• 8- ʏ/ɴ •

My pen moves smoothly across the page, my notes coming together in neat lines.

The classroom is calm, the kind of late morning where the sun hits just right, casting warm light through the windows. It's peaceful.

Quiet.

Maybe it's because TAEHYUNG isn't here.

I resist the urge to grin.

No cryptic looks, no tension, no unexpected touches that I don't even know how to deal with. He's off on some yacht tour-whatever rich people do to pass the time.

I shift in my seat, smoothing out my skirt.

It's a good outfit today. A cream blouse tucked into a brown pleated skirt, knee-high socks, sole dainty gold rings.

Even switched my lipstick for clear gloss.

The professor keeps talking, but my focus drifts. Not my fault. My brain has always been like this-bouncing from thought to thought, finding something more interesting to hold onto.

And somehow-somehow-

JUNGKOOK.

The thought comes out of nowhere, completely uninvited. And absolutely not appreciated.

Dark eyes, sharp jaw, tattooed hands. The way his veins are always visible, like they're there just to be noticed. Like he's designed to be looked at.

I shift in my seat, gripping my pen a little tighter.

Not thinking about it.

Not thinking about it.

But then my brain, the traitor that it is, keeps going.

Because it's not just his face-which, fine, should be illegal in at least seven countries. It's the way he exists. The way he carries himself, all effortless power, slow and deliberate. Strong. Like he's in control of every second, every breath, every shift of his body.

And then there's the way he looks at people-like he already knows their secrets. Like he's studied them without even trying, like he's seen the parts of them they don't even realize they're showing.

His eyes aren't just dark, they're sharp, intelligent, a little dangerous. Like he could ruin you with a single sentence and wouldn't even need to raise his voice.

And God-the way he leans back.

Lazy, confident, one arm draped over whatever's nearby, like the world is happening around him and he's just letting it.

Like he's amused by it.

Like nothing phases him, nothing shakes him, and if it ever did, no one would ever know.

I grip my pen like it personally wronged me.

This is stupid.

I have notes to take, things to focus on, an actual education to obtain.

I do not have time to sit here and romanticize my emotionally constipated roommate like I'm the main character in some tragic slow-burn novel.

I take a deep breath. Reset.

Wipe my brain.

And then, because my brain is an absolute menace, it whispers, his hands though.

Choking me.

I am going to fucking scream.

Y/N, get a grip.

I slap my notebook shut, pressing my palms against the cover like that'll physically stop my brain from running its absolute nonsense.

It's fine. This is fine. I'm in class, I'm learning, I'm thriving.

JEON JUNGKOOK is not a topic of study.

I grab my pen again and focus-really focus-on the board, on the professor's words, on literally anything that isn't the image of his hands doing things they have no business doing in my head.

This is so unfair.

Because I was perfectly fine when he was just some grumpy, distant roommate. I mean, he did look fine before as well, but... still. Now he's-what? Tolerating me? Amused by me?

Actively engaging?

My grip on the pen tightens.

He is nothing but an emotionally unavailable rude asshole, Y/N.

He smoked on your face and triggered your asthma.

But he's also been smoking outdoors now.

He called you a freak.

But then he gave me a philosophical lecture on how I'm not, all while insulting himself.

Okay, shut it, Y/N.

I flip my notebook back open, determined to fill this page with academic brilliance.

Unfortunately, my brain has other plans.

Because, instead of notes, all I can think about is the fact that I don't think JUNGKOOK wants me gone anymore.

And the fact that I don't want him to want me gone either.

It's only six months.

. . . . .

I can't have ever even imagined what happens next when I step into my room that day.

I walk in like I always do, close the door shut behind me. Lock it. Turn around and start to walk to my side of the room but a very shirtless muscled masculine chest in front of me blocks my view.

I swallow thickly.

JUNGKOOK.

He is right in front of me, his hands braced against the door on either side of me. My breath catches, my heart hammering in my chest, and I feel a sudden, overwhelming surge of heat spreading across my face.

He's so close.

I dare myself to lift my head and meet his eyes but before I can, his head lowers, his mouth right next to my ear.

Holy shit.

"I've been waiting for you," he says, his voice low, like the words are drawn from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere raw and unfiltered. And, it shoots me right on my core.

"You have?" my voice is all breathy and soft. I feel my insides tingle, my stomach clenches. He hums in reply.

Is this happening for real?

Does my crush like me back?

Is he making a move on me?

He lifts his head and his grin is almost manic, like he's too aware of the power of the moment, but also completely lost in it.

I think I'm going to faint.

He looks at my face, focused. At my eyes, then my nose. His eyes flicker around my face, on my cheeks and the freckles scattered across. The tiny mole over my cheekbone. And then his dark gaze falls on my lips.

My stomach clenches again.

I'm definitely going to faint.

And then, suddenly, I notice it.

The haze in his eyes. They're wide and unfocused, pupils blown, like he's somewhere else completely. They're red.

His hair is a tangled mess.

His movements are jerky, too quick, too intense. And the air around us feels heavy, like it's been soaked in something else.

He is not acting like his usual self.

I look past his shoulders and I see some white powder on his table.

Oh.

Shit.

He's high.

He leans in closer, a grin creeping across his lips, but it's not a playful grin. It's unhinged, like something inside him is loose, something that wants to explode.

"You think about me like that, Y/N? You're so damn... easy," he pauses. I frown, until he continues. "So damn easy to get lost in."

I suck in a sharp breath, my pulse jumping even higher. My back digs against the wooden door as I try to make some space between us.

"JUNGKOOK-" My voice cracks as I reach up to touch his arm, trying to steady him, trying to do something, anything to get him to focus. His skin is warm under my fingers, the muscles hard underneath.

He just smiles wider, stepping into me with a little too much force, pressing me against the door. Hard and warm- is that how he would- Y/N, stop.

I could probably push him off, but something stops me.

A part of me wants to stay right here, despite the chaos brewing inside me.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, leaning down as if to catch my lips, his breath hot against my skin.

His hands are still gripping the door on either side of me, but it's not like he's trapping me. It's like he's trying to hold himself together.

A sudden realisation snaps me out of my trance.

I am enjoying this. I can not be taking advantage of him in this situation.

I can feel my heart racing, my breath shallow as I struggle to keep my hands steady. The heat of his body against mine is almost unbearable, and every word he says sends a shockwave straight through me. Focus, Y/N. Focus.

I step back further, pushing against his chest just enough to create a little space, my fingers grazing his skin as I slowly guide him away from the door.

"Okay," I say, keeping my voice gentle, trying to steady him. "Come on, JUNGKOOK. I've got you."

He doesn't seem to hear me, not at first. His eyes are still unfocused, hazy, like he's somewhere far away. His body sways slightly under my touch, but I keep him close. But God, he's heavy.

My hands are careful on his arms, not pushing him away, but not letting him fall either.

"You're just high," I say softly, the words almost for my own reassurance more than his. "It's okay. I'm here."

But he stops walking with me, his hand reaching up to touch my hair, trailing through the strands like he's fascinated by it.

His fingers brush across my neck, and I shiver, goosebumps spreading over my skin.

"You smell so good," he says, his voice slurring just slightly, his lips curling into a soft, almost dazed smile.

I freeze.

Did he really just say that?

My heart skips a beat. I choke on my spit, swallowing hard to push down the rush of heat in my chest. I blink rapidly, trying to focus on what's happening, but my mind feels scrambled.

"Thank you?" My voice comes out like a question, unsure of what to even say to that.

My stomach flips. It's like he's still in his head, somewhere lost in whatever's fueling him, but his words are cutting through me, deeper than I ever expected.

But I can't dwell on that.

"Okay, no," I shake my head, forcing myself to stay grounded. "We need to get you some water. You're very high, JUNGKOOK."

I grab his hand, tugging him gently toward his bed.

I'm doing my best to keep him steady, but he's swaying like he might fall at any moment.

He stumbles as we reach the bed, and I catch him again, easing him down onto the mattress. His head falls back against the pillow, and for a moment, I just stare at him, at how fragile he looks right now.

My heart clenches at the sight.

"JUNGKOOK," I breathe, sitting beside him, making sure he doesn't tip over or do anything else crazy. "We're gonna get you through this. But you need to drink some water. Please."

I sit there for a moment, staring at JUNGKOOK as he rests on the bed, his chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. The haze in his eyes hasn't completely lifted, but his body's starting to relax, at least.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, my fingers still on his arm. I'm trying to get a handle on this whole situation-on him, on me, on everything.

I step back and pour some water in a cup before moving over.

"JUNGKOOK," I say again, my voice soft but firm, "you need to drink some water. It's not going to help if you-"

He cuts me off by suddenly reaching out and grabbing my wrist, his grip tight, but not enough to hurt.

"No," he mutters, voice rough. "I don't want water. I just... I think I wanna sleep."

My heart beats faster. What am I supposed to do with that? I can't just let him fall asleep like this, but I can't exactly argue with him either. I put the cup away.

"Okay, well... maybe just rest then," I say, trying to stay calm. "But we really should get you some water-"

But then, before I can finish, his hand slides from my wrist to my waist. He tugs me toward him with a surprising amount of strength, and suddenly, I'm lying next to him, pressed against his side, his arm wrapping around me.

My eyes go wide.

Wait, what?

His body is warm, and it feels like his chest is glued to my back as he pulls me closer. I'm still frozen, unable to move as he buries his face into my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

"I like this," he groans, his voice low.

A million butterflies flutter inside my stomach.

His hand is resting just under my breasts, and I feel his fingertips brush the curve of my side as he pulls me even tighter to him, mumbling incoherent words under his breath.

What, in the name of God, is happening?

I can feel the heat of him all around me, his body firm and solid, his breath slow and steady now, signalling that he's finally asleep.

But I'm wide awake, eyes wide, barely able to breathe.

I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, holding me flush against him. "Please, don't,"

he mumbles softly, still asleep.

I give in.

I know I could get out if I wanted to, but the way he pulls me closer- I almost don't want to. So, I make myself comfortable, letting his steady heartbeat lull me to sleep, wondering just how the hell I ended up here.