• 13- ʏ/ɴ •

Five days.

It's been five fucking days since the party. Since JUNGKOOK and I last spoke. Since I slammed the bathroom door in his face, heart racing, skin burning with leftover rage.

And we haven't said a single word to each other since.

Which was fine. Fine by me.

I sigh.

At least one thing in my life is working -TAEHYUNG has been keeping his distance for some unknown reasons. He still stares in class, but atleast he isn't attempting to converse anymore. It's a relief.

So life is going good. Almost.

Except-

"What would you like to order?" I grit out, fingers tightening around the tiny notepad in my hand.

Because JEON JUNGKOOK is sitting in the café I work at.

Again.

I stare at him, waiting.

He doesn't look at me. Not once. Just sits there like he always does, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his other hand lazily scrolling through whatever's on his laptop.

Like he doesn't even notice I'm standing right in front of him, seconds away from snapping.

Like he hasn't been coming here every single day since the party.

"Espresso," he says, voice casual, unaffected.

I exhale through my nose. "Anything else?"

"Nope."

My eye twitches. That's it? No snarky comment? No sarcastic smirk? Just a casual fucking espresso?

I hate him.

I hate him.

"Great," I say, voice clipped.

I scribble the order down so aggressively I nearly rip through the paper. Then I spin on my heel and stomp toward the counter, because if I stay near him any longer, I might dump the espresso on his stupidly perfect dark hair.

And honestly, today has not been the day for this.

I'm running on four hours of sleep, my ponytail is coming loose, and my usual work uniform-a beige button-up tucked into a brown skirt-feels suffocating. My sleeves are rolled up, but even that isn't helping the heat creeping up my neck.

My lips, coated in the same shade I always wear, press into a tight line as I try to push down my frustration.

I am fine. This is fine.

"What's his deal?" ROSE sighs dreamily beside me, chin propped on her hand as she openly stares at JUNGKOOK. "He's so mysterious."

I roll my eyes. "He's a pain in the ass."

She ignores me. "And so hot."

I grip the counter. "Then you take his order."

Her eyes widen. "No way. I wouldn't know what to say to him!"

I turn to her, deadpan. "He orders one thing. Every single day. It's not hard."

"Yeah, but like, what does it mean?" She sighs, twirling a strand of her hair. "Why does he always come here? Why does he sit in the same spot, drinking the same drink, staring at his laptop all broody and intense-"

"He's not broody," I snap before I can stop myself.

She blinks at me. "Um. Yeah, he is."

I inhale sharply, forcing my expression back to neutral. "Whatever."

But inside, I'm fuming.

Because I don't know why he's here. I don't know what the hell he's trying to prove, or if he's even trying to prove anything at all. Maybe he just enjoys torturing me. Maybe he likes watching me slowly lose my mind.

And the worst part?

It's working.

By the time I bring his espresso to the table, I'm done pretending.

I set it down a little too hard, the porcelain clinking against the table. "What the hell are you doing here, JUNGKOOK?"

He finally looks at me.

Dark eyes, unreadable. A slow tilt of his head, like he's genuinely confused. "Drinking coffee."

My hands clench into fists. "You don't even like coffee."

His mouth twitches. "Maybe I do now."

I glare at him. "Then go drink it somewhere else."

He hums, lifting the espresso cup. "Don't think I will."

My patience snaps. "Are you here just to piss me off?"

He takes a sip, shrugs. "If I was, it's clearly working."

I want to slap that smug expression off his face. I want to grab his stupid espresso and throw it at him.

Instead, I inhale sharply, plaster on a customer-service smile, and say, "Enjoy your coffee, JUNGKOOK."

Then I turn and walk away, nails digging into my palms.

"Y/N."

I freeze.

I turn back, eyebrows raised. "What?"

He watches me, unreadable. His fingers tap against the espresso cup, lazy and slow. "Are you just gonna keep acting like that?"

My jaw tightens. "Like what?"

"Like you don't wanna annoy me anymore." He leans back, tilting his head, studying me with something that almost looks... lost. "What do I have to do to make you go back to your usual self?"

I open my mouth, ready to snap at him, but-

I see it.

The dark circles beneath his pretty eyes. The tired weight clinging to his features, the kind that's hard to notice unless you're really looking.

I shut my mouth and fold my arms. "Apologize."

His nods his head. "Okay."

I blink. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he says as he takes another sip of espresso.

I wait.

He says nothing else.

I stare, dumbfounded. "That's it?"

"That's it."

Heat crawls up my spine. "You didn't apologize."

"Didn't I?"

I hate him.

"Go fuck yourself, JUNGKOOK," I seethe, spinning on my heel and storming away.

I hate him so much.

. . . . .

I hate him.

That's what I tell myself as I drag my pencil across the page, sketching out the sharp lines of his jaw. The stubborn tilt of his mouth. The stupidly intense way his dark eyes always look at me, like he knows exactly how to get under my skin.

I hate him.

That's why I'm drawing him.

Obviously.

Because what better way to channel my rage than by immortalizing him in my sketchbook? That's all this is.

A healthy, productive way to get rid of my frustration.

Nothing else.

I take a slow sip of my drink, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The rooftop is quiet, peaceful, just the way I like it. The dim city lights flicker in the distance, and I let out a long breath, trying to push away the weird weight that's been pressing on my chest for the past five days.

I shouldn't care.

I don't care.

I press my pencil harder against the paper.

It's just-

His stupid face is annoyingly fun to draw. That's all.

I sigh, my fingers tracing over the lines of his features, softening them slightly. linger on the details-the faint scar under his left eyebrow, the way his lashes are unfairly long, the almost imperceptible crease between his brows that only appears when he's thinking.

My chest squeezes.

I shut my sketchbook.

This was a bad idea.

"What are you doing?"

I jump.

My drink nearly spills as I snap my head up, heart hammering.

JUNGKOOK.

Of fucking course.

He's standing a few feet away, hands stuffed into his pockets, watching me with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. His dark T-shirt clings to his arms, his hair slightly messier than usual, and-

And he still hasn't apologized.

I say nothing. Just turn back to my drink, lifting it to my lips like he isn't even there.

He doesn't take the hint.

"What's that?"

I stiffen.

"Nothing."

His eyes flicker to my hands, curiosity sparking in them. "You hiding something?"

"Go away, JUNGKOOK."

His lips twitch, and I know that look. That you're making me want to be a menace look.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

His eyes gleam. I don't like that look.

"Y/N." His voice is almost amused.

Almost teasing. "You're acting suspicious."

"I'm acting like someone who doesn't want to deal with you."

His gaze flickers to my hands, to the way I've pulled the sketchbook closer to my chest, fingers gripping the cover like a lifeline.

And then-he moves.

Slowly.

Casually.

Like he's just shifting his weight. Like this isn't textbook predatory behavior.

I stiffen.

"JUNGKOOK," I warn.

He hums, stepping closer. Not fast. Not sudden. Just deliberate. Like he's giving me time to notice, time to react-

Except I don't.

Because he's too close now.

Because I can smell him, that stupid, unfair mix of cedar and something expensive. Because his dark eyes flick up to mine, steady, focused, and for a second-just a second-my breath catches.

And that's all he needs.

His hand snatches the sketchbook from my grip.

"JUNGKOOK-"

My soul leaves my body.

My stomach plummets.

For a second, my brain refuses to process what just happened. One moment, my sketchbook is in my hands, safe, and the next-

No. No. No.

JUNGKOOK's fingers tighten around the cover as he flips it open.

He's already looking at the page. Already seeing.

Oh my God

He looks at the page-at his own fucking face staring back at him-and his brows shoot up.

My entire body locks up, heat slamming into my skin so fast it almost burns.

So, I do the only rational thing.

I run.