one that holds it. Cradles it.

You'd had your fair share of relationships back in high school—though, looking back, you weren't even sure you could call them that anymore. They felt more like fleeting situationships, placeholders for something that never quite materialized.

None of them had ever left you feeling full, like you'd found what you were looking for.

The guys were either maddeningly nonchalant, treating you like an option rather than a choice, or they messed up in ways that left fractures too deep to overlook—texting other girls behind your back, swiping through dating apps while still feeding you lines about how much they liked you.

Some didn't approve of the way you carried yourself, the way you dressed, the way you took up space so unapologetically. And instead of embracing you for you, they tried to mold you into something smaller, something easier—something you were never meant to be.

It was like you were always almost there, almost close to something real, but every time, it slipped right through your fingers because no one ever quite aligned with what you thought love should feel like—the kind you'd dreamed of, the kind you still believed was out there.

A love that feels like stepping into the warmth of home after a long day. A love where they peel oranges for you, open a pomegranate for you, or perhaps shell pistachios just so your fingertips don't hurt.

It's something simple, something almost unnoticed, yet it's there as a quiet proof that they care, that they'd do those little things for you, just because.

Built not on grand gestures, but in the smallest details... like bringing you coffee with your order memorized perfectly, playlists made on lazy sunday afternoons titled with inside jokes only the two of you would understand, the way their arms hold you not just when you're breaking, but simply because you're there. Because they want you close, always.

The kind of love that wraps around you like a blanket, never asking you to be anything other than who you truly are. Something that feels like you were always meant to find each other, like the universe stitched your souls together long before you even met.

A love that makes "forever" feel less like a promise and more like a certainty, like no matter what happens, no matter how hard the world pushes or pulls, you'll always end up back in each other's arms because you're just... stuck together, but not in the way that feels like a trap but in the way that feels like home.

You've always wanted that. Something like that. And maybe one day, you'll have it. You'd like to believe so.

When you started college, you found yourself investing more into yourself...your style, your confidence, the way you carried yourself through the world. You became your own priority, and it showed. Not just on your meticulously curated social media, but in real life too.

People noticed—especially guys. They approached you constantly. Some with that awkward, endearing charm, asking for your number or trying to secure a date. Others? Not so much. Your DMs became a war zone... filled with weird, borderline unhinged messages that made you cringe so hard you had to physically put your phone down sometimes.

Most times, it was a reply to a thirst trap—one that, to be fair, was strictly meant for the girls—yet there's always some random guy trying to shoot his shot or it's a string of desperate comments flooding in, all vying for your attention.

But you knew, deep down, that if you were ever going to meet your soulmate, it sure as hell wouldn't be through a sloppy DM or a thirst-driven comment.

You shake off the thought with a small sigh as you continue walking while the sun hangs low, casting a warm, golden hue over the pavement. The evening breeze is warm as you near your building.

The minute you unlock the door to your apartment, the familiar sight of Jungkook's sneakers neatly lined up by the doorway makes you smile, signaling he's already home.

And when you walk further in, you instantly sense him in the kitchen. You carelessly drop your bag onto the couch and drag yourself towards the kitchen, resting your elbows on the island as you watch him by the stove, cooking.

"Oh, hey." He smiles, once he notices your presence. "You're home."

You smile back, moving around the island as you inch closer to him and hop onto the counter, a little away from the stove. "What're you making?" you ask, peering at the dish curiously. It's obvious he's making jajangmyeon—but you want to hear it from him anyway.

"Jajangmyeon." he answers, his lips curling into a small smile. "How was class?"

"Same old." you sigh, swinging your legs lazily over the edge of the counter. He nods at your words, his attention drifting back to the food.

"Also!" you suddenly exclaim, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Kook, your tikok—the one I posted last week—it hit a million views!! Look, you're famous!!!" You shove your phone in his direction, practically vibrating with excitement.

Jungkook's eyes widen in shock, his hands instinctively reaching out to hold your phone, bringing it closer for a better look. "One... One million views?" he stammers, utterly dumbfounded.

Jungkook doesn't even have a tiktok account. Social media was never really his thing, but he kept Instagram around mainly for the reels... the kind that catered perfectly to his inner nerd.

His algorithm had him in a chokehold, feeding him everything from bizarre mating facts about deep-sea squids to oddly soothing videos of people assembling custom-built mechanical keyboards. Sometimes, it was a guy 3D-printing a fully functional wrench that looked like it could survive a whole trip to Mars.

And, well, he followed you too.

So, amidst all that nerdy and geeky stuff...your stories, your pictures, your reels (that occasionally included him ofc) were his absolute favorites. But that's a conversation for another time.

He rarely posted anything about himself so it was safe to say his social media presence was practically nonexistent.

Well... that was until you came along. Because, apparently—duh—he's internet famous now?? The fact that one million people had seen his face was nothing short of mind-boggling.

"Read the comments. Everyone's gushing over you." you laugh, and Jungkook scrolls through the barrage of responses.

"Soft boy aesthetic but he looks like he's seconds from passing out?? #needTHAT" "Tell him rent is FREE if he stands in my kitchen looking nervous." "Protect him at all costs." "I'd give him my kidney"

Jungkook doesn't even know what half of these mean, but he can feel his ears growing hotter by the second.

"Some of them are crazy, but they're so right. You do look cute." you giggle, looking over at him. At that, Jungkook lifts his gaze to meet yours, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm... cute?" he asks, as if he misheard you. "Yeah, you're so cute." you nod, a smile spreading across your face, and Jungkook gulps.

The way you say it so casually, with that pretty smile of yours... god he's so fucking cooked.

"You think... I'm cute?" he asks again as he adjusts his glasses, just to make sure he heard you right. "Duhhh, Kook. Haven't I established that already? You're like the cutest guy I know." you say, your smile widening with every word.

Jungkook swears his whole system just came to a screeching halt. The girl who caught his eyes on the 2nd day of orientation, the girl who he was convinced was miles out of his league, the girl who somehow, magically, became his roommate, the girl of his dreams thinks... he's cute.

She thinks he's cute.

It's like his mind just short-circuited and it's enough to leave him speechless. He wonders if you know the effect you or your words have on him and all he can do is just stare at you in utter disbelief.

"This calls for a celebration!!" you suddenly declare, hopping off the counter and striding towards the refrigerator. Jungkook blinks, still processing the whole 'You're like the cutest guy I know' thing as he watches you yank open the fridge and pull out two bottles of soju.

Of course.

He should've seen this coming the moment you made a beeline for the fridge. He's lived with you long enough to know that your version of a celebration involves downing shot after shot until the living room magically transforms into a karaoke room, and you're belting out some sappy '80s love song like your life depends on it.

But he still smiles because the sheer, unfiltered happiness on your face as you clutch the two bottles of soju close to your chest and pull out two shot glasses from the cabinet above, makes his heart do that thing again.

That stupid thing. Where it feels like it's going to burst.

"PUTTTT YOURRRR HEADDDD ONNN MYYY—" A cough cuts through your performance, but you soldier on, determined. "MYYYY SHHHOULDDERRR!"

Jungkook winces slightly, squinting as your voice pierces through the room, raising goosebumps on his skin—not the good kind.

Now he might be hopelessly, head over heels for you, but for the love of all things holy, you cannot sing. He's convinced that when the universe was crafting you, perfection in every way, it must've thrown this one flaw in, just to keep things fair.

That's what he tells himself anyway as he makes his way over, watching your drunk self standing on the coffee table like it's your stage as you clutch onto the TV remote like it's a microphone.

"Okay, Y/n..." he murmurs, voice soft, hands hovering at your waist, ready to steady you if your balance falters. "I think that's enough for tonight. It's almost 2 a.m. You've got an early class tomorrow, remember?" he tries but you're still going on.

He shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as he gently pries the makeshift microphone from your grasp. "Come on." he coaxes, guiding you down from your precarious perch.

You mumble a string of complaints, the words tangled together in your tipsiness, nearly tripping over your own feet. But Jungkook's right there, strong and steady, his arm slipping around your waist, holding you up like he always does.

With careful steps, he leads you to your room, the door creaking open as you lean into him, your cheek brushing against his shoulder. You're humming now...some incoherent melody, but he's used to this.

He's taken care of you like this more times than he can count. And if he's being honest, he doesn't mind. Not one bit. Because even now, with your cheeks flushed from the alcohol and your eyelids heavy with sleep, he thinks you look unfairly pretty.

"Here we go." he whispers, lowering you onto the middle of your bed. You groan in protest, wriggling like a petulant child as he tries to pull the blanket over you. He can see it—the exhaustion you're fighting so hard to push away just because you want to keep this night going.

"Kookie... I don't wanna sleep yetttt." you whine, your voice muffled against the pillow. He only smiles, his heart doing that ridiculous thing again... tightening and swelling all at once, as he tucks you in with gentle hands.

"Kookieee..." you draw out his name again, pouting this time, but he stands on business, adjusting the blanket around you. "Kookie, come onnn..." You try one last time, your fingers curling around his wrist, tugging weakly. "At least stay with me until I sleep. Pleaseeeee?"

And just like that, he's done for because, if Jungkook's being honest, when it comes to you, his resistance has the structural integrity of a wet tissue paper. So, with a soft defeated sigh, he straightens up.

"Okay, fine. I'll stay." he murmurs, already eyeing the chair by your desk in the corner, thinking he'll just drag it over and sit by your side until you drift off. It's what he usually does on nights like this... close enough to soothe you but keeping a bit of space, because, well... boundaries.

But apparently, you have other plans because before he can even take a step towards the chair, your hand shoots out as your fingers wrap around his wrist and you yank him with a surprising force for someone who, mere seconds ago, could barely stand.

It's clumsy and sudden. His balance tips, heart lurching for a split second, and then before he can even process it, he lands right next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"That's better." you sigh tiredly still holding his wrist as you nuzzle into the pillow and inch just a little closer to Jungkook's warm body.

Jungkook knows you don't even realize what you're doing, that you'll probably have no memory of this tomorrow but his heart doesn't seem to care about any of that. It's racing like he's just run a marathon, each thud echoing in his ears as he stares at the ceiling with wide eyes. Because, this? This, he definitely did not see coming.

He lies there, stiff as a board, every muscle tense, trying to will his heart into calming down. Minutes pass... though they feel like hours, before he finally works up the courage to glance over at you.

You're still. Eyes closed, breathing soft and even.

Asleep.

He exhales slowly, relief and something else... something dangerously close to disappointment washing over him.

But this is his chance to finally get up and put some distance between his rapidly deteriorating heart rate and your sleeping form. Because, honestly? Being this close to you is doing things to him and he might actually be on the verge of a cardiac event.

Carefully, he lifts his hand, fingers moving to gently untangle yours from his wrist. But the moment he tries, you let out a small, sleepy whine and your grip tightens instinctively.

Okay. So, not asleep.

Jungkook freezes, hand hovering midair, before letting out the quietest, most defeated sigh known to man. Fine. He'll stay. Just until you fall asleep completely.

How hard can that be?

"Mmm... flowers...? Why does it smell like flowers? Am I... dreaming of a garden?" Jungkook's half-asleep mind stirs, thoughts weaving through the haze of slumber as his sleepy imagination spirals, picturing himself twirling through a meadow, maybe exchanging pleasantries with a particularly charming sunflower.

But the scent isn't fading... it's getting stronger. And it's getting too real.

Then, something soft brushes against his nose, making him twitch. He scrunches his face, trying to escape it, but the gentle tickling continues and suddenly the feeling of something warm and solid pressed against his chest hits him.

And that's when his eyelids flutter open, pupils adjusting to the faint morning light, only to be met with a cascade of hair.

Your hair. All over his face.

As realization settles over him like a crashing wave, Jungkook's eyes trail downward... and that's when he sees it. His arm, draped snugly around your waist. His hand resting against the soft fabric of your shirt. Your lower bodies pressed flush together, tangled under the sheets like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Jungkook's jaw practically unhinges.

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.

Did he actually fall asleep last night? Fuck. He was only supposed to stay until you drifted off—not fall asleep with you. But that's not even the real problem right now because... did he really fall asleep like this? Holding you? Spooning you? His brain short-circuits, running frantic laps between sheer panic and the undeniable warmth pooling in his chest.

And just when he's still in the middle of processing this ridiculous situation, you shift, pushing back into him, your body pressing even closer, and Jungkook's breath hitches sharply in his throat. His jaw clenches, lips pursing just enough to swallow down the pained noise threatening to escape.

God, you were too close. Too fucking close.

And his body? Yeah, it's reacting. Predictably. Involuntarily. In a way that makes him want to fling himself into the sun.

He screws his eyes shut, mentally begging for divine intervention or at the very least, for you to stay asleep. Because if you wake up right now and find him like this? In your bed? Spooning you? With that pressing against you?

There's no explanation in the universe that could get him out of this one. No amount of stammering or panicked rambling could justify the very obvious, very mortifying problem currently happening beneath the covers.

Because Jungkook knows this isn't just his usual morning wood. In fact, this has very little to do with the morning and everything to do with you... and your ass currently pressed against him.

It's almost like his body made an executive decision to completely betray him the second you leaned back into him, and now he's left here... stiff in more ways than one, praying to every higher power that you stay asleep.

He knows he can't stay here any longer. Not like this. Because if we're being honest, this is toeing the line of violating all kinds of boundaries, and Jungkook respects you far too much to risk that. The most practical, the most decent thing to do is to slip away quietly before you wake up and find him in this compromising position.

So, with painstaking caution, he begins to move. He peels the covers back just enough, carefully untangling his arm from around your waist and this time, thankfully, you remain in your deep slumber, no sleepy whine of protest like last night.

He exhales a low sigh of relief when he finally pushes himself off the bed, standing up straight. His heart is still racing, but at least he's free. He spares a glance back to find you still curled on your side, blissfully unaware of his internal crisis and then he glances at the clock—there's still a little over an hour before your morning class.

Perfect.

Enough time to retreat to his room, take a cold shower (because, God, does he need one), and then start making breakfast. That way, by the time you wake up, everything will look perfectly normal. Like he had the most uneventful, innocent night ever.

So, he steps out of your room, making a swift retreat to his own and then storms into the bathroom, strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. He sighs softly, letting the water rush down his body letting it drown out the chaotic rhythm his heart has adopted ever since he woke up.

By the time he's dressed in a fresh set of clothes, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, he finally feels somewhat normal again... like his body and mind have called a temporary truce.

But that fragile calm nearly shatters when he opens the door and spots you standing by the fridge, chugging a bottle of water.

"Oh, hey." you croak, lowering the bottle when you notice him. Your voice is thick with sleep, scratchy, and with the way you squint your eyes against the morning light, Jungkook knows the hangover is hitting you hard.

"Just whyyyy did you let me drink so much last night?" you whine, shoving the bottle back into the fridge.

By the way you're acting, it's obvious you have no idea what happened last night or this morning... how Jungkook woke up with his arm wrapped around you. Spooning you. With... other complications involved.

Jungkook forces a chuckle, a wave of relief washing over him as he quickly regains his composure. "I tried to stop you, but I gave up when you went back for the fourth bottle like a woman on a mission." he teases, gesturing towards the battlefield that is your living room, with empty soju bottles scattered across the floor like war casualties.

"I have class in an hour, and I swear my head is splitting open." You groan, pressing your fingertips to your temples. Jungkook smiles softly, already moving towards the mess to start cleaning up. He would've done it last night, but, well—things had taken a different turn.

"Why don't you freshen up? I'll make you some soup." he offers and you pause, leaning against the island as you watch him bend down to pick up the bottles.

You've lost count of how many times Jungkook has cleaned up after you, nursed your hangovers, made you breakfast, made sure you were okay. He's like an angel in disguise, you think. And you have no idea how he hasn't gotten tired of you yet.

"Thank you, Kook. Seriously..." you say, voice softer this time, laced with sincerity. He glances up, pausing his movements just to give you one of those warm smiles, the kind that always makes your heart feel full. "Anytime." he says simply.

With that, you shuffle off to your room to get ready for the day. By the time you're out the door, stomach full of warm soup, your headache is nothing but a distant memory. And it's all because of your amazing roommate.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Taehyung's voice slices through the quiet hum of the library, pulling Jungkook's scattered thoughts away from the screen in front of him. For the last thirty minutes, he'd been attempting to focus on the leetcode assessment in front of him, but no matter how hard he tried, all that's occupying his mind is you.

He just can't seem to stop thinking about you... how you called him cute last night, how you leaned into him when you were tipsy, the scent of you hair, how warm and soft you felt pressed against him this morning.

Jungkook clears his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and quickly brings his focus back onto the screen, eyes darting across the lines of code, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as if trying to will himself into action. But it's no use.

"Yeah... I just... I was just trying to figure this code out." he lies, forcing the words out as smoothly as possible. But Taehyung, ever the perceptive one, doesn't buy it even for a second. He leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, clearly not convinced. "It's Y/n again, isn't it?" he raises an eyebrow.

Taehyung was one of the first friends Jungkook made at university. They shared the same major, and if Jungkook was being honest with himself, he liked to think of them as kindred spirits. Of course, calling them similar might be a bit of a stretch, but it was safe to say they were the same person, just in different fonts.

For starters, they both shared the same nerdy interests... coding, anime, and all things geeky, but when it came to personality, they were worlds apart.

Unlike Jungkook, Taehyung was bright, outgoing, and confident. He had this infectious charisma that seemed to draw people in effortlessly, and on top of that, he was also the star player of the university's soccer team.

It was Taehyung who first approached Jungkook for a paired assignment at the start of the first semester, and that's how their friendship began to form. Over time, they grew close, and now, after spending so much time together, Taehyung had become well aware of Jungkook's deep feelings for you... something Jungkook had reluctantly confessed after a lot of prodding.

Taehyung was, unfortunately, very good at getting people to open up, and Jungkook was no exception. He could be annoyingly persistent when it came to matters of the heart.

"No." Jungkook scoffs, but Taehyung, ever the observant one, immediately catches the bright red hue creeping up his ears. A grin spreads across Taehyung's face as he leans in, elbowing Jungkook. "Come on, tell me what happened now?" he prods as usual.

"Nothing, Tae. Leave me alone and focus on your work." Jungkook mutters, his tone flat, hoping to brush the conversation aside.

Taehyung, however, isn't so easily deterred. "Hey, come on, is it really that bad? I just want to know how things are going with your roommate." he says, with a pout. "You know, the roommate you're so hopelessly in love with." he adds with a smirk.

Jungkook throws a sharp glare at him. "Watch your mouth." he warns, though a part of him knows Taehyung is only doing this to get a rise out of him.

"Honestly..." Taehyung starts again, resting his chin on his hand. "I don't know how you do it. Living in the same house with the girl you've liked since the very first time you saw her, all while concealing your very real romantic feelings for her...." He pauses, giving Jungkook an exaggerated once-over.

"That is not for the weak, Kook. You're just built different because seriously I would have combusted by now."

Jungkook keeps his eyes on the screen, fingers tapping the keys though he's barely processing what he's typing. "It's not that easy." he says casually, trying to brush off the weight of the conversation.

"It's... kind of sickening sometimes, you know? Being under the same roof with her.. seeing her every day... and knowing I'm probably nowhere near her league..." He sighs, meeting Taehyung's gaze again, an almost resigned look in his eyes.

Taehyung's playful expression softens and he leans in a little, lowering his voice. "Hey... don't do that. Don't sell yourself short." His words are gentle but firm.

"I'm pretty sure Y/n isn't the kind of person who cares about stuff like 'leagues.' And honestly, that whole idea? It's bullshit. No one's out of anyone's league, Kook. Relationships aren't about rankings. They're all about connection. About how you make each other feel."

Jungkook's fingers slow to a stop, his eyes flicking towards Taehyung, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. "If you're genuine, if you care about her the way I know you do, that's what matters. It's not about being the 'best' or 'coolest' guy. It's about being the right person for her.

Jungkook inhales slowly, carefully absorbing Taehyung's words. Maybe he's right. Maybe everything Jungkook has built up in his mind... the leagues, the what-ifs, the invisible walls, maybe they're all just ghosts of his own making.

But still... that gnawing insecurity, the self-doubt that's burrowed so deeply into his chest, it clings to him like a second skin.

Because, god, he wants it. He wants everything with you. He wants to hold your hand, wants to hold you close. He wants to do all the little things for you, the ones that might seem trivial to someone else but mean everything to him.

Like making you your favorite breakfast, folding your laundry because you forgot again, or fixing your ring light when it flickers out right before you film.

He always wants to be the one you pull into your silly tiktok dances or the one you use as a human swatch palette, drawing streaks of lip stains and eyeshadow along his arm for as long as you please.

He wants to be there—not just as a passing presence—but a constant. Someone you can always rely on, someone who always brightens your day, someone who always feels like home.

But wanting and having—they still feel like two entirely different worlds.

And the thought of losing what little he already has with you... the impromptu friendship, the effortless laughter, the quiet comfort of existing in the same apartment, it terrifies him.

So, he stays where he is. Close, but not too close. Wanting, but never reaching. Because taking that first step feels like standing on the edge of a cliff—one wrong move, and everything could come crashing down.

"Alright, everyone. It's that time of the semester again—time to talk about your upcoming research paper on macroeconomic market trends." Mr. Jang, your eccentric yet strangely endearing macroeconomics professor, announces just as the lecture is nearing its end.

His words send a collective groan rippling through the lecture hall as heads drop onto desks, pens clatter, and someone even mutters a dramatic "Nooo..." like they're being sent to war.

Beside you, Jimin lets out an exaggerated huff, slumping down in his seat like he's just been personally victimized. "Just take me out now. This is where I die." he mutters under his breath. You sigh, nodding in solidarity. "Literally, same."

"You'll be working in pairs." Mr. Jang continues, unfazed by the chorus of complaints. At that, the mood shifts and a subtle spark of hope lights up the room. Pair work is always better than slogging through a solo paper.

People immediately start throwing side glances at their friends, silent pacts being made through nods and raised brows. You and Jimin exchange the same look. It's obvious—you're a team. You've been surviving Mr. Jang's chaotic assignments together for multiple semesters now, and besides, you barely know anyone else in this massive lecture hall.

But then, just as people are settling into the relief of pre-determined partnerships, Mr. Jang's voice cuts through again like a dagger. "But... I'm feeling a little adventurous this time." he grins and a new wave of dread passes over the room. Everyone knows exactly where this is going.

"I'm all about broadening horizons, getting you guys out of your comfort zones. So... I've decided to switch things up. You won't be picking your own partners." he says and the collective mood plummets again and some students visibly deflate in their seats.

Mr. Jang grins, clearly enjoying this far too much. "I've made a list of the pairs myself, and I'll be emailing it to you all by this evening."

Jimin lets out a suffering groan. "Like this couldn't possibly get any worse." he says and you nod, just as disappointed. The last thing you want is to be paired with some random person in class who either has no clue what's going on or is just impossible to coordinate with.

You've always been the kind of person who loves making new friends, striking up conversations with strangers, and weaving your way into different social circles with ease. But when it came to assignments? That was a different story. You'd rather stick with your best friend, Jimin or at least someone you know, because there's always a silent understanding of each other's work styles.

No awkward debates over who would do what, no last-minute panicing because someone forgot their part. You just knew how to get things done, efficiently and without the headache.

"Alright, settle down!" Mr. Jang claps his hands to regain control as the students continue to protest. "Once you get your partner, I expect you to reach out, collaborate, and submit the assignment by the end of next month. That's two whole weeks before the finals, so that should be plenty of time, right?"

A few half-hearted nods follow, but it's clear most people are already bracing themselves for the impending awkward small talk and the inevitable "So... uh, how do you wanna do this?" conversation.

"Good. I expect great things from you guys. Class dismissed!"

As you gather your things, Jimin leans in, his voice thick with impending doom. "I swear to god, if I end up with someone who does nothing, and I have to write the entire paper myself... just know, this might actually be my end."

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you chuckle. "I'll put flowers on your grave." you joke, giving him a wink. "Make sure it's daisies, please." he shoots back as he follows you out of the lecture hall.

The warm afternoon sun greets you as you step out of the building, its golden rays spilling over the campus like honey. You walk beside Jimin, already caught up in some random conversation but it doesn't take long before you hear your name being called— all high-pitched and excited.

You glance up to see a group of girls waving at you from across the courtyard, their smiles as bright as the sun. You know them, or at least you know their usernames because they're the same ones who're always flooding your comment section every time you post, hyping up your nails, your outfits, asking for makeup links, or DMing you to say you "ate" and left no crumbs.

You giggle and wave back just as enthusiastically, earning a chorus of delighted squeals in return.

Jimin clicks his tongue beside you. "Oh god. Here we go. Ms. Influenza. Ms. Campus Celebrity. Ms. 'Get Ready With Me for my 8 AM Lecture.'—"

"Don't start." you cut him off, laughing.

"I'm just saying..." he holds his hands up, grinning. "Should I get my camera out? You wanna do a quick fit check? Maybe we should go live—'Hey guys, just walking across campus, breathing oxygen, being gorgeous.'"

You swat at his arm, making him snort.

"You're just mad because no one's ever asked you where you got your jeans from." you quip and Jimin gasps, clutching his chest like you've struck him. "Excuse you, these are vintage—thrifted with love. For all we know, the previous owner died in them. Their ghost is probably hovering around right now, deeply offended by your slander."

You snort, but he's on a roll. "And, for your kind information, not everyone can pull off thrifted cargo pants also—what is that? A baby tee? Are you auditioning for Bratz: The Resurrection?"

You gasp dramatically, hand flying to your chest. "It's called style, Jimin."

"Right, right. My apologies, Ms. Vogue."

You both burst out laughing, as you continue walking, ready to head home. You pull out your phone, mindlessly scrolling, until you suddenly realize what day it is today. "Shit." you mutter under your breath.

Jimin's head whips towards you, immediately on high alert. "What? Did someone comment some weird shit again? Is this about that guy who said he'd drink your bathwater?"

You freeze, turning to him slowly, face twisted in horror. "Chim, why the hell would you remind me of that?"

"Hey, I'm traumatized too, okay ??"

You shake your head, trying to banish the cursed memory. "No, it's not that. It's just... it's grocery shopping day."

You and Jungkook have this little system where you both take turns grocery shopping and keep the cabinets and fridge stocked with all the essentials. He had tried to convince you, more than once, that he could handle it every time, but you wouldn't let him.

After all, you were roommates and it was only fair the responsibility was shared equally. And since he made the last trip, it obviously means it's your turn now.

"Wanna accompany me??" You glance at Jimin, hopeful and he doesn't even hesitate. "Girl, you're on your own." he says. "Besides, I've got plans with Yoongi." he adds after a beat, making you roll your eyes.

"Come onnn, you see that man every hour of the day." you groan, throwing your head back, exasperated. "All I'm asking for is one measly trip to the grocery store."

You shift your stance as you loop your arms around his, giving him your most pleading pout, paired with fluttering lashes, hoping it might be enough to convince him. But all your best friend does is look at you with disgust. "Girl, you can literally go with your roommate." he shoots back, unfazed.

"Come on, Chim, you know we take turns grocery shopping. He went last time, so I have to go this time, I have no choice but I don't wanna go alone. So come with me pleeeeaseeee." You drag out the last word, hoping your puppy-dog eyes will seal the deal.

Jimin groans, exasperated with a disgusted look but let's out a resigned sigh as he pulls his arm out of your grip. "Ugh, fine." he relents and his expression changes almost immediately. "But let's go with Yoongi. He can drive us there. You know, in his new car." he adds, already getting giddy at the mention of his boyfriend.

It's your turn to give him the disgusted look now, but you know walking to the store is a far less appealing option and third-wheeling the insufferable couple is a little price you'll have to pay for convenience.

Jungkook rises from the couch the moment he hears the front door creak open. His eyes immediately land on you, followed closely by Jimin and Yoongi, each of you juggling oversized bags filled to the brim with groceries.

"Oh, hey Kook." you exhale, slipping off your shoes. "Hey, JK." Jimin offers a bright smile, while Yoongi gives a small, acknowledging nod as the three of you shuffle inside the apartment.

"Today was grocery shopping day?" Jungkook asks, his gaze softening as he steps forward, instinctively relieving you of the heavy bag in your hand, his fingers brushing faintly against yours, before you can even nod.

Jimin and Yoongi exchange a knowing glance, trying to hold back their smiles, before making their way towards the kitchen island. "Yeah, so I had these two help me out." you answer following them as they set the bags down and Jungkook follows suit.

"You know what happened today, JK?" Jimin suddenly begins, and you immediately roll your eyes, already knowing where this is headed. "Come on Chim, you're overacting" you sigh, moving towards the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

Jungkook blinks, slightly confused as he looks at Jimin. "What happened?" he questions softly.

"We were supposed to be done with grocery shopping an hour ago, okay? But this one—" Jimin pauses to accusingly jab a finger in your direction "—decided to go on a quest for Twinkies."

"Twinkies?" Jungkook tilts his head. That's his favorite snack.

"Yeah, Twinkies." Jimin echoes, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. "They weren't in any of the aisles, and you know what she did?" he pauses again, his lips twitching.

"She caused a full-blown search operation in the store. Had half the staff combing through the shelves like we were looking for some buried treasure." he explains animatedly.

"And then—get this—someone finally dug them out from the stockroom in the back." Jimin finishes while Yoongi leans against the island, watching his boyfriend with a fond smile, as if Jimin's exaggerated storytelling is the most adorable thing in the word.

Well, though Jimin was being his usual overdramatic self—spinning the story more for entertainment than accuracy—there was still truth in his words.

You knew exactly how much Jungkook loved Twinkies. He hadn't exactly made a big deal out of it, but you remembered, because he'd casually mentioned once, in a passing conversation that Twinkies were his comfort snack.

It was a small, fleeting detail, but it had stuck with you and since then, every time it was your turn to handle the groceries, you made it a point to grab a pack—sometimes even three—just to see that contented smile grace his cute face when he found them in the pantry.

And today was no different. Well, maybe just a little because you'd had to put in some extra effort—scour the aisles, rally a few employees, and stir up more commotion than you intended—but in the end, you got them. Because it was for Jungkook.

"I literally just asked if they had more in stock." you defend yourself as you close the fridge and cross your arms. "Oh, please." Jimin scoffs, though there's no real heat behind his words.

"Come on, baby." Yoongi chimes in. "You know she just wanted to get the Twinkies because Jungkook likes them." he says. "Yeah, like, forgive me for trying to get his favorite snack." you shrug, a light laugh escaping.

"I get that." Jimin concedes with a sigh, though his eyes are still playful. "But was it really necessary to rally the entire staff? You were going, 'No, I need the Twinkies. Jungkook loves Twinkies. I'm not leaving until I get the Twinkies.' Like, girl I'm sure he would've survived a day without them." He shakes his head in disbelief.

"Why even go to such lengths for Twinkies of all things?" he continues, exasperated and you simply smile at him, shrugging. "Just because."

Jimin stares at you, utterly unimpressed. "Just because?" he echoes, looking personally offended. "You dragged us through an entire covert operation just because?"

You laugh at that and Yoongi joins in too, but Jungkook only half-hears the rest of the banter because all he can think about is... You did that? All of that... for him?

The grocery trip took longer, not because you were being difficult, but because you cared. You cared enough to hunt down his favorite snack—Twinkies, of all things—like it actually mattered.

He swallows, feeling an unexpected lump in his throat. It's such a small gesture, something others might dismiss as trivial. But for fuck's sake, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He feels all tingly, almost giddy, because you really went out of your way, just for him, just for his silly little Twinkies.

Soon enough, Yoongi and Jimin bid their goodbyes, slipping out the door and you turn to Jungkook with a soft smile. "I swear, Jimin's so annoying." you shake your head, though the fondness in your voice betrays any real annoyance.

Jungkook chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he follows you into the living room. "Yeah, but he's still your best friend." he says making you playfully roll your eyes.

"Anyways, I'm gonna be in my room. Need to film this tiktok for some skincare brand." you sigh, already mentally preparing yourself for the ordeal and Jungkook nods, leaning lazily against the couch. "What do you wanna do for dinner? Takeout?" he asks.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder. "Yeah, takeout sounds good to me." you agree and he gives a thumbs-up, pushing off the couch to head towards his own room. But just as your hand wraps around your door knob, his voice gently calls out to you. "Y/n."

You hum in response, turning to find him standing by his door. His eyes are warm and his expression is softer than usual, almost tender. There's a brief pause before he opens his mouth. "Thanks for getting me the Twinkies." he says.

His words catch you off guard and you can't help but laugh, though it's more bashful than anything. "I swear, Jimin was just being so overdramatic. It's really not that big of a deal, Kook. I'll always get you Twinkies." you say, shaking your head and trying to brush it off, though the way Jungkook's gaze lingers on you makes your heart flutter just a little.

"Anyways, let me know when you're ordering the food, okay?" you say softly after a beat and before he can respond, you slip into your room, closing the door behind you. And as you lean back against it for a brief moment, a small smile tugs at your lips because somehow, a simple thank you from Jungkook feels like the sweetest thing you've heard all day.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling you from your thoughts. You reach for it, already anticipating the email notification that greets you.

Sure enough, it's from Mr. Jang, subject line unmistakable—his list of partners for the assignment. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, the familiar sense of dread settling in as you brace yourself for the inevitable revelation.

You swipe to open the email, preparing for whatever name awaits you on the other side, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

"So, who's your partner?" Jimin questions, sliding into his usual spot beside you. "Some guy named... Jaehyun?" you answer, unsure. "Jaehyun?" Jimin echoes, trying to see if the name sparks any recognition, but nothing comes to mind.

This class is so huge that it's nearly impossible to keep track of everyone's name and face.

"Yeah, I have no clue who he is." you say, shrugging. "Anyways, who's yours?" you ask and Jimin's grin widens. "It's Namjoon."

You gasp. Namjoon—the genius of the class, the one whose name you've heard so many times that it's become a staple in your memory. That explains why you recognize his name and face in this sea of unfamiliar ones.

"You lucky bastard." you say, shaking your head. "I know, right?" Jimin leans back, practically glowing with excitement. "Being partners with Namjoon means that an A is already in the bag."

You exhale a resigned sigh, because all you can do right now is only hope that this Jaehyun guy is someone kind and easy to work with but before you can get further lost in your thoughts, a voice interrupts.

"Hey."

You and Jimin both look up to see a man standing in front of your desk with his gaze fixed on you. You blink, wondering what he wants. You've seen him around class a few times, but you genuinely have no idea who he is.

"Hi...?" you say, unsure, and the man chuckles softly, quickly realizing that you don't recognize him. "I'm Jaehyun... You're Y/n, right?" His tone is steady, and that's when it clicks, He's your partner for the assignment.

"Oh hey! Sorry, I'm just so bad with names and faces." you giggle sheepishly as you stand up. "It's alright." Jaehyun replies with a reassuring smile.

"Anyways..." he continues. "Since we're working on the assignment together, I just wanted to know how you'd like to start." His voice is calm and serious, and the sincerity in his tone brings an odd sense of relief because he sounds like someone who actually cares about the work.

"Oh, um..." you pause for a second, thinking. You know that most people prefer working in the library or just doing it remotely over video calls. But you'd prefer a more personal, comfortable setting, a place where both of you can freely share your ideas and thoughts without feeling rushed.

"We can start working on it at my place... it's near the campus." you suggest. "But if you have any other preferen—"

"Your place sounds fine." Jaehyun interjects with a smile and you nod at his words. "Here's my number." he says, sliding a small piece of paper on your desk. "Text me the address."

Before you can respond, the professor strides into the room, commanding everyone's attention. The casual chatter across the lecture hall dissolves into the rustling of notebooks and the scraping of chairs as people rush to their seats.

"I'll catch you later, yeah?" Jaehyun says smoothly, flashing you one last smile before turning on his heel.

You offer a polite smile back, but the moment he's out of earshot, Jimin leans in, exhaling dramatically like he's just witnessed a divine apparition. "Wow. That is one good-looking man." His eyes are wide with faux awe, clutching his chest like he's been personally affected.

You snort, giving him a pointed look. "Bro, you literally have a boyfriend." you deadpan, narrowing your eyes playfully and Jimin gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls. "What, I can't admire God's work? Yoongi would understand." He winks, and you roll your eyes, fighting back a laugh.

But honestly? Jaehyun's face is the last thing on your mind right now. Looks mean nothing if he turns out to be unreliable.

At this point, all you care about is getting this assignment done. As long as he's easy to communicate with and doesn't disappear off the face of the earth when deadlines hit, you'll be more than satisfied.

Jungkook is perched on the couch, his brows furrowed in deep concentration as he stares intently at the ridiculously huge 17x17 rubik's cube in his hands. He's been trying to solve this for a month now, with no tutorials or help, and he's starting to wonder if he's just too dumb for it.

Each twist feels like it could either be a small victory or an impending catastrophe, and the stakes couldn't feel higher. Every so often, he flicks his wrist or makes some bizarre hand motion that only he understands, like he's performing a ritual to appease the rubik's cube gods.

But just as he's about to make a breakthrough, the doorbell rings, and Jungkook hisses in frustration, as if the universe itself is conspiring to distract him. He reluctantly places the cube on the coffee table, and just as he starts to rise from the couch to answer the door, you're already darting towards it.

He sits back down, wondering if it's just one of those PR package deliveries again and brings his focus back on the cube. But his concentration flickers and dies the moment he hears a deep and unfamiliar voice floating in from the doorway.

"Come on in." he hears you say and Jungkook's head snaps up, curiosity prickling at his chest as he cranes his neck towards the entrance.

He's expecting maybe a delivery guy asking for a signature, or one of your friends like Jimin or someone, dropping by to gossip, but instead, he sees you stepping inside with someone unknown trailing closely behind you.

The guy is tall and lean, with a backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder, moving with that effortless kind of charm and the moment he steps in, his gaze sweeps over the room, before landing on Jungkook on the couch.

There's a flicker of something in his eyes but it shifts almost immediately to the oversized rubik's cube sitting on the coffee table and Jungkook is quick to notice the way the guy's lips twitch, pressing together like he's clearly holding something back.

"Oh, Kook! This is Jaehyun." you say when your eyes catch his from across the room. You gesture back at the guy, who offers a lopsided smile. "We're working on an assignment together."

Jungkook blinks, scrambling for a response, but his tongue feels annoyingly slow. "Sup, dude?" Jaehyun greets, casual, a little too confident. There's a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, subtle but it's definitely there—the kind that's easy to miss if you aren't looking closely but the thing is, Jungkook is looking closely.

And for some reason, it rubs him the wrong way.

He's no stranger to you bringing study or assignment partners home—it's normal, part of your routine. He's done the same, though every time it feels like he's navigating social quicksand, stumbling through small talk and hoping the other person doesn't pick up on his awkwardness.

Still, he stands, out of habit more than anything, flashing a small, awkward smile. "Hey."

Jaehyun exhales a soft, amused huff, like he's holding back a laugh, and Jungkook can't tell if it's just his usual demeanor or if there's something else laced beneath it. Something condescending. But before Jungkook can figure it out, you're already moving.

"Anyways, we'll be in my room, okay?" you inform him with a quick smile, not waiting for a reply as you lead Jaehyun down the hall and before Jungkook can muster a response, the door to your room clicks shut.

He drops back onto the couch, the rubik's cube long forgotten on the coffee table.

There's this thing—this gut feeling people talk about. This instinct, this unspoken warning system buried deep in your subconscious. Sometimes it's a tightening in your chest, a sudden shift in your pulse, or just a quiet, nagging whisper at the back of your mind, hinting at something your conscious brain hasn't quite caught up to yet.

It's primal, wired into human nature... the kind of feeling that makes you hesitate before stepping into the dark, or glance over your shoulder without knowing why.

And right now, that very feeling is sinking its teeth into Jungkook.

He can't explain it, can't put his finger on a single, tangible reason, but something about Jaehyun, his eyes, his stance, the way he carries himself—feels... off.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a way he could call out without sounding ridiculous.

He runs a hand through his hair, shaking it off. Maybe he's overthinking it. Maybe he's just being protective... or worse, maybe he's being jealous.

But his gut is still whispering.

And Jungkook's learned not to ignore that.

Surprisingly—and to your great relief—Jaehyun turns out to be an easygoing and cooperative partner. The last hour has been spent deep in discussion, bouncing ideas off each other, sifting through potential research topics, and, somehow, it doesn't feel suffocating.

Jaehyun listens attentively, considers your inputs, and offers his own without steamrolling over yours. It's honestly refreshing.

"So, I guess this is it, then." you say, nodding in satisfaction once the final topic is settled. Jaehyun mirrors your nod, a small grin playing at his lips. "Didn't peg Miss Popular as the type to actually lock in when it comes to assignments." he teases.

You gasp dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Excuse you, I take my academic life very seriously."

"Oh yeah?" He tilts his head. "So if I check your screen time right now, I won't find an ungodly number of hours spent on tiktok and Instagram?"

"First of all...." you say, pointing a finger at him. "That's classified information. Second of all, it's kind of like my job at this point."

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his head. "Right, right. Job."

You roll your eyes but can't help but chuckle along.

"Anyways..." he leans back in his chair. "How'd you even get into this whole content creation thing?"

You know you should probably steer the conversation back to the assignment, but honestly? You don't mind. Jaehyun seems reliable enough, and besides, a little break never hurt anyone.

"Well...." you start, a little sheepishly, "I was a Vine kid." you say but before you can continue Jaehyun's eyes widen in an instant. "Wait, Vine? As in, six-second goldmine Vine? The superior app?"

"You know about Vine too ?!??!" You gasp, placing a hand over your heart again. "Oh my god. I thought I was alone in this cruel world."

Jaehyun scoffs. "Are you kidding? I lived on that app. To this day, I still quote Vines like it's a second language."

"No, because same." You lean forward, suddenly excited. "Like, I can't go one day without referencing 'It is Wednesday, my dudes—'"

Jaehyun, without missing a beat, throws his head back and screams. "AAAAAAAAH."

(A/N: SORRY GUYSFGJERHG, I WAS A VINE KID—I JUST HAAAD TOOOO. anyways, if you don't get the reference, check this link out hehe)

You burst out laughing, slamming your hand on your desk. "Oh my god. A fellow Vine scholar."

"Finally." he sighs dramatically. "Someone who understands."

You shake your head, still chuckling. "But yeah, I used to make Vines of my own too—though we are not going to talk about that." You cringe at the memory, suppressing a shudder. "So that's where my whole content creation passion came from. Except now, my content is more... I don't know, just stuff I actually enjoy doing." You shrug, and Jaehyun nods in understanding.

"I follow you on tiktok, by the way." He grins, tilting his head slightly. "And I gotta say, your content's pretty fire."

"Oh, really?" You smirk, narrowing your eyes playfully. "Then tell me—what eyeshadow palette did I review in my last video?" You cross your arms, arching a brow because you know damn well your content isn't exactly tailored for a guy like Jaehyun. But teasing him is too tempting to resist.

Jaehyun groans, throwing his head back. "Hey, come on, don't do me like that." he protests, laughing. "I was talking about your other stuff—like your random vlogs, your outfit checks, oh, um—your little roommate series."

"Ah, yes." You nod. "The roommate series' main star was the poor soul you saw in the living room earlier." You giggle, thinking of Jungkook's stiff face every time your camera is in his personal space. "He's my little unpaid intern." You grin, and Jaehyun laughs along.

"Yeah, I noticed. He's on your page a lot." Jaehyun muses, eyes narrowing slightly like he's piecing something together. "I've been wondering though... How do you even convince him to join in? He seems like the... shy type."

You giggle, leaning back into your chair. "Oh, he is shy—painfully so. But..." your voice softens, "He's also the sweetest person you'll ever meet. Never complains. Even when I make him do the dumbest skits, he just goes along with it." A fond smile tugs at your lips.

Before Jaehyun can respond, his phone buzzes. He checks it quickly, before letting out a breath. "Ah, looks like I gotta head out." he says and you nod understandingly. He stands and you follow suit as he slings his backpack over his shoulder in one fluid motion. "Cool, we'll see each other again..." you start.

"Day after tomorrow." Jaehyun finishes with a small smile, and you nod.

"Right. See you then." And with that, he walks out.

Once the door clicks shut behind Jaehyun, you linger for a moment before stepping further into the living room and your gaze naturally falls on the oversized rubik's cube, still half-solved on the coffee table and you wonder what Jungkook's up to right now.

And just then, it's the soft, rapid staccato of mouse and keyboard clicks that draws your attention, so you make your way towards Jungkook's room and as expected, he's there— perched at his desk, headset on, eyes locked onto the screen, fingers moving furiously as he navigates through his Minecraft world.

You inch closer. "Hey." you call, giving his shoulder a gentle poke. Jungkook jumps slightly, wide eyes snapping to you as he hurriedly pulls off his headset. "Oh—hey." he breathes out, his voice tinged with the faintest trace of surprise.

His eyes flicker past you, towards the door, and for a brief moment he wonders if Jaehyun's gone. You don't notice it, but Jungkook's chest eases a little when he realizes the guy's probably left.

He won't admit it out aloud, but the only reason he'd abandoned his rubik's cube and holed himself up in his room with the volume cranked up on his game, was to drown out the sound of your laughter echoing from behind the closed door of your bedroom.

He'd told himself not to think too much about it, but the longer he sat there, the more the warmth in your voice with Jaehyun grated against something he couldn't quite name. So, he'd escaped, to blocks and biomes, anything to block it out.

"What do you want for dinner?" you ask. "I was thinking... ramen?"

"Ramen... yeah, ramen sounds good." He nods, already starting to push himself up from his chair, ready to help. But you wave him off with a soft laugh. "Hey, I've got this. You can keep playing. I'll handle the ramen." you assure him, already turning towards the door to leave.

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, because he always wants to help out, but you're gone before he can.

He stays there, watching the spot where you stood for a beat longer than he needs to, before sinking back into his chair. The Minecraft screen flickers at him, but his focus is elsewhere as his fingers hover over the keys.

That gut feeling... the one that first crept in when Jaehyun walked through the door, still stubbornly sits heavy in his chest. But Jungkook exhales, shaking his head as if to clear it. It's not that deep.

He's just an assignment partner, after all.

Right?

Days drift by, and Jaehyun's visits have grown more frequent—so frequent that his presence has begun to settle into the corners of your shared apartment like it belongs there.

Jungkook has started to notice things—small, seemingly insignificant at first, but they begin to pile up like pebbles forming a mountain he can't ignore.

It's hard to miss how comfortable you've grown with Jaehyun. There's an ease to the way your laughter bubbles up at his jokes, the way your hand instinctively swats at his arm or chest when he teases you. It's playful—sure—but it leaves Jungkook with a faint, inexplicable unease.

He tries to brush it off. He really does.

Most days, he sees you both working, heads bent together over your laptops, furrowed brows, quiet discussions filling the living room or your bedroom. There's a seriousness to the project that he can't deny, especially in you because Jungkook knows how dedicated you are when it comes to assignments and projects.

But even then, Jaehyun has a way of slipping in like tossing a joke here or a teasing comment there and suddenly, the air visibly shifts. The work pauses and laughter spills out.

And then there are moments—moments like yesterday—that cling to Jungkook's memory like a thorn.

He had walked in to see Jaehyun playfully locking you in a loose headlock while you laughed, elbowing him in the stomach to break free, but the sight lodged itself in Jungkook's chest like a stone.

It was harmless, he told himself. Just friends messing around. But it was the details that lingered—the way Jaehyun's grin stretched wide, the way your laughter rang unrestrained, the way you leaned into his touch instead of pulling away. The way you didn't seem to mind him being so close.

And then there's the other thing. The part that unsettles Jungkook the most.

The look.

Every time Jaehyun is over, he throws a look at Jungkook and he instantly catches it. A look, which is fleeting but definitely intentional. The kind that seems casual on the surface but holds an undercurrent of something else. Something off.

It's not an open challenge, not exactly. Nor is it the the casual acknowledgment guys sometimes exchange to break the ice. It's subtler, more calculated... like Jaehyun's sizing him up, or worse, like he already knows something Jungkook doesn't.

It's the kind of look that worms under his skin.

The kind that feels like someone is quietly staking a claim on something you thought was yours.

And Jungkook hates it. He hates the way it's taking root inside him, how it makes his chest tighten and his jaw clench. He hates that he cares this much. That he even feels like he has something to lose.

But no matter how much he tries to rationalize it, how many times he tells himself he's imagining it... that gut feeling, that unrelenting instinct—remains.

Something about Jaehyun just doesn't sit right.

Right now, Jungkook remains perched on the edge of the kitchen island, one hand resting on the cool surface while the other hovers over his laptop's trackpad. He's trying—really trying—to stay focused on the test flashing across his screen, some tedious but necessary module assessment that's part of his course requirements.

But he can hear your voice, and Jaehyun's, drifting from your room nearby like an unwelcome undercurrent. Jungkook clenches his jaw, trying to drown it out. He knows it's nothing, knows that you're just working on your project. But the sound gets under his skin anyway.

A few minutes pass before he hears the creak of your door opening, followed by footsteps padding down the hallway. Within seconds, Jaehyun appears—tall frame moving with that easy confidence that's begun to grate on Jungkook's nerves. His eyes sweep the room lazily before landing on Jungkook.

"Sup, dude?" Jaehyun greets, casual, almost dismissive, and there's something in the way his gaze flicks over Jungkook that feels vaguely patronizing. Like he's acknowledging him out of obligation, not respect. Like he's the one who lives here and Jungkook's the guest.

Jungkook forces a nod in acknowledgment, fingers tightening around his laptop. Without waiting for a response, Jaehyun strolls past him, straight to the fridge. "Just grabbing some water." he mutters over his shoulder—like he's entitled to whatever's in there.

Jungkook says nothing, eyes flicking back to his screen. He taps his keyboard, more out of habit than intent, willing himself to tune it all out.

The cap of the water bottle twists open with a soft crack, followed by the sound of Jaehyun taking a long sip. Then he moves closer... almost too close, positioning himself beside the island, his body leaning in ever so slightly as he peers at Jungkook's screen.

"What you up to, man?" he asks, voice still light but carrying that underlying tone, like he already knows whatever Jungkook's doing is probably boring. Probably beneath him.

Jungkook stiffens, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He can feel Jaehyun's eyes trailing over his laptop screen, taking in the lines of code and multiple-choice questions.

"It's just a test. Course requirement." Jungkook mutters, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Ahhh... you're a computer science major, right?" His tone is laced with curiosity, but not the genuine kind. It's the kind that holds the faintest trace of mockery. The kind that makes you feel like you need to justify yourself.

Jungkook nods, curtly. "Yeah."

Jaehyun lets out a low, drawn-out whistle, followed by a chuckle. "Damn. Computer science, huh? That's... intense." He laughs before taking another sip of his water, the bottle crinkling slightly under his grip. "Must be tough. All those... codes and... what? Algorithms?" He gestures lazily towards the screen, eyes narrowing.

Jungkook doesn't like the way he says it—like it's a joke, like it's something trivial. Like Jungkook's effort is something to be amused by. "Yeah. Algorithms." he mutters, trying to sound unaffected, though he can feel his patience thinning.

Jaehyun leans in a little, his shadow creeping over the laptop screen. He squints at the test, eyes skimming over the technical jargon as though he's deciphering it, though Jungkook doubts he understands much of it.

"Man... that looks brutal. Don't know how you guys do it. I'd probably lose my mind staring at that stuff all day." He laughs, but it's laced with something condescending, like he's making it clear that he wouldn't waste his time on something so tedious.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek.

"Guess you gotta be built different for that whole... nerd life, huh?" Jaehyun adds, smirking as he takes another sip.

Jungkook forces a tight smile, but his fingers tighten against the edge of his laptop. He feels the implication of it—the way Jaehyun's not just making conversation. He's dissecting him. Testing him. Seeing what gets a reaction. Measuring him up like he's weighing his worth and already finding him lacking.

Jungkook breathes slowly through his nose, fighting the urge to snap back. He's not going to give Jaehyun that satisfaction. Instead, he shifts slightly in his seat, subtly angling his screen away.

"Yeah." he says flatly. "Guess you do."

Jaehyun lingers a moment longer, like he's waiting for more—like he's hoping for a crack to show. But when none comes, he finally steps back, draining the rest of his water.

"Respect, man. Couldn't be me." He the proceeds to clap Jungkook on the shoulder—harder than necessary, his hand lingering for just a second too long before he pulls away. There's something weird about the gesture, like he's asserting dominance.

Then he steps back, water bottle still in hand, eyes sweeping over Jungkook one last time like he's taking stock—cataloging him, filing him away under less than. Like he's already decided he's better.

"You keep doing your thing, though." Jaehyun adds, voice dripping with false encouragement. "The nerd life's gotta pay off someday, right?" He laughs, turning on his heel, and before Jungkook can respond, he's already strolling back towards your room.

Jungkook stares at his laptop screen, but the words blur into a mess of symbols and frustration. His chest tightens with a mix of anger and something closer to humiliation.

Jaehyun knew exactly what he was doing.

And it worked.

Jungkook forces himself to return his focus to the screen. There's no reason—no logical reason—why he should let a guy like Jaehyun get under his skin and make him feel bad about himself—his major, his choices, or anything else for that matter.

He knows exactly the kind of guy Jaehyun is.

The kind who carries himself like he's untouchable, like he's a step ahead of everyone else. The kind who doesn't even have to say it outright to make you feel like you're somehow beneath him.

Guys like Jaehyun think they're on another level... effortlessly charismatic, naturally better, always in control. And maybe, for the most part, they are. But Jungkook refuses to be another person who feeds into that delusion.

So he brushes it off, squares his shoulders, tightens his grip on his laptop, and forces his attention back to his test.

Nearly half an hour passes.

He's managed to focus, even if it took effort, even if his brain kept replaying snippets of the earlier conversation in the background. But then, the sound of your bedroom door opening breaks his concentration again.

This time, it's you walking out first, your laptop tucked under one arm. Jaehyun follows a few seconds later, slinging his backpack over one shoulder with the ease of someone who doesn't have a single worry in the world.

"So, now that we have enough data collected on consumer spending trends across different income brackets, we should start working on the outline of the paper by next week." you say, your voice casual but firm as you lead Jaehyun towards the door.

Jungkook glances up just in time to catch the usual faint smirk Jaehyun throws his way. The same smug, knowing look that makes his skin prickle. Still, as usual, Jungkook ignores it, his fingers tightening against the laptop's edge as he looks back at his screen.

As you reach the doorway, Jaehyun continues to nod at your words. "Cool." he mumbles, proceeding to slip into his shoes. He straightens up as his fingers adjust the strap of his backpack.

He turns around, ready to leave, but suddenly, his hand reaches for the doorknob but stops midway, and you, noticing the pause, tilt your head slightly in question. "Everything good, Jae?" you ask.

Jaehyun turns around, a sheepish smile creeping onto his lips, like something just occurred to him. "Oh, um..." He rubs the back of his neck, playing it off casually. "I was just wondering... it's pretty late, so do you maybe wanna grab dinner together?"

Jungkook, still perched at the kitchen island, picks up on the sudden question instantly and his fingers halt over the keyboard. His back stiffens but his eyes remain fixed on the screen as he waits for you to respond.

"Dinner?" You echo, blinking as though you need a second to let it register. "Oh... yeah, dinner sounds good." you say with a small nod.

Jaehyun's lips twitch into a subtle grin—an almost imperceptible curve of victory, like he's already claimed what he was after. But before he can solidify his win, before he can turn that small triumph into something more, you cut through it with your gentle, unaffected voice.

"Let me ask Kook to join us too!" you chirp, turning back towards the living room without a second thought. "Wouldn't want him to cook alone, you know?"

Jaehyun freezes for half a beat, blinking as the easy confidence slips just slightly from his face. That? That was not what he had in mind.

He was envisioning something different... just the two of you, a quiet dinner where he could lean in close and talk, make you laugh, maybe inch his way into something more. What he wasn't expecting was for you to bring your nerdy roommate along.

Jungkook, from his place in the apartment, hears the shuffle of your feet as you approach him, and he already knows what's coming. He knows you so well. Knew you'd never leave him behind.

For a moment, he lets himself exhale, the knot that had been coiling in his chest loosening just a little. He had braced himself for the possibility of you heading out alone with Jaehyun, braced for the discomfort, the overthinking that would haunt him for the rest of the night.

But you, being you, the sweet angel that you are, would obviously never leave him behind. And that thought, even if it's just for dinner, makes him feel all giddy.

He can already picture the mild irritation on Jaehyun's face. The guy's probably seething behind that polite mask, regretting ever asking in the first place. That thought alone tugs a subtle smirk onto Jungkook's lips... small and barely noticeable, but it's still there nonetheless.

"Kook, me and Jaehyun are going to grab dinner. Wanna come with?" You say it so casually, so sweetly, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like his presence would only make the evening better.

So, who the hell is he to say no to that? Not when you're looking at him like that—eyes sparkling like stardust, lips curled into that soft, pretty smile that feels like it was made just for him. Like you hung the moon without even trying.

And sure, on any other night, he'd probably hate the thought of sitting through a meal with a stranger, especially someone like Jaehyun, but tonight? Tonight, he wants nothing more than to tag along and be there.

Even if it means enduring Jaehyun's smugness. Even if it means biting his tongue until his jaw aches. Even if it means sitting through forced conversations and subtle digs, pretending not to notice the way Jaehyun acts like he's beneath him or whatever.

Because in the end, being there with you, will always outweigh all of that.

Jaehyun clenches his fists at his sides, as he struggles to maintain the polite, easy-going smile he's perfected over time. It's taking every ounce of self-restraint not to let his irritation seep through as he watches you animatedly chatter about some random show, while your arm remains casually looped around Jungkook's.

Not only does he have to tolerate the presence of this insufferable nerd, but he also has to witness the two of you nestled so comfortably together? This was definitely not the kind of evening he was looking forward to.

Jungkook, on the other hand, barely registers Jaehyun's existence anymore.

He's too caught up in you—smiling to himself as he listens to your endless rambling, the kind that always veers off into tangents, hopping from plot twists to character arcs, and somehow looping back to an inside joke only the two of you understand.

He's so absorbed, so content, that he's forgotten Jaehyun is even trailing along beside you.

"Oh! There's the diner!" you suddenly exclaim, your eyes lighting up as you point towards the familiar spot, the little place you and Jungkook have frequented on countless lazy nights when cooking felt like too much work.

"Let's go." Jaehyun forces out with a nod, plastering on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He trails behind as you tug Jungkook forward, still holding onto his arm, leaving Jaehyun feeling like the third wheel he never expected to be.

When you step into the diner, you and Jungkook instinctively drift towards your usual table by the window, the one that's practically become yours over time and Jaehyun trails behind, his eyes briefly scanning the place before settling on the two of you.

"You guys get comfortable—I'll go place the order." you chime, your voice light with excitement as Jungkook nods, taking a seat. "Me and Kook are getting our usual burgers... what about you, Jaehyun?" you ask, your smile bright.

Jaehyun shifts in his seat, lowering himself across from Jungkook. "Oh... yeah, I guess I'll have the burger too." he replies, attempting casualness. "Perfect!" you beam, giving a little thumbs-up before turning on your heel and heading towards the counter.

Jungkook and Jaehyun sit face to face, the absence of your warmth leaving a tangible void between them, like the air itself cools the second you step away.

Jungkook has never been good at eye contact; it's always made him feel exposed, like someone could see right through him. But this time, he forces himself to hold Jaehyun's gaze. It's not confidence, it's defiance.

A quiet, stubborn refusal to let Jaehyun think he holds any power here. That his presence, his smirks, his calculated little victories, could ever rattle him.

Jaehyun leans back slightly, arms crossing over his chest, eyes narrowing just the faintest bit. He lets out a breathy scoff and neither of them say a word, but the tension hums louder than any conversation could.

Their eyes lock like two opposing forces testing the limits of the space they share. It's almost childish, this silent standoff, but they're both not willing to be the first to look away. It's as though they're shooting invisible lasers through their pupils, measuring each other in the quietest, most passive-aggressive battle known to man.

"Here we go..." you sing-song, balancing a tray with three burgers and a generous side of fries as you make your way back to the table. You're blissfully unaware of the silent warzone you're about to walk into.

Both Jungkook and Jaehyun immediately snap out of their intense, wordless staring contest, their gazes shifting to you with something alarmingly close to desperation. The air between them, once brimming with unspoken rivalry, pauses, suspended by a single, all-important question.

Where are you going to sit?

There's an empty spot beside each of them, and for a brief second, they're both holding their breaths, like their entire evening depends on this one moment. It's ridiculous, really, two grown men waiting like nervous schoolboys to see which side you'll choose, as though your choice is about to crown the evening's winner.

You place the tray on the table, eyes flitting between the two empty seats as if you're carefully weighing your options.

Truthfully, you're not.

Your phone’s battery is barely hanging on, and the seat beside Jaehyun just so happens to be the closest to the charging socket—that’s all there is to it.

You need your phone to keep up with your little ritual of posting an Instagram story of your meal, something you’ve done every time you visit this diner. And since you forgot to bring your power bank, the charging socket is your only saving grace.

So when you step towards the chair next to Jaehyun, he shifts slightly, trying to mask his triumph under the guise of casual nonchalance.

He raises a hand to his mouth, rubbing at his jaw and the subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook who, watches the scene unfold from across the table, already mentally preparing himself for an evening of internal suffering.

But when you pull out the chair—you pause.

Your nose scrunches, eyes narrowing as you spot a faint, dried-up glob of what looks suspiciously like mayo crusted onto the edge of the seat. It's small, barely noticeable, but enough to make you grimace.

"Hey, Jae... would you mind shifting there?" you question, pointing to the seat next to Jungkook.

Both men freeze.

Jaehyun's smirk drops so fast it's almost audible, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief while Jungkook's brows flick upwards in surprise, mouth parting slightly before he schools his face back into something neutral, though the barely-there twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him.

This... this was not the outcome either of them had prepared for, but it's safe to say Jungkook's partly satisfied.

Jaehyun however, hesitates, like he's considering protesting, but you quickly flash him that sheepish, apologetic grin, the one that makes it impossible to say no to you. "I'm so sorry... This seat's a little dirty plus I really need to charge my phone, and the socket's right here." you explain, pointing to the outlet on the wall.

Jaehyun forces out a tight smile. "Yeah, of course... No problem." he says, standing up to move to the other seat, landing next to Jungkook with the enthusiasm of someone being sentenced to life in prison.

You flash him a sweet, oblivious smile before finally settling into the seat and plugging in your charger with a small, satisfied hum.

Soon enough, the meal is underway. Conversation flows easily—well, mostly between you and Jaehyun. The two of you chat about random classes and how brutal last week's quiz was, nothing too deep, but enough to make Jungkook feel like a third wheel at a study date he never agreed to.

He picks at his fries, half-listening, half-zoning out, until suddenly, you burst into laughter—loud and unfiltered, the kind that makes your eyes squeeze shut and your hand fly up to cover your mouth and it jolts Jungkook back into the present.

His gaze flicks to you instantly because when you laugh like that, everything else just fades. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes crinkled at the corners, that light, breathless giggle spilling out like music.

And dammit, Jaehyun, out of all people, is the one who made you laugh and somehow, that realization makes Jungkook bites into his burger a little too aggressive, like it personally offended him.

"No, but seriously..." Jaehyun continues, fighting back his own laughter. "First week of college, right? I'm at this super boring seminar. Room's packed. Everyone's dead silent and the professor's giving this whole speech about the meaning of existence or whatever—like, proper 'stare into the void' kinda stuff."

Jungkook has no idea where this is going, and even though he doesn't particularly want to care, he still listens. Because, seriously, what could possibly be so funny?

"But I was bored out of my mind, right? So, I sneak out my phone—'cause obviously, I'd rather watch something on my phone than spiral into an existential crisis." Jaehyun says and you giggle, nodding along, fully invested.

"But guess what? My phone's on full volume. And out of nowhere—like, cutting through all this profound silence, it goes: 'HURRICANE KATRINA? MORE LIKE HURRICANE TORTILLA!'"

(vine reference link)

You absolutely lose it, slapping the table as laughter erupts from you. "STOP—NOT HURRICANE TORTILLA—" you wheeze, clutching your stomach.

Jungkook pauses mid-chew, eyes narrowing slightly as he wonders what the hell is a... hurricane tortilla? He glances between you two, trying to decode what exactly has you guys dying.

Jaehyun keeps going. "The professor stops talking and the whole room just goes... dead silent and everyone's looking at me like I just committed a crime while I'm just sitting there like—'welp, guess I'll drop out.'"

"I—oh my god—I can't—'hurricane tortilla'—I'm actually cryinggg." you gasp between fits of laughter, wiping at the tears gathering in your eyes. Jungkook just blinks, utterly lost. He leans in slightly, brows furrowed. "...What's a hurricane tortilla?"

Jaehyun's head snaps towards him, eyes widening with exaggerated disbelief. "No way. You're joking, right?" He lets out a sharp laugh, dripping with condescension. "Y/n, you're telling me you live with this uncultured man who doesn't know what a hurricane tortilla is?"

You don't dignify Jaehyun's snide remark with a response. Instead, you turn to Jungkook with a soft smile, the kind that instantly disarms him. Your eyes hold nothing but warmth, no trace of ridicule.

You know he doesn't keep up with this kind of stuff, and that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of.

"Oh, Kook." you murmur. "It's just a vine. Remember? Those short, funny videos I showed you? Like six seconds long?"

Jungkook's expression softens as the memory washes over him. Of course, he remembers.

That afternoon on the couch, when you had excitedly told him you wanted to show him some "vines". Truthfully, he hadn't really gotten most of them. Some flew right over his head, and he barely found them funny. But he'd never admit it aloud because, honestly, it was never about the vines.

It was about you. The way you had curled up beside him, so close that your shoulder pressed into his while your bright laughter spilled freely, like music that played just for him. The way you'd nudge him with your elbow whenever you found something extremely funny, your pretty eyes crinkling with joy as if inviting him to share in that happiness.

He remembers how his heart raced more from the warmth of your thigh brushing against his than from anything on the screen. How every time you leaned in, laughing so hard you could barely breathe, felt like he could drown completely in the sound of it and never come up for air.

And most of all, he remembers how he didn't want it to end.

How he could've stayed there, just like that, for hours—watching videos that barely made any sense to him, but that's okay, because getting to hear you laugh like that was all that truly mattered.

"Yeah... I remember." he says after a beat, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah so, the hurricane tortilla thing? It's just from one of those." you explain, still sweet, still patient, like you're always willing to meet him where he's at.

Eventually, you all wrap up at the diner and step out. The tension between Jungkook and Jaehyun still remains unnoticed by you while they exchange subtle glares, every few minutes, each one laced with unspoken rivalry.

"So, I guess we'll head back now." you say, standing on the pavement with your hands inside your pockets, protecting yourself from the night breeze. Jaehyun gives Jungkook one last look, a brief, pointed glance that's more challenge than farewell, before turning to you with a smile.

And then, without warning, he steps forward, arms looping around you in an embrace. It catches you off guard, but you don't hesitate to return the hug, your arms wrapping around his shoulders with ease, though there's a flicker of surprise in your eyes.

Jungkook, on the other hand, stiffens. His jaw tightens, fists curling at his sides as he watches Jaehyun's arms settle a little too comfortably around your waist. It's not just the hug that gets to him—it's the way Jaehyun looks at him over your shoulder, a smug, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Like he's winning.

And maybe he is. At least, that's what it feels like to Jungkook in that moment.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow." Jaehyun breathes out as he pulls away, his hand lingering a second too long on your waist. You nod, smiling, completely unaware of the silent battle that's just taken place right behind your back.

"See you around, dude." Jaehyun adds, tossing Jungkook a dismissive nod before turning on his heel and strolling away with all the confidence of someone who thinks he's just claimed victory.

Jungkook exhales slowly, forcing his fists to uncurl at his sides, trying to tame the little green goblin of jealousy that a single hug has so effortlessly stirred to life.

"Let's go, Kook?" Your gentle voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks, looking at you, your eyes bright under the streetlights and his silly little heart stumbles over itself as usual. "I—uhh... yeah. Of course." he stammers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The night air is cool, wrapping around you in a gentle breeze as the streets hum with distant traffic. Neon shop signs flicker, casting fleeting shades of color onto the pavement as you and Jungkook walk side by side.

You let out a satisfied hum, rubbing a hand over your stomach. "I swear, I'm never getting tired of that diner." you giggle, and Jungkook glances at you, the corners of his lips curling up. "I think at this point, they should just name a booth after you." he teases.

You gasp dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "That would be the dream, honestly. But it's not just me, you know? You've been there as much as I have. So I guess we both deserve a picture on the wall that says Most Loyal Customers of the Decade."

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. "That would be nice, I guess." he says sheepishly.

A comfortable silence settles between you for a moment before you stretch your arms over your head. "Honestly, I'm glad I was able to make Jae try it out." you add casually, glancing at Jungkook and he nods, but his smile dims just slightly.

Maybe it's the way Jaehyun has so easily made his way into this conversation, or maybe it's the casual way you use his nickname... whatever it is, it makes Jungkook's stomach churn in a way he doesn't particularly like.

Plus, the uneasy thoughts have been there for a while, lurking in the back of his mind, but he's always pushed it away. Tonight, though, it feels impossible to ignore. He suddenly wants to know what you really think about Jaehyun—wants to know if you see what he sees or if you're just oblivious to the way Jaehyun acts around you or the way he acts around Jungkook.

Jungkook exhales quietly, debating whether he should even say anything. But before he can stop himself, the words slip out. "So this... Jaehyun guy..." he starts, voice careful, like he's weighing each word before releasing it. You glance at him, curious. "Yeah?"

Jungkook hesitates for a second too long, his gaze fixed ahead as if avoiding your eyes will make this easier. "You guys have gotten pretty close lately." he says, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Oh, yeah..." You nod, swaying slightly as you walk. "Ever since we became partners for that assignment, we've been hanging out a lot. I mean, it's not anything too deep. It's just... our vibes match, you know?"

Vibes match.

Jungkook draws in a long inhale, his fists tightening inside his pockets. He wonders if his vibe has ever matched yours. You've lived together for so long... have spent late nights talking on the couch, have shared countless meals, have fallen into a rhythm so natural it almost feels like breathing.

But have you ever thought about it like that? Have you ever thought your vibes batch? Yours and His?

You're everything he's not and if Jaehyun's vibe matches yours, then where exactly does that leave Jungkook?

"He's funny." you continue, lips curving into a small smile. "And he gets my humor."

Jungkook hums at that, but the sound comes out a little sharper than he intended. He knows Jaehyun makes you laugh, he's seen it firsthand. Loud, breathless laughter that makes your eyes crinkle, the kind that shakes your whole body.

"But..." Jungkook exhales slowly, trying to sound casual even though the words feel like they're getting stuck on the way out. "I mean... I've noticed he's gotten really... comfortable around you."

He doesn't even know where he's going with this. He just knows it's been bothering him, gnawing at him like an itch he can't scratch. You blink, tilting your head. "What do you mean?"

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, feeling utterly, painfully awkward. He wants to drop it, but at the same time, he doesn't.

"Like... like how he is at the apartment." he says, forcing the words out. "He just... makes himself at home. Like, he sits on the couch like it's his. He raids the fridge. He—" Jungkook stops himself, brows furrowing. "He acts like he lives there."

You let out a soft laugh, but not in a way that makes him feel dismissed. "Ah, yeah, that's just how he is." you say with a small shrug. Jungkook presses his lips together, the unease still sitting heavy in his chest.

"But what's wrong?" you ask, your voice gentler now, sensing there's more to this than what he's saying. "Does he make you uncomfortable?" You tilt your head, genuine concern etched in your features.

"No... um, no, nothing like that." he denies way too quickly. "I was just wondering if you're comfortable with how he is." He turns it back on you. You smile at that. "Oh, Kook, were you worried about me?" you tease, nudging him playfully.

"Yeah... you... you could say that." His ears burn, and he wishes his mouth would just shut up. "I was just wondering about your dynamic, that's all." he adds, trying to sound nonchalant and you blink at him, amused.

"Our dynamic?"

Jungkook nods stiffly.

"Like I said, our vibes match." you repeat. "But again, he's just my assignment partner, you know? He's nice to work with and joke around with."

Jungkook nods along, forcing himself to absorb your words, to let them settle the gnawing feeling inside him.

"But if he makes you uncomfortable at the apartment, then I can just go to his place for the assignment, you know? He did ask me to—"

"No !!" Jungkook blurts, way too fast, way too loud and your eyes widen for a brief second.

God, that would be worse. Having you go to Jaehyun's place, where Jungkook wouldn't be around, where he wouldn't know what was happening—where Jaehyun would have the liberty to do anything. That's not even the last thing Jungkook wants.

"No... I meant, he doesn't make me uncomfortable. So please..." He exhales shakily. "Please continue working at our apartment." He doesn't even try to hide the urgency in his voice making you laugh. "Okay, okay." you say, nodding your head. "But do tell me if you're uncomfortable, alright?"

Jungkook nods, lips pressing into a thin line as he watches you.

You don't see it, don't see the way Jaehyun looks at you, don't see the way he treats Jungkook like an afterthought.

Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he's just overthinking. Maybe he's just being paranoid, reading too much into things that don't mean anything. Maybe it's all in his head. But the irritating, tormenting feeling remains like a dull, nagging weight in his chest that refuses to settle

It feels like something is lodged between his ribs, pressing against his lungs, making every breath feel just a little too tight.

Yet, he exhales slowly, shuts his eyes, and tells himself to let it go, to swallow all the weird thoughts and bury them somewhere they can’t reach him.

Jaehyun's just an assignment partner.

Nothing more. Nothing deep.

part 2 -> (coming soon)

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my masterlist <3

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phyx-m · 2 days ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 37: Liminality

"What’s the King of Curses like?"

Walking beside your mare, leading her by the reins, you incline your head toward the small boy, then to the girl perched in your saddle atop Ayana.

It had taken some effort to get her to accept the strangers. Considering how skittish she is—and the fact that you’d just ridden her into battle—you couldn’t blame her.

"What’s he like?" You pause, considering the question, sifting through the many words you could use to describe him. Too many. Unkind ones. And most not meant for their ears.

"He’s…"

Your gaze drifts, following the others walking quietly beside you on the dirt-packed road. After leaving Sukuna behind at the eastern village and heading south, you came across a few survivors. Fifteen of them.

Fifteen out of nearly one hundred and fifty.

That was all that remained.

From what you gathered, their community had been large, built around rice cultivation. Now, it’s nothing. Reduced to just two numbers that hold the weight of your failures.

"Why does he wear a piece of wood on his face?"

Eyes wet, the boy’s voice pulls you from your dark thoughts. Your focus moves back to his rambling. You start to answer, but a sharp throb in your jaw stops you—the ache of the impact you took earlier, the bruise that you feel sitting there. Your tongue glides against the cut inside your mouth, where old coppery blood still clings.

"I hear he’s got a second mouth right here." He points to his stomach, eyes eager and round. "I heard it also has enormous teeth and a slimy tongue and everything."

"Gross." The girl behind him wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"He does," you admit, though you wouldn’t say you find it disgusting. Maybe once you did.

The boy nods excitedly at your response. And that’s when it reminds you, how little people actually know about Ryomen Sukuna beyond his strength, appetite and the strange nature of his body. To them, he’s just an anomaly.

"I heard he stuffs people inside and tears their skin away to slurp it all up." The boy hesitates before his next question. "Is he gonna do that to us?"

The reins gripped tightly between your gloved hands tighten. Fuck. In your exhaustion, you hadn’t even considered that. All you’d thought about was getting them to shelter. And now, here you are, leading a group of survivors directly to the shrine.

"No," you say firmly. "He won’t eat you."

You won’t allow it. You’d fight him first. Or, more likely, attempt to do so, given how drained you are. Though, truthfully, you’re more concerned about arriving and convincing Uraume. Without Sukuna there, and after already leaving the shrine once, your return will be… confusing.

"Does the second mouth talk?" the boy asks. "Oh! Does he talk to the other mouth?” He leans forward toward Ayana’s curving neck, wide-eyed and curious. “Can he have full conversations with it?"

"I bet he spreads it open like this." Your attention falls on the girl again as she presses her hands against her soot-stained robe, dragging her fingers across her stomach as if prying open an invisible mouth.

"That makes no sense!"

Their voices grow louder and more animated as they discuss their wild speculation, and Ayana lets out a weary whine. You think about asking them to quiet down for your mare’s sake but decide against it. They’ve just lost their home, and if this conversation keeps them from dwelling on the horrors and the dead they left behind, you won’t take it from them.

With the villagers travelling on foot, the trek back takes longer. And by the time the sun dips behind the clouds and sinks lower, the world darkens. A queasy feeling emerges as the top of the shrine’s edifice begins to peek through the thinning trees, their bare branches reaching into the fading light.

Back again so soon.

Guiding Ayana onto the temple’s grounds, you notice the children have gone quiet, their earlier curiosity beaten by the journey. Slowing your steps, you reach up to help the girl down from the saddle. She slides off easily, small feet landing with a soft thud before you turn to the boy, lifting him with little effort.

"There," you murmur.

He says nothing after that, only glancing toward the shrine before taking the girl’s hand. The two of them, along with the thirteen others, stay close as you guide Ayana toward the stables.

Inside, the familiar scent of hay and musk greets you. Sukuna’s obsidian mounts shift with interest in their stalls, dark smudges against the evening light.

Leading your mare into her stall, you give her a soft pat before tucking her away. She exhales heavily, eager for rest. As you step back, your fingers brush against the letters tucked beneath her saddle, and without a second thought, you retrieve them.

Stepping out, your gaze momentarily falls to the floor—to the space where your tantō had fallen, where it had sat at your departure.

But now there’s nothing. Only empty straw.

Back outside, with the villagers, you guide them up the shrine’s steps. At the doors, you lift your hand to knock, knuckles poised, but they peel open before you have the chance to strike wood.

White hair. White robes stand on the other side.

“Uraume.” Respectfully, you bow your head.

When you lift it, their severe expression is already settling into place.

They stare at you.

“What is this?” Their focus passes over from you then to the fifteen at your back, scanning each face.

“The attack in the east,” you begin, “these are some of the people who survived. They—”

“I can see that,” they interrupt.

A breeze drifts through, cool against your skin. You resist the urge to shift, and step between them and Uraume’s assessing eyes.

“Why are you here?” Their focus returns, narrowing on you.

Ah. There’s the question.

“Lord Sukuna, we—” Found each other again? “He told me to return. There have been some… complications.”

Both implicated and once again bound together as two unwilling conspirators.

Stuck.

“Complications,” they repeat. “As in, you are the complication.”

It isn’t a threat, but their tone is unfamiliar, peaked with something you don’t quite recognize. Suppose things change. Your hands curl into fists. Their gaze glides downward before a look of interest ghosts across their face, and you wonder—are they thinking about fighting you?

“If that’s how you wish to see it, then yes. And if you want to challenge me, then you can,” you say, and they tilt their head, watching you. “I will fight you, and I’ll probably lose to you anyway.”

It frightens you how easily the demand leaves your mouth. You don’t want to fight Uraume, not truly. But then again, you’re tired of thinking you’re anything less than what you are.

“I’ll say this,” you continue, swallowing, and behind them, attendants gather at the end of the long passage—Ren among them. Your eyes meet before you pull them away. “Just allow them to stay for one night. That’s all I ask. When Lord Sukuna returns, I’ll deal with the consequences.”

And convince him not to devour them.

"Even if I allowed it,” Uraume exhales slowly. “Provisions are already stretched thin. We cannot offer them food."

Their words drop into your stomach.

“Please.” You step closer. “Just one night.”

Uraume blinks at you, and after a moment, they lift a hand, motioning to the attendants. One steps forward, gesturing to the villagers to follow and slowly, one by one, they move inside the shrine, and are led down the corridors toward the central hall.

You follow, watching carefully. At the mouth of the great doors, a few hesitate, hands hovering at their sides, reluctant to settle in a place that belongs to a monster. Ren and the other attendants step in, offering what little reassurances they can offer. With gentle hands, they guide the wary in.

A woman kneels beside a man, blood soaking the front of his robe. A pair of twins curl into each other, foreheads touching, feet dirty. Some clutch what little they managed to salvage, bundles of cloth, a single heirloom wrapped tight in their arms.

Still, silently, they draw close, allowing themselves to grieve together. A few families. Friends. Lovers… Siblings.

You should find pleasure in seeing this. But you can’t feel anything, only the hot press as a lump of feeling works its way deep into your throat. You need to be alone, need to find comfort in something familiar, even if it’s just four walls, a narrow window, and a floor.

Taking one last look at the embraces and avoiding Uraume’s eyes, you retreat from the central hall.

Moving down the corridors, your breaths grow shallow, lungs tightening and tightening, your feet soundless as you turn left, then right, then left again, spilling into the passage that holds only your and Sukuna’s rooms.

Yours?

Was this room still yours?

So much had changed. It felt like you had lived two different lives in the fragile hours between dawn and dusk—one spent as you were, the other as something else entirely. A day of loss and gain, of being emptied of something beautiful. Something brave.

Trembling gloved fingers brush the panelling as you slide the door to the chambers open.

Nothing.

The futon is gone. The fabric partition. The low table. The chair. The brazier. The tatami mats. As if no one ever lived here.

A shell. Lonely. Empty.

What did you expect?

Unwanted in two places at once. Here—and if it’s true, which it cannot be—with your sister.

Stepping inside, you quietly close the door. The weight in your hands registers belatedly, the stack of letters, held tight, creased into your grip. You hadn’t even realized you were still clutching them. Without thinking, you place them down on the floor, on nothing, because there is nothing left to hold them. The gloves come off next, ripped from your hands and tossed aside.

Bare hands clenching into fists, you take a step, and it comes, the first tear slips out.

Then another.

And another.

It’s too much.

Fighting the urge to curl up into yourself, you simply sink to the floor because there’s nowhere to sit or to find even the smallest comfort. The rest come. And when they do, they crash over you in one great, sickening flood.

“Fuck…” you breathe through the shaking. “Fuck.”

Tears splatter from your chin to the floor, small, quiet sounds that feel too loud in the hollow space.

“You’re okay… this… everything will be okay…”

Lies never seem to taste good on your tongue, they’re just bitter falsehoods.

Fingers digging into your arms, holding tight, you hug yourself as if it will keep you together. As if you weren’t supposed to feel this exposed and fragile. But who were you kidding? It didn’t matter. You were both.

All the tender bits peeled back, raw and bare. All the emotions that made the tears fall faster.

Drip.

Knock, knock, knock.

You suck in a breath, furiously wiping your eyes before turning toward the door and scrambling to your feet.

“Yes?” The word trembles as you force yourself to steady. “What is it?”

Calm.

The door slides open. Ren stands there, a pile of fresh garments in her hands. Behind her, two attendants carry a folded futon between them, keeping it from touching the ground.

“We thought…” She glances at the space, adjusting the fabric in her arms. “You’ll need somewhere to sleep, so we—” Her voice trails off as her eyes settle on your blood- and soot-stained kimono, then lift to your face.

One look at her, the softness, the guilt, the regret that’s there, and your chest constricts.

Don’t.

Salted tears crowd your vision.

“I—” The words won’t come. Your mind is water.

“Give us a moment,” Ren murmurs, worry in her voice. The attendants bow and leave as she steps inside, shutting the door.

The moment it closes, you think you might fall, your limbs and body so heavy that you sink back to your knees again. This time, it doesn’t stop. You let it happen, unburden yourself and cry.

Fabrics rustle as they fall to the ground, followed by two clipped steps and the swish of robes. Ren kneels. Then, gentle hands settle on your shoulders. The smallest kindness. Kinder than the way your sister held you at the harvest festival.

It’s this touch that breaks you apart.

“I don’t know what’s happening anymore.” Your voice barely carries, muffled by your palms pressing into your eyes.

That young village girl, mouth agape with blood in her teeth and screams in her chest, shudders against your eyelids.

You can’t breathe.

“What happened?” Ren asks softly, squeezing your shoulders.

“I—”

You can’t think straight, can’t see straight.

“I don’t know—”

Anything.

I don’t know anything anymore.

“I don’t recognize myself,” your voice wavers as you fist your hands into the fabric of your kimono. “I’m confused, and—”

Lost.

Trapped between anger and the betrayal that still clings to this place—between the people here, the implications and the fucking monster you can’t seem to sever from your life. No matter how hard you push and pull against each other, you can’t seem to be separated.

“I killed so many people today.”

And I enjoyed it.

Tainted.

Tears drop onto your hands as you look down, away from her face.

“Everything feels out of control. Everything is spiralling. I want it to stop.” The droplets race faster down your cheeks, reaching your chin. “I want—”

To stop living as two different people.

“I want to go home.” You fight against a swallow that stings your throat, and her hands tighten on your shoulders. “But I have no home to return to.”

Ren says nothing, and you don’t look up at her. Not that you could, with your vision clouded and heavy with tears.

But there’s a pause. Her hands shift from your shoulders to your back, pulling you close and then the embrace.

You almost freeze. She hates being in others' spaces, yet here she is, holding you like she means it. Like she understands. And it’s what you didn’t realize you needed. Someone to keep you close, to hold you long enough for you to finally, simply, let go.

Her grip on you is a shell, and you bury your face into her shoulder, tears soaking into her garment.

Gods knew how long you stay like this, only that it feels like weight after weight, two months of it, years of it, sliding off you. Gone. Until all that remains is an empty numbness, a good, quiet kind of empty.

“I didn’t have the chance to say this before.” Ren swallows at her words, and you hear it in her voice—the breaking. “I thought you were gone for good… and I was a coward.”

Another swallow. Her body tenses.

“But… I’m so sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the apology until she gently leans away and brushes your hair from your face. You’re not ready to acknowledge her words. Not yet.

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, and you peek up at her, at her eyes shining before she wipes at them, only to grip your arms again.

Leaning back, a wet, broken laugh escapes your throat.

“I am. But I also think”—hands sweeping outward, you gesture to the entire room—“this is all a fucking mess.”

Her brow dips as if she’s fighting a laugh, and a moment later, she lets it go.

"That's true," she says lightly, not dismissive, just honest, like saying it out loud might make it easier to bear. And it’s the softness in her voice, the quiet acceptance of everything that led to this moment, that nearly undoes you again. You suck in a stuttering breath, willing another sob to disappear.

Hesitantly, Ren’s hands move toward your forearms, skim past your wrists, carefully avoiding your hands before retreating to her lap.

You stare at her tightly clasped fingers before you whisper, “I don’t know why I’m here.”

But you do. And it still hurts.

Ren takes a breath.

“He told you to come back… didn’t he?”

Sighing, you rub your forehead in an attempt to ease the throb settling there, and her gaze softens.

“Yes.”

She nods. The faintest nudge at the corner of her mouth says enough.

“Curious,” she hums.

Is it?

She doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she rises and turns toward the door, sliding it open just enough to call the attendants back inside. They step in quietly, setting the futon down and smoothing out the blankets. Neither of them speaks their task quick as if sensing the fragile state of the room.

Once they finish, they bow in unison. Ren nods, dismissing them for the evening, and the door slides shut behind them before turning back to you.

“Meals,” you mumble, scratching at a dry piece of blood on your kimono. “Where should I take those from now on?”

Ren’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“You can have them with us,” she offers, “if you like.”

You nod softly.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” You shake your head, then dip your chin. “I’ll be fine.”

She bows before gathering the fresh garments she brought, spreading them neatly onto the futon.

“These are for you.” Among them is a simple robe, a yukata, and other pieces to keep you warm as the weather continues to cool. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate. Just ask me. And… I’ll figure out how to refurnish everything in here, to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Inside your chest, something tugs.

“Thank you,” you say before she steps silently from the room.

Shrugging off your crusted kimono and hakama, you take in the streaks of blood and soot. It’s everywhere, and it stinks. Tossing the stiff fabric aside, you pull on the fresh yukata provided and sink under the bedding.

The moment your head touches the pillow, your red, sore, tender eyes have already fallen shut.

* * * * *

Sleep doesn’t come.

Even hours later, though you feel lighter, every time you close your eyes, it’s the same.

You see the young girl screaming as you fail to reach her. You see the faces of dying men at your feet. You see the wall of arrows, the darkness giving way as the pile of bodies buries you. And you see yourself, back bowing under the heat of the branding iron’s descent.

A descent into too many impossibilities.

Traitor.

Blinking back swollen lids, you roll over.

Betrayer.

Arms folding across your chest, you dip your chin for comfort and shut your eyes.

Drip, drip, drip—

Your eyes snap open.

Finally.

Lying in the dark, the noise drags itself down the corridor. Thick, heel-heavy footsteps have your attention swinging to the door. They pass slowly, and they sound… wet. Dripping wet, soft, and warm.

Staring into the dark, you continue listening as Sukuna’s feet kiss the floorboards, a faint, slick suction accompanying every lift. For whatever reason, it turns your stomach.

Eventually, when he passes, you note how he takes his time to move down toward his chambers. His presence, usually a weight in the air, feels strangely absent; energy, which should flood your senses, is… muted.

Odd.

Pushing the bedding aside, you slide out of the futon and move to the door quietly. Through the tiny crack in the panel, you smell it.

Blood. Hot, fresh, rancid.

The door slides open, and you step into the passage, eyes trailing the smooth wooden floor. Copper coats your tongue. One foot out, and you drop into a crouch. A slick, ink-like path glistens in the dim light, winding down the corridor—leading to Sukuna’s chambers. You glance up, your eyes adjusting to the dark, but what little light spills from his room illuminates the doors, slightly ajar.

You look back down at the mess. Gods, the smell. It makes you sick.

Blaming some twisted sense of curiosity, you follow it to his room and peer inside. The ghostly blue light of the moon and the unlit brazier in the corner leaves the space colder than what it was last night. Your gaze drags further, and there—sprawled in the low chair by the garden door—Sukuna sits, head tipped back, four eyes closed, not a muscle moving. He looks peaceful, like he’s resting.

Until you see it.

Through the loose panels of his kimono, the mangled flesh of his chest gapes open like a black void.

He is… injured. Vulnerable in a way, he never is.

How? When you parted, he was unharmed. Now, he looks awful.

Swallowing, you clear your throat, then slip inside, pressing your feet firmly to the floor to stay silent. The fabric of your yukata hisses with each movement.

He doesn’t stir.

You move to stand beside the chair, where his legs stretch straight out, occupying too much space. In the dark, you can see the long, bleeding trail that rolled from his naked chest down to his bare feet, which are soaked and glistening.

At your side, your hand twitches. You could reach out, press two fingers to his throat, and feel for the pulse that should be there. But considering he never wants you to touch him again…

“Lord Sukuna?” you mumble, inhaling the heavy scent of iron.

Silence.

He doesn’t move, body slack, four arms draped over the chair’s edges.

Boneless.

“Have you finally blessed us and died?”

The words crawl from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you wince.

Despite everything you feel about this man—which confuses you more than it should—he saved you today. Saved you and offered to make you stronger. To him, that likely carries more weight than you can fully grasp. And now, he’s your only real ally in navigating this underbelly until you find the answers you need. Trusting the King of Curses will be necessary. Difficult, but necessary.

Staring at him, still, he doesn’t move.

Your mouth twists.

Curse him.

Carefully, you lean forward, fingers hovering just shy of his thick, corded throat. Even from here, you feel the heat that pulses from the open wound.

If he were anyone else, this would have killed him. And unlike him, you wouldn’t have even had a chance to recover. You would be dead.

Middle and pointer fingers extending, you lower your hand toward the carotid artery buried beneath all that muscle and—

His upper left hand snaps around your wrist, holding you in place.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, the bottom pair of his eyes peeling open, cutting through the dark.

So, not dead.

Your mouth pushes into a thin line.

“What does it look like?” Your brow folds. “You’re hurt.”

The words come out wrong, your voice rising in a way that sounds like concern.

Sukuna’s top pair of eyes open into slits, pinning you under the full weight of all four reds. He stares—not just to uncover your intentions, but as if you're swinging around a particularly sharp weapon. Then, just as suddenly, he releases you, skepticism clear in the slow curl of his fingers.

Silence.

You stare at each other. Two stubborn, skeptical creatures circling the other but unmoving.

It’s maddening, this limbo.

With a lazy shift, Sukuna reaches to his right, pushing open the shoji door to the garden. It rustles aside, and moonlight spills in, washing over the floor. Your gaze follows it, moving up his figure until it catches on the hole in his chest. His skin, usually sun-kissed, is pale and drained. Blood clots at the wound’s thick, ropy edges, the pulpy flesh inflamed and raw.

“And somehow that requires you to touch me?” His voice is low as he cocks his head, settling back into the chair in a way that looks anything but comfortable.

“I was seeing if you were dead.” Your eyes trace the bloodstains, obscuring the thick tattoos draped over his shoulders and chest before settling on his face.

“And after what you said about this situation pulling us together, I thought I would…” You trail off. This distrust between you, resentment, this push and pull. You’re tired of it.

“You thought you would what?”

“Your wounds.” Your throat clears, leaving the rest unsaid. “They should have healed by now. Why haven’t they? What did Zen’in—”

Sukuna flicks a finger at you from where his hand rests, cutting you off with a low grunt.

You sigh. This fragile alliance will be harder to manage than you thought.

“Are you in any pain?”

Somehow, you don’t remember moving, but you find yourself standing between his spread legs, knees almost touching the seat of his chair. You’re unsure why you ask and his mouth twitches, eyes opening, glaring at you as if wondering the same.

“No,” he grumbles before tipping his head back and shutting his eyes again. “Now, get the fuck out.”

Fuck you—that’s what you want to say, with nothing but the barest touch of your fingertips.

But—

“You’re an insufferable ass.” Comes out as you turn away, and you catch it just before you leave—the amused baring of his fangs.

Then you're gone from his chambers.

Only to return moments later.

As you walk back, your focus slides to the raised futon, the place you woke up this morning. It’s bare. The sheets gone. The blue, luxurious quilt you swamped yourself in is also gone, like he couldn’t rid himself of what had happened last night fast enough. Like the way your body melted into his, and how he lost himself in you never happened.

You hope the scent of you lingers anyway. Like a rotting stain.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna shifts in the chair, pushing a fist against his left cheek, eyes moving from you, to your face, to the objects in your hands.

Reaching him, you nudge apart his legs with your knee, ignoring his question as you slip between them and kneel. The basin of water meets the floor with a hollow knock, the bundle of cloth set beside it. Tucking your feet up underneath the fabric of your yukata, your face burns, but you keep your head down, already knowing the expression he wears. Instead, you sink your hands into the cool water, wringing the fresh cloth until droplets trail down your fingers, soaking the edges of your garment. Pushing to your knees, you shift closer where your hand settles on his thigh, pressing over the fabric of his hakama—a silent reassurance, I’m not going to touch your skin, monster. His muscles flex beneath your fingertips, a subtle reminder, I will never entirely trust you, snake.

Then, the damp cloth moves to his burning flesh, and you apply just a little more pressure than necessary, forcing the wound to bleed.

“Woman,” he growls.

“Oh, shut up.” Your eyes flick up to his. “I know it doesn’t hurt.”

Slouched back, Sukuna stares at you, nostrils flaring, the cloth squelches in the silence, and his lip curls slightly—disapproval in its purest form.

Your mouth fights a grin.

Glancing down, you carefully begin to clean the injury, and for once, you tend to his wounds instead of the other way around.

Silence settles between you. Quiet.

This close, you feel the heat radiating from the blood that seeps loose, pooling in the deep grooves where a blade must have pierced through, twisted, and then torn its way out. With each pass, the rag darkens, fresh layers of wet crimson giving way to raw tissue beneath. Slowly, Sukuna’s body relaxes. The rise and fall of his bare chest deepens, the jagged edges of the gash stretching with every breath.

Your attention drifts lower, over the ridges of his muscles, slipping toward the open maw of his stomach, but something is missing. The tongue, usually lolling or twitching, is absent.

“Your stomach mouth… thing,” you murmur, eyes darting to his face. “The tongue. It’s gone.”

Sukuna glances down, unbothered.

“What of it?” he grumbles, shifting his enormous legs on either side of you. “It will heal.”

Your hands slow. Again, that stubborn silence creeps into the space, just the damp fabric, the open door, the night.

“What really happened?” you ask, voice tentative as you drag the cloth across his pectorals. “After I left.”

Sukuna watches you through a slitted gaze, his lower eyes following your hand while the upper pair remain locked on your face.

“Nothing.”

Nothing.

“It’s not nothing if you look like this,” you say bitterly, gesturing to the rawness of his wounds, the sheer amount of it. “I can hardly sense your energy.”

The King of Curses’ body twitches once before he tosses back his head, and a deep laugh reverberates from his chest.

“To someone like me, it’s nothing. But to others—” His head lowers, and in an instant, every trace of emotion locks down tight, leaving almost nothing behind. “—to others who are weak, I suppose it does look like something.”

Others, meaning me.

Jaw tightening, you don’t respond. Instead, you pat the area dry, set the rag aside and retrieve the other longer piece of cloth.

“Remove your kimono and come forward,” you instruct, tapping a hand on the edge of his knee.

He doesn’t move.

You press a knuckle into him.

“You’re going to wrap it?” he scoffs, dragging his leg away from your prodding touch.

You glare at him in silence, perfectly fine with letting him bleed all over the place until, after a drawn-out breath, he finally shifts. With a tug, he shrugs off his charcoal-grey kimono, letting it slip from his shoulders and fall into a mess on the floor. Then, peeling himself from the chair’s back just enough, he allows you to reach around him.

Bracing yourself between his outstretched thighs, you step closer and work the cloth beneath his second pair of arms.

The soft, dry drag of linen unspooling is the only sound between you, and with careful fingers, you dip your head around his upper right shoulder.

Swift, glancing heat tickles against your temple—his breath. There’s blood in it. The iron scent is thick, but it doesn’t mask the rest. Raw meat, torn sinew, the faint, sweet tang of torn skin, still warm.

And you wonder who he ate after you left the village.

Disturbingly, the thought brings a sense of satisfaction after what was done to the people there.

And you…

“You’ve been crying.”

Sukuna’s low voice rumbles right beside your cheek. Your eyes jump to him. His mask comes into view, his scarlet gaze flaring like four burning coals.

"What?" You look away, concentrating on wrapping the cloth over his massive frame. With a firm tug, it comes back around to the front. One pass done, just a few more, and for whatever it’s worth, you can at least say you tried to bridge this terrible divide.

"Your eyes." In your periphery, Sukuna nudges his chin toward you. "They're red. You've been crying."

The remark sinks in, leaving you strangely heartsick and irritated that he noticed, even in this light.

"That makes three times now that you've seen the remnants of it. Does that make me weak too?" you bite out. A misstep.

"Four," Sukuna replies smoothly.

Your brow furrows.

"Excuse me?"

Your hands push around his torso, fingers dancing gently into the cloth, making the second pass. From the corner of your eye, you see him watching you.

"Four times," he repeats, then falls quiet, leaving you wondering and waiting.

"The first was after you killed your mother."

Beneath his thick limbs, your hands still. You blink down at the curves and lines of his torso, at the way his body—never meant for this world—barely fits into the chair, spilling over its edges, at the way the space around him seems to shrink.

It takes three heartbeats for the words to land.

"You—" Your breath falters. You recoil, pulling back from the underside of his arm. You look at him, grip tightening around the cloth, and a quiet sound dies in your throat. The fabric crushes between your fingers until energy—your energy—seeps out, pooling into bruised knuckles.

Everything that’s happened, the chaos, the urgency, the way events have hurtled you forward, has left no time to stop and think about that night.

About the fact that he was there. That he saw.

He saw the aftermath of the lowest point in your life. He saw you losing and taking something vital in the same breath.

You remember when he made you tell him about your dream, when all along, he already knew what was haunting you. And now he sits here, reminding you.

Trapped in some state of suspended motion, your mouth keeps opening and opening as if widening it enough will force any words to come out.

But they don’t, and Sukuna speaks first.

"There’s too much softness in you." He leans in, his face hovering above yours, his expression slipping toward something pitying as his eyes fall to your hands, tangled and frozen around the cloth.

"It makes you vulnerable."

When his upper right hand moves forward, you flinch, instinctively pushing back—but his second pair grips your hips, holding you in place. His palm brushes over the rise of your breast, pressing lightly.

"This, right here," he states, tapping once. "This makes you weak."

Your eyes drop to his massive fingers, swallowing the space over your chest.

A soft heart.

"You're clever." Another tap. His hands lift from your hips. "But your heart drowns out your mind."

As he draws his arm back, fresh blood seeps through, staining the cloth wrapped around him.

One more tap, then he withdraws entirely.

"Bringing a group of villagers here"—he chuckles, and your eyes snap to his—"that was stupid."

You step forward again.

"They had nowhere to go," you say, voice steady. "Let them stay one night. That's all I ask."

Sukuna watches you for a moment.

Soft heart.

"They’ll leave at dawn," he says flatly. "And you’ll be the one to tell them. Or"—he pauses—"they’ll make a nice addition to my dwindling storehouse. Flesh seems difficult to come by these days."

His gaze settles on your face, studying your reaction, while his lower eyes drift, tracing the angle of your jaw.

"You wanted to play the benevolent saviour. So finish the role properly."

"Fine."

Gripping the cloth again, you yank it tighter, pressing down until blood beads against the weave.

"I will.” You see yourself as anything but benevolent.

“And maybe I should just smother it.” Another yank. “Every shred of softness. Is that the answer you want to hear, my Lord?"

He smacks his lips together in annoyance.

You pause.

"Seeing you fight without your emotions choking you would be a sight worth seeing." Sukuna drags a thumb over his lower lip, lost in the way of studying you. "You’d be far stronger for it. Maybe even strong enough to be worth fighting me again."

Heat sears through you. The suggestion angers you. The idea of forgetting a fundamental part of yourself angers you.

And yet, a small part of you wonders if he’s right, to let your heart darken, become a monster.

Still.

"Well," you hum sarcastically, sidestepping the weight of his words, "That’s—" Yank. "Not—" Yank. "Happening."

A final pull. His body tenses.

Blowing out a breath, you tip your head, preparing for another pass, but his attention swings to your jaw again, this time, it lingers. A moment too long.

Without warning, he leans forward in the chair, upper right hand grabbing your chin harshly and bringing you to him.

"Who did this?" he growls, his features tightening.

You freeze, stop what you’re doing as he lifts it, forcing you to lean into him and the moonlight creeping into the room. Red eyes narrow, falling to the throbbing bruise planted there.

"Why?" you whisper, tonguing the spot where your teeth had cut into the muscle.

"Why?" His thumb gently traces the outline of the welt, and his other fingers smooth up, curling around the hinge of your jaw, holding you in place.

"Because.” Sukuna’s voice drops to something dangerously soft. The touch drifts upward to your temple, into your hairline, where there’s a slide of heat. And inside, you fight against the intimacy of his touch, the quiet way his fingers follow the contour of your skin.

"Seeing aches painting your body has always made me wonder if whoever hurt you is dead."

Always?

The word snags in your mind, rubbing raw. And you can’t help but ask yourself if he knows he’s giving himself away. Again.

"It was from today,” you say, meeting his half-lidded gaze. “Someone was faster than me. And yes, he’s dead. I killed him and enjoyed it… watching him rot."

A slow, dark grin spreads across his mouth.

"Did you now?" he purrs as his frustrating charisma returns.

"I did." Your fingers drag over the cloth in your hand, tracing its texture.

His thumb glides along your jaw, slowly mapping over the bruise once more before he lets you go.

"And how did it feel?" He stretches out like a lumbering predator, sinking back deeper into the chair.

And you know what he's asking.

"I've killed before,” you say. “But this was different… I enjoyed watching him underestimate me. Only for him to die moments later under my touch."

Sukuna’s smirk is chilling. Amused. All canines.

"It seems that softness of yours has teeth after all." Shifting, he leans in, the blood from his chest wound seeping through the bandages. "Becoming more a carnivorous flower, perhaps."

The scarlet spills sluggishly, darkening the fabric in uneven patches before trickling lower, slipping past the final layers of bandages and trailing toward his hip bones, where his hakama sits low against his skin, the dark fabric soaking up the rest.

You only watch.

So does he.

Easing forward onto your knees, you pick up the wet cloth again, wipe it away, and resume the bandaging. But your mind drifts, turning over the pieces of today—how the fuck everything went so wrong. How you’d been accused of instigating a fucking coup. How your sister has taken her place as the Kasai clan’s head. How—

"When will you start telling me the truth?" You tighten the third wrap, pressing into him to secure the final one.

“When you’re ready.” He leans forward, allowing you to slip under his arms.

“When I’m ready,” you echo into his ear as your faces pass side by side. “or when you’re ready?”

His eyes dart to yours. You pull back. He doesn’t answer, and a breath huffs out of you.

With his torso finally wrapped, you drag the cloth around and come to his front, smoothing your hands over the bandages stretched across his massive chest. Feeling him like this, he tenses.

There’s a pause.

You eye him, trying to decide how to say this.

“I want to speak with my sister.”

“No,” he snaps.

Your teeth click together.

“Why?” you hiss, gripping the end of the cloth. “Stop making this difficult, and just tell me.”

Despite the sharpness in your voice, your hands remain careful, tucking the fabric securely into place.

“Please,” you add.

Begging. Pathetic.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you’re not ready,” Sukuna growls, his hands moving, engulfing your wrists, pulling them away from him. “So no, I won’t just tell you.” His voice tilts mockingly, tossing your own words back at you before he slumps into the chair, ending the conversation.

Mouth twitching, you yank your wrists free from his grip and settle back on your knees.

And still, the question knocks around inside your mind—

“Why are you really doing this?” you ask, searching his face. He once called it purpose. Everything had one. But slowly, you learned the difference. And now, you’re not waiting for an answer.

“Today, when I was restrained and about to be branded, I felt it.”

You lean forward again, lifting off your heels and closing the small space where you sit between his outstretched legs.

“The rage pouring off you. The anger. Is this some kind of atonement?”

At this, the muscles in his jaw clench and pulse.

You keep going.

“When will you finally be done clinging to your pride and ready to admit it?” Coming forward, you mimic him—the way he spoke about your weaknesses. Your heart. “Because I’ve seen the way you war with yourself,” you continue quietly, your finger hovering over the bandaged cloth, which won’t last. He’ll heal, like always. No wounds. No scabs. No scars.

“Since the day I arrived, it hasn’t stopped.”

Your voice barely rises as your finger slowly descends toward his heart, pressing lightly against the fabric’s soft weave.

“Especially after everything, after drowning yourself in me just to understand, now you feel something.”

There it is.

The magic of liminality. The sum of all the shitty experiences that made you brave again in a single day. Or impulsive. Spoken in the heat of the moment, when silence should have taken hold, and your stubborn mouth refuses to stop.

“And you hate that it’s me.”

He doesn’t move. He simply watches you as if, once again, you’ve become a creature he can’t quite comprehend. And perhaps you are only this brave because you know he won't cut you into a thousand tiny pieces.

“You hate that it’s the daughter of someone you despise. The one who did something to you that no one else but you can understand.”

Don’t do it.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow.

Don’t say it.

“The one who makes you feel when all the others, their warmth, their flesh, their power, fail so miserably to compare.”

What the hell are you doing?

“That’s why you keep hurting me. Because you enjoy it. And because it’s easier than admitting what I am to you.”

Sukuna’s brow splits.

Inside your chest, your pulse screams.

“And for whatever reason, you refuse to let me go. Even when you want to so badly.”

Stop. Talking.

Under the pad of your finger, his heart throbs, a rushing beat, the only sign of movement in him.

“So, say it.”

Your throat tightens.

“Just, once…”

Your eyes find each other.

“Tell me.”

This is it. This is how you finally die, from tearing open a wound in front of him and demanding that he look.

Gods, you feel sick.

Three unkind seconds pass, and he doesn’t answer.

Outside the open door, the wind rattles through the wilting garden while the shrine’s old bones settle around you with a low creak, and still, you wait.

Down at your outstretched finger, the King of Curses takes a pitying glance, like he’s deciding how best to flick his wrist and slice it off.

“Tell you…” he finally mutters under his breath, four eyes dragging to your face as his upper right hand engulfs your wrist and yanks it away from his chest.

“You think this is about pride?” Suddenly, he sits up, towering over you, and your heart slams behind your ribs. “You think I need to atone for anything?” Loud, cruel laughter rips from his chest. “It’s almost amusing how you keep trying to shape me into something I’ve never been. While you stumble around, blind, desperate for any reason, someone might love you, because deep down—” His grip tightens just enough to make your wrist ache, “you hate yourself.”

The barb strikes deep, lodging in right next to the hurt.

Was that true? Do you hate yourself? Or is this just another way for him to deflect from the horrible truth standing right in front of him, staring him down?

“And I don’t care,” he spits, flashing his teeth. “Not in the way you wish I did. If anything, I’ll admit you are an annoying scratch that won't heal.”

A scratch? The woman the King of Curses has seemed to have been obsessed with for years—a scratch.

“I don’t need you to care or atone in the way you think I want.” You hiss, freeing your hand and snatching the damp cloth from the floor. “I want you to stop pretending because it’s starting to get tiresome.”

You toss the bloody fabric into his lap. He frowns at it.

“Eventually, as you said, I’ll leave and live as something else entirely. And that will be as far from here and from you as possible.”

Sukuna’s slitted eyebrow pulls inward.

Before he can react, you grab the water basin and rise smoothly to your feet. Still, you hesitate, waiting to see if he’ll admit something. Anything.

He doesn’t.

Deep down, you already know. You nearly scoff, but what’s the point of dragging it out of a creature like him?

“Goodnight, my Lord,” you say sweetly, gracing him with an exaggerated bow. Emotions be damned. “I hope you have a wonderful—” Your eyes shoot to the empty, barren raised futon, and his follow yours. “Sleep.”

Pressing your teeth into the inside of your cheek, you restrain yourself, resisting the temptation to say something truly petty as you straighten, stepping carefully around the smears of blood on the floor and walking away.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he grumbles behind you, irritation picking through every word. “A fool for even saying something so stupid, wi—”

His words break off.

You still, half-turning, one eyebrow lifting.

There are only two things he could have called you—wife or winter flower—but he stops himself. Pausing in the doorway, you listen, wondering if he’ll slip and call you either just hours after the boundaries were set.

“Leave,” Sukuna mutters, sliding a hand through his hair as he stands out of the chair. Moving to the garden door, he shuts it, casting the room into darkness once more.

“Get that rest you so desperately lamented about.”

With his upper hands, he reaches behind his back, dragging them through the bandages, unravelling your work. The strips peel away, drifting to the floor, revealing freshly healed skin, streaked and ruddy.

As if nothing had been there at all.

“Tomorrow, we learn what’s under all that skin and blood of yours,” he says lowly over one inked shoulder, his eyes trying to hold yours.

But you’re already walking away, the words he couldn’t bring himself to say left unsaid.

#beneath the silk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #heian sukuna #dark content #true form sukuna #jjk fanfic #dark fantasy #sukuna fanfic #sukuna smut #jujustu kaisen fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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