• 12- ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ •

The party's exactly what I like about it-loud, crowded, chaotic.

People everywhere, all of them feeding off the same insane energy. I'm riding the high, leaning back, drink in hand, soaking in the noise and the buzz of everything happening around me.

It's easy. Predictable. Comfortable.

Some guy I barely know is going on about a deal he made last week, and I half-listen, amused. He's cocky, thinking he's the smartest guy in the room. He isn't.

I knock back a sip of my drink, let the warmth settle in, and scan the room.

And then-

Fuck.

I freeze- my body freezes, my fucking thoughts freeze.

And I'm fucking stuck.

The whole damn room blurs out. The sounds fade to nothing.

Y/N.

Her eyes-fuck, those eyes. Big, doe-like, hazel, and they've always been this hypnotic, but tonight? They look deeper, like they're pulling me in. She's done something with them, there's some glitter shit on her eyelids.

She lifts her head and her eyes are right on mine, it's as if they're daring me to figure her out.

Fuck, what is happening with me?

I'm fucking drowning in them, and I can't look away.

Her lips are painted red, they're fucking sinful. Painted on like she's trying to kill me. It's bright and it's all I can fucking see in the whole damn room, and I can't stop thinking about how they'd feel, what they'd taste like-fuck, I've had too much to drink.

The leather skirt hugs her tight, perfect. I'm pretty sure I stop fucking breathing when she takes a step. It falls just above her knees, and I can't tear my eyes away from the way it clings to her hips, the curve of her legs. Her fucking legs- fuck. I force my eyes away.

The way she moves through the room radiantly, like she's the fucking sun and the rest of us are just in her orbit.

She's careless, smiling at everyone, warmth radiating off of her, so fucking intoxicating that I can't do anything but watch her.

She's laughing, eyes sparkling, her whole damn presence like it's a breath of fresh air in this stuffy, drunken mess of people.

She's more real than anything in this entire room.

And, I can't fucking focus on anything else anymore.

I hate the effect her mere presence has on me. Fuck.

I try to.

I try to look away, to do anything but be sucked in by her, but it's like she's a fucking magnet. She's all I see, all my thoughts are about, and every time I blink, she's still there, more enchanting, more real than anything in this room.

I'm definitely drunk.

Because, why the hell would I be thinking this way about someone so fucking annoying as her.

I take another sip of my drink, it doesn't help.

And then-

I watch it happen in slow motion.

I watch it happen in slow motion, like I'm fucking stuck in a nightmare, unable to do anything but see.

A fucker joins her group, they're playing a game. He's looking at Y/N, and I feel an irrational pang of anger at the way he's balantly staring at her. Whoever the hell he is. I don't care. I fucking don't care. I shouldn't care if he stares.

But the second the fucker's hands land on her, pulling her closer-my chest tightens.

My blood starts to fucking boil. I feel this sick fucking surge of heat that hits me like a goddamn freight train.

What the hell is happening? Why do I feel like this?

Why the fuck am I feeling this way?

My mind's screaming at me, telling me to move, to look away, but I'm rooted in place, my body frozen, heart pounding in my ears. He leans in and I can't look away. My stomach twists with rage and something darker, something ugly, that I can't even identify.

And then his filthy ass mouth finds hers.

Fuck.

I can feel the blood rushing to my head, the fury building, turning my insides into fucking fire. I want to drag him away by his fucking hair. I want to break every fucking bone in his body, I want to punch the little shit.

She's made me into a fucking monster.

But fuck if I care.

The kiss drags on too long, and I fucking hate that it's happening. I hate that I feel this- this burning feeling, this sharp ache in my chest. I hate the way I can't focus, because all I can think about is her-her eyes, her smile, her lips, her fucking everything-and this random piece of shit is the one getting to taste it.

I'm fucking pissed.

It's irrational, it doesn't make any fucking sense.

She's not mine. She's just an annoying roommate, someone who I was supposed to kick out. But why is it that when I see the little shit with her, I want to rip his fucking hands off her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I try to turn away. I try to get my thoughts back on track. I want to forget this. I want to stop feeling this way, but it's too much. Too fucking much. It's like my body is on autopilot, reacting to her without my fucking permission.

I can't take it. I can't stand it.

I need to get out of here.

But before I can move, she pulls back. She's rushing out of the party, her expression one of panic. Maybe she liked it, maybe she got fucking nervous. Fuck, maybe she likes the little shit- fuck, that makes it so fucking worse.

I'm standing there, seething, fucking furious. At him, at her, at myself.

Why the hell do I even care?

. . . . .

The air outside is thick, heavy. It clings to my skin, pressing down on my chest. Or maybe that's just the fucking tension sitting between my ribs.

I don't know why I stopped. I don't know why I turned back.

I should've walked away, should've let her figure it out herself, should've ignored the way her voice-so small, so fucking pleading-wrapped around my throat and squeezed until I couldn't breathe.

But now she's next to me, in my car, drowning in my jacket, and I can't stop noticing everything.

She's not speaking.

She's not looking at me. She's leaning against the window, eyes shut, her fingers curled into the sleeves like she's holding on for dear life.

Her lipstick is smudged.

I grip the wheel tighter. My jaw fucking aches from how hard I'm clenching it.

"What the fuck happened in there?"

I hear her breath catch. It's quiet, barely there.

She shifts, pulling my jacket tighter around herself, curling in on herself like she's trying to disappear.

I don't like it.

Y/N doesn't disappear. She takes up space. She demands attention, draws people in like it's effortless. She's loud and warm and alive.

Right now, she looks like she's trying to make herself small.

She doesn't answer me.

I should leave it. I should let it go.

But I can't.

"You okay?" I hear myself say, and I hate how my voice comes out-low, restrained, like I don't already fucking know the answer.

She lets out a quiet laugh, but there's no humor in it. "What do you think?"

I think I want to hunt down the piece of shit who touched her. I think I want to rip his fucking hands off.

I don't say that.

Instead, I tap my fingers against the wheel, restless. "What was that, a game?" My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be, but I don't know how else to ask.

She doesn't answer right away.

The silence stretches, and I glance at her. She's staring at her lap, knuckles white against my sleeves. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. "Yeah."

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to relax. A game. Just a stupid party game.

So why the fuck did she run out looking like that?

"Did you lose?" I ask, and the second the words are out, I know it's the wrong thing to say.

Her whole body tenses. "Seriously?"

I keep my eyes on the road. "I'm just asking."

"You're being an ass."

I press my tongue against my teeth. "Not my fault you make it so fucking easy."

Her breath stutters, but she doesn't fire back.

I want her to fire back.

I want her to be her annoying, stubborn self. I want her to roll her eyes, shove me, tell me I'm unbearable. That I'm an asshole. I want her to be fine, because if she's fine, I don't have to feel this tight fucking pressure in my chest that makes me want to punch something.

But she's not fine.

She's quiet. She's curled into my jacket. She's pressing her lips together like she's trying to hold something back, and I can't stop fucking noticing the smudged lipstick, can't stop fucking feeling this thing I don't want to name.

I pull up to our building and park. I don't move.

Neither does she.

Then, softly-so softly I almost miss it-she says, "It wasn't supposed to happen."

Something in my chest lurches.

I glance at her again. Her face is turned away, but I can see her hands-tucked into the sleeves, gripping fabric, gripping my jacket.

She lets out a shaky breath. "I want to go inside."

I unlock the doors. She moves first, slipping out, shoulders hunched.

I sit there for a second, gripping the wheel, exhaling slow through my nose.

Then I follow.

. . . . .

She hasn't cried- Y/N hasn't shed a single tear.

I can not help but watch her. Because whatever the hell happened back there? It's still clawing at me, sinking into my skin, refusing to let me rest.

That should be a good thing, right? Crying would mean something bad happened. If she's not crying, then that means it's fine. 5

It's nothing.

Except it's not.

She's quiet. Too quiet.

And Y/N ARCHER isn't quiet. She's a fucking hurricane, a mess of movement and color and words, always saying too much, always in my space, always making herself known.

But since the party, she's been... still.

The same girl who talks so fucking much it aches my brain, who hums constantly, who never stops fidgeting-she's just sitting there, curled up in her bed, staring at the wall.

It's been two hours.

Two hours.

And I hate that I care.

I push off my bed, walking to the fridge for something-anything-to do, but I don't even know what the fuck I'm looking for. I grab a water bottle, twist the cap, take a sip. The air is thick, the silence oppressive, pressing down on my chest.

I hate it.

I hate it so fucking much.

I exhale, sharp. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

She freezes. Just for a second. Barely noticeable, but I see it.

Then she goes right back to ignoring me.

I roll the water bottle in my hands, patience thinning.

"Y/N."

Nothing.

She's testing my fucking patience, at this point.

My jaw flexes. "Look, if you're gonna sulk, at least do it out loud. It's annoying as fuck when you're-"

Her head snaps toward me so fast, I swear I hear her neck crack.

And then she glares at me.

Not her usual playful, irritated, I hate you but I don't glare. No, this one is different.

Sharper. Colder.

And I feel it-this awful, gnawing feeling in my stomach, because this is probably the first real emotion I've seen from her since we got back.

Her voice is quiet but cutting. "Why are you asking as if you care, JUNGKOOK?"

I blink.

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head with a bitter laugh. "You don't care."

And I-

I-

I fucking don't.

I don't.

But something inside me burns, and before I can think, the words are tumbling out of my mouth.

"Maybe I wouldn't have to ask if you weren't acting so fucking weird."

Her nostrils flare. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I ruining your night? My apologies."

"You are."

I don't even mean it, but it's out, and her lips part like the words just slapped her.

Something ugly twists in my chest.

I should stop. I should. But I don't.

"You didn't say a single fucking word the entire ride home," I go on, stepping closer. "Now you're just sitting there, moping-"

"Moping?" she echoes, voice sharp. She throws her phone onto the bed and rises to her feet, her fingers clenched at her sides. "Fuck you, JUNGKOOK."

I smirk, but it's empty. "That's more like it. Thought you forgot how to speak."

"You're an asshole."

"Never claimed otherwise."

She exhales, sharp and frustrated, dragging a hand through her hair. "Just drop it. I don't owe you an explanation."

"You don't," I say, and I don't know why it makes me so fucking angry. "But you also don't get to act like I'm the bad guy here when you're the one-"

"The one what, JUNGKOOK?" she challenges, stepping even closer.

My grip tightens around the water bottle. "The one acting like I did something to you."

She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh my God, you're unbelievable."

She moves to turn away.

I don't want her to.

So I do what I do best.

I push.

"Was it the kiss?" She halts, her body tensing. So, I push again. "Must not have been a great kiss, though," I say, voice cool, controlled. "Considering how fast you bolted."

Her shoulders stiffen.

My heartbeat thuds in my ears, but I keep my face blank, waiting.

Then, slowly, she turns.

Her hazel eyes lock onto mine, and they're now reddened, moist. Tears. Fuck, did I make her cry?

And then, she spits out, "You're a fucking dick, JUNGKOOK."

She grabs her pillow, throws it at me, and I barely dodge it before it smacks against the floor.

"I'm taking a shower," she grits out, already turning away. "Don't fucking

talk to me."

And then she's gone, the bathroom door slamming shut behind her.

The room is silent again.

I stare at the pillow on the floor.

Then, exhaling through my nose, I sit back down, running a hand through my hair.

Fuck.

. . . . .

JUNGKOOK was so confused lol. What you were feeling was jealousy, JEON JUNGKOOK<3