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dreamersparacosm · 3 days ago

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it's a match ᯓ★ jeon jungkook (chapter one)

SUMMARY. Your friends think you’re one bad night away from becoming a cat lady with a wine addiction. Their solution? It’s simple: Wingmate, the new dating app where your friends swipe for you, and set you up on a blind date. At the very least, it’s supposed to guarantee a steamy hookup for the group’s weekend trip—little do you know, they’ve swiped right on none other than Jeon Jungkook, resident fuckboy and your coworker, who’s terminally addicted to two things: bad bitches and situationships.

word count. 5.2k

warnings. none.

note. shorter chapter but trust the process!! 2024 me loveddd a good short chapter that gave you everything you needed to know. chapter two will be quite lengthy if i do say so myself. ANYWHOOO this may be my favorite jungkook ever. i’m a sucker for a fuckboy with annoying tendencies (will he be reformed? who’s to say) i hope you cutieful’s enjoy! 😻

ᯓ➤ playlist here

ᯓ➤ series masterlist here

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banner creds.

There have been a lot of bad days in your six years of corporate work, but today might take the cake.

The day from fucking hell has arrived on your plate.

It all started with your Outlook calendar gaslighting you. You could’ve sworn the budget meeting with Finance was next week, but allegedly, they ‘moved it up to allot time back.’

So, not only did you wake up at the crack of dawn for no reason, but you also prepared a powerpoint that will see the light of day in two weeks.

Then, the office WiFi cut out four times during a client call, forcing you to join through your phone, which meant everyone earned a lovely view of your head followed by the awkward “can you guys hear me now?” line you’d been avoiding all year.

By lunchtime, your blood pressure had reached astronomical levels. Minimum 190/100.

You briefly consider walking into the HR office barefoot, and simply lying down on the carpeted floor. Hopefully, they’ll build a shrine to remember you by. Here lies a girl who hasn’t had sex in one entire year and died in the arms of Excel spreadsheets.

“Hey,” Yunjin, the only coworker of yours you trust to get things right, slides her chair closer to you. “No offense, [Y/N], but you look like you’re about to cry.”

Are you that obvious?

You deadpan. “I am about to cry, thank you very much.”

“Was it Steve? Did he steal the candy from the break room again?” She frowns sympathetically, bottom lip puckered out.

Yunjin started the same day as you, and while her role is more focused on treasury analysis, you share a lot of the same calendar invites and email threads. They keep the Finance departments tightly wound together, like a tiny little dysfunctional family.

“No.” You sigh loudly. “Worse than that. Chaewon just sent me two more spreadsheets to look at. I don’t have any time left in the fucking day. Do you think it’s possible to take a shit with my laptop?”

She snorts, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, she added me to five email chains with the CFO of a massive company undergoing a merger. I’m beyond fucked.”

Yeah, she wins this round.

“UGHHHH.” You groan, head flopping onto the wooden desk with a loud thud. Two rows over, Seo-yeon from Marketing looks over. Marketing sounds nice. Bet she’s never cried over an Excel formula not computing properly. “Yunjin, my patience is running thin.”

“There, there.” She pats your back gently. “You need sugar, stat. Didn’t you say there was one blueberry muffin you had your eye on?”

Lifting your head quickly, you jolt upwards. A will to live has re-entered your body. “Right. I did say I would get it after my call with Rick.”

Anyone who works at Choi Industries knows how much you enjoy sweets. You’ve heard it all—cavity jokes, ‘sweetest in the room’, cookie monster… list goes on.

It’s gotten to the point where team members will leave out different types of candies and goodies just to catch your eye. You appreciate the gesture, truly, but your cholesterol levels are getting concerning.

However, sometimes—and this is a rare occurrence—the sweets people leave out for you will go missing. Now, you can chalk this up to two things: 1) Steve from Procurement also loves candy and 2) someone out there is trying to ruin your life.

“Well, you better run,” she says, already swiveling back to her computer. “Before Steve beats you there. He’s been hovering.”

And with that, your heels are click-clacking against the linoleum as fast as your legs will take you. It’s 2:17 PM, and that muffin is your god-given right.

When you enter the kitchen, it’s eerily quiet. The old fridge is humming noisily, and the water dispenser expels two more chunks of ice.

Alas, on the counter, your eyes hone in on the muffin tray. In just a few short seconds, that muffin will be—

The muffin tray is right there.

But the muffin… is not.

It’s gone. A corpse of what could’ve been your only moment of joy today.

You stare at it, willing it to reappear, telekinetically demanding the universe to rewind. You’re not entirely sure if the ache in your chest is from rage, grief or starvation, but you do know this: this is your breaking point. Real tears might fall from your eyes.

A chuckle appears behind you. A singular “Ha.” sound, like someone’s pressing down on their stomach and expelling the sound forcefully.

You don’t even need to turn to know who it is.

There is only one person in this entire company who could expel fake laughter like that at your misery, someone who would absolutely steal the last muffin out of spite.

Jeon Jungkook.

Slowly, steadily, you swivel to face your muffin’s captor.

Jungkook is standing behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, leaning against the fridge with an expression so smug you want to slap it right off. His teeth are fiddling with the metal ring on his bottom lip, and there’s a mirrorball of sparkles flying across his pupils. Sheer, unadulterated happiness.

“Something wrong?” He tilts his head sideways.

“You ate my muffin.”

“Innocent until proven guilty.” He shrugs.

“You knew I wanted that.”

If this were any other day, any other moment in time, you would walk away. You wouldn’t even put up a fight. It’s not worth it—especially not with Jeon Jungkook.

“Didn’t see your name on it.” He’s so decidedly uninterested in what’s going on that your blood boils to steaming levels.

“It’s an office kitchen, not a kindergarten class. What did you want me to do? Leave a note that says ‘Please don’t be a dick’?”

You don’t normally blame things on people’s mothers, but there must be some fundamental flaw in the way she raised her son. He’s despicable.

There are office rules, etiquette one must follow. And he just broke the most cardinal rule.

“I mean…” He shifts his weight, crossing his big arms over his chest. “Might’ve helped.”

Your eyes narrow into spiteful little slits. “I hope you choke on a fat blueberry.”

His lips quirk upwards just an inch, enough to enrage you all over again. “That’s a little harsh, cupcake. Even for you.”

Cupcake.

See, the office jokes about your adoration for sweet foods… funny. Laughable. Hilarious.

Jeon Jungkook nicknaming you cupcake the second he caught wind of your sugar addiction six months ago?

Heinous.

“Are you always like this?” You mimic his protective stance, your arms intersecting over your chest. “Is this how you keep scaring girls away?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Scared is hardly the word I would use to describe them.”

You grimace. “Well, do they know you’re a thief?”

“Nah, but they do know I’ve got a massive—”

“Finish that fucking sentence and I will end your life.”

There are a lot of things you want to learn in this world. Jungkook’s dick size does not make the shortlist.

(Although you have heard rumors. And if the rumors are true… well, then he’s not lying.)

“Listen, if you like sweet things so much, I’ve got something else you can try,” he teases, leaning his back against the fridge like he’s planning on being here a while. With your dynamic, you probably will be. These quips and jabs can go for hours.

You shiver in disgust. “I would literally rather eat Sour Patch Kids until the day I die.”

“I always love our conversations, cupcake.” Jungkook smirks widely, an expression you’ve seen so many times you wonder if his lips just live in that permanent curve. “Keeps me on my toes”

“Can you just please, please leave the muffin by my desk?” you beg. It’s unfortunate that you have to, but you’re past the point of return.

“What makes you think I haven’t eaten it yet?”

“Because you’ve never eaten the muffins. You literally did it to piss me off.” Your voice raises several octaves, but you have to remind yourself you’re at work. Whispering now, you say, “Congratulations. Consider me pissed.”

"That's cute you notice my eating habits.” He smiles fondly. “Not even my last situationship did that.”

“Jung—”

“No, really, I’m flattered.”

“Jungkook.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Stay in your fucking lane, and I’ll stay in mine.” If he could just follow rules, this would be simple.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, clearly bored by the trajectory of this conversation. “By the way, you owe me those reports by 5. Wasn’t sure if Chae told you.”

“Chae?”

His eyes glint before he proceeds with his final jab. “She let me call her that last weekend. Cute, right?”

“Please tell me you’re not fucking my boss. Please.”

“Relax, cupcake.” He leans into you, close enough that you can smell the minty breath and generic cologne. “You’re not her type anyway.”

Wine nights with Nayeon and Jihyo are rare. Everyone’s schedule is always ridiculously overbooked, stacked with deadlines, boyfriends, other friends, but when they do happen, your heart is ten pounds lighter.

Nayeon has claimed the corner of your couch, a fuzzy blanket coccooned around her shoulders, balancing the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. Jihyo is sprawled lengthwise across the other end, wiggling her painted toes in your lap just to annoy you.

When Harry Met Sally is blasting on the TV, but the three of you are far too busy talking over it to pay attention to Sally showcase how easy it is to fake an orgasm.

“I’m just saying.” Nayeon barrels on with her previous point, “I would submit better work if my boss stopped bringing his acoustic guitar into the office.”

“Jesus Christ, Nay. That sounds like a nightmare.” Jihyo is only half-listening as she replies, fascinated by how the streaks on her wine glass look.

“It is,” Nayeon insists. “Have you ever heard a middle-aged man sing old Elvis hits while trying to hit a deadline?”

You laugh into your glass, eyes misted over with the haze of alcohol. “If my boss started singing old music, I think I’d just throw myself out the nearest window.”

“Thank you!” Nayeon smacks the couch cushion. “It’s not even his good songs either.”

Jihyo shifts her legs, toes digging pointedly into your thigh. You make a sound of indignation but she doesn’t let up. “Coming from the girl who made us learn One Direction’s ‘Steal My Girl’ word for word. You must be at the apex of music critiquing.”

Gasping, Nayeon retorts, “That is one of their best songs. How dare you. It’s about the hidden message behind the lyrics.”

“Great song.” You take a sip of your crimson wine. “But need I remind you, you also had Hoseok doing cartwheels in our freshman dorm lounge to One Direction just so he could get your attention.”

It’s a fond memory, but the poor boy nearly concussed himself trying to impress your best friend.

It clearly worked, seeing as the pair are still together seven years later.

“Who cares? He looked good while doing it.” Nayeon waves you off, movements sluggish.

Jihyo’s laughter fills your living room. Nights like these are far and few between, but they remind you that even when you feel alone, you could never truly be with these two by your side.

Your trio was an authentic accident. Freshman year, you lived alone on the 14th floor, just how you had planned it since high school. Nayeon and Jihyo lived on the 13th floor, but often traveled to your floor to visit your neighbors. One night, while you were trying to get some peace and quiet (virtually impossible in university), they were involved in a full-on rager next door.

You marched over there, ready to rain on their parade, only to get dragged in by the aforementioned two girls. Four jell-o shots later, you had finally made friends in college.

(Un)fortunately, they never left you alone.

“You really need a new throw blanket, [Y/N]. How can you have men over with this scratchy thing?”

You look down at the knitted atrocity draped across your knees. Lime green, mustard yellow, a patch of neon pink.

“It was my great grandma’s.”

“Oh my god,” Jihyo groans, collapsing further into the cushion. “Of course it is.”

“Plus, it’s not like any men are spending their days here.”

“We know,” Nayeon and Jihyo say in unison.

Jeez. Tough crowd.

“[Y/N], honey, my cherry pie,” Jihyo begins, “Don’t you think it’s time to… to…”

She plays with the words on her tongue before finally, Nayeon cuts in, “Time to get fucked?”

You let out a gasp, as if that’s somehow the most scandalous thing you’ve ever heard. Considering Nayeon once re-enacted her schoolgirl roleplay escapade in front of you, this hardly makes the list.

“I-I..I..”

And, truly, honestly, you have no defense. No comeback of your own. It would be different if you had at least made out with a man in the past few months, but you can’t lie and say you have.

“Maybe it’s time to see what’s out there..” Nayeon wiggles her brow.

Oh, no.

No.

There's a dangerous glint in your best friend's eyes, one that always appears right before she ruins your life.

Your eyes go all narrow, lips pursed. Jihyo peeks over your body at Nayeon. “Should we… tell her?”

Nayeon shrugs carelessly. “Probably not. She’ll ruin it for herself.”

“Sitting right here, you evil fucks.” You take an extensive sip of alcohol to try and wash down their words.

Jihyo’s face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. “It’s just… we were thinking about something the other day. You always say it’s difficult to find dates in Seoul, and when you do, the guy turns out to be a dick. One time, you even said it would be great if we could pick someone for you.”

You know exactly where this is going, and it’s down a road you’ve kept paved over with cement for a year.

Nayeon unlocks her phone, a bright screen casting shadows across her porcelain features. “Hear me out. Imagine if there were a way where we could actually help find you someone.”

She’s scrolling through her apps with a painted finger, clearly searching for something.

Jihyo takes over. “Also imagine you on a hot, sexy date with a man you’ve had no time to form biases about.”

“Mhm,” Nayeon hums before sliding the phone over to you. “Take a peek.”

Sighing, you clutch the device tightly in your hand.

When your eyes finally focus on the screen, you nearly drop the wine glass between your fingers.

It’s a dating profile, or what looks to be one. At the bottom of the screen, there are prompts filled out, links to songs you enjoy. There’s even handpicked pictures of you from your Instagram—you do note that they at least had the decency to choose your finest ones.

Tentatively, Nayeon speaks, as though you’re a wild animal and you’ll skitter off into the distance if she approaches too quickly. “It’s a dating app. We get to swipe for you. We do the awkward small talk, set up the date, we can even track you once you arrive.”

“They say chivalry is dead.”

She awkwardly chuckles. “Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?”

You actually have a lot of comments, one of them rhyming with muck pew.

Maybe you’ll be able to find a way to delete your account before you have to hand the phone back to Nayeon. Yes, that’s a great idea. You navigate to the settings, chuckling darkly. “Nayeon. Jihyo. Quit it with the fucking set-ups.”

She moves at lightning speed once she catches sight of where your thumb is hovering.

“But this isn’t a set up!” Nayeon protests, catapulting over your legs to snatch her phone out of your hand.“This is far from it. This is an app designed for people like you, who are too picky to choose someone to date on their own, so their friends choose for them. Isn’t it great?”

It actually sounds as enjoyable as telling your mom you’re still single at 28.

“Dude, it’s all the rage right now,” Jihyo chimes in, finger pointing upwards in the air like she’s some professor with a PhD in meddling. “Everyone’s obsessed.”

You squint at her. “Ozempic is also ‘all the rage’ right now, but you don’t see me signing up for that.”

Jihyo ignores you, eyeing Nayeon from her peripheral vision as if you aren’t even there (which, in this exact moment, you wish you weren’t). Nayeon is hugging her phone tightly to her chest, scared you might leap over once again to investigate what she’s hiding on her phone.

“The app is called Wingmate,” Jihyo pushes on, overly chipper for a woman who just got fired two weeks ago from her corporate job. “The whole point, like Nay said, is that we swipe for you. It’s foolproof. We set you up with someone actually dateable.”

“Foolproof…” you echo flatly. “Right. Because I’m going to outsource my love life to two women who still put ketchup on their ramen.”

All things considered, these two have failed at many things in life, but relationships is not one of them. They both have been dating their current boyfriends, Hoseok and Jin, since university days. They’re part of that lucky subset of people who figured out companionship before everyone else threw in the towel and settled for bad Hinge dates.

Nayeon sighs deeply, “Listen, you haven’t gotten laid since…”

“Don’t.”

“—since Jeremy.”

You groan. Bringing up Jeremy is cruel. He was your three-year long situationship that you met while backpacking in Europe, and you gave up countless weekends and holidays to visit him in London, only for him to sporadically announce he’s getting married to some marathoner he met in Tokyo.

Not to mention, you also found out through Instagram. So he’s really not the upstanding guy you thought he was.

How wonderful.

“I told you not to bring him up ever again, Nay.”

Jihyo pats your back sweetly, probably in the same way she pets her chihuahua after they do a trick. “[Y/N], we only want to help you. I, for one, want you to move on.”

“Trust me, we will only pick the finest of men for you,” Nayeon reassures, “And you can also bring him on the weekend trip! C’mon, it’ll be so fun. You know I always bring Hoseok, and Jihyo’s bringing Jinnie! It’ll be like a triple date!”

Nayeon has a fatal flaw of being the bubbliest person in the room. It’s a trait you envy and despise.

Jihyo nods enthusiastically like some broken bobblehead. You’re going to smack her head. “The trip will be much more fun if you bring someone! I mean—of course, Jin and I love you like a sister, but wouldn’t it be fun to be coupled up with someone for the weekend?”

If you’re being honest, it has been a while. Jeremy cannot be the last person you’ve given entry into your vagina.

Plus, if anyone has your best interests at heart, it’s your overexcited, loving two friends.

It can’t be that bad, right?

“It’s called Wingmate, you say?” You stare at them, digging yourself under the throw blanket.

Nayeon’s smile is suspiciously wide, pearly white canines on display.

The annual Jeju trip would be more enjoyable if you weren't consistently outnumbered by horny couples. Every year it's the same: they sneak off for mysterious 'early bedtimes' and you console yourself by eating marshmallows straight from the bag like some kind of camping goblin.

“And you’ll choose wisely?”

They look uncanny as they nod in sync.

“We pinky swear on it.” Nayeon raises her pinky finger high, Jihyo following behind in solidarity.

You already know this is a mistake. It's practically begging to join the hall of fame of your spectacularly poor life choices.

But maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to say fuck Jeremy, with your head held high and a new man on your arm. After all, these girls have been with you through thick and thin; they wouldn’t dare lead you astray.

So you do something you don’t normally like to do.

You admit defeat and say, “Fine.”

Life has thrown a lot of inconveniences in your direction.

Job interviews where the hiring manager asked you “what’s your biggest weakness” and you wanted to say men. Finals week with $5 in your bank account and two hours of sleep. That one disastrous one-night stand where you gagged on his dick and threw up a little.

But this one… well, this feels like the inconvenience to end all inconveniences.

This is like getting an emergency root canal scheduled the day of your wedding.

Possibly worse. Who knows?

A blind date. Or rather, the dreaded Wingmate date Nayeon and Jihyo wouldn’t shut up about.

You didn’t swipe, didn't choose, didn’t even get the satisfaction of judging someone for holding up a fish in their picture. No, you’ve been set up like a lamb for slaughter, thrown to the pack of wolves.

Ever since you gave them the greenlight this past weekend, they’ve been working diligently to find a suitor for your first Wingmate date. They promised—no, swore on your dead goldfish from freshman year—that the man would be your dream man. He would be intelligent, rich, and most importantly, hot. Somehow, you doubt that’s possible to find on an app called Wingmate, but that’s neither here nor there.

They gave you four descriptors to work with—tall. Dark hair. Tattoos. Buff as fuck.

That’s it. That’s the grand list of identifiers.

You stop on the sidewalk, staring at the coffee shop door like it’s the gates of hell. Your palms are sweaty, heart thudding away in your chest as you think about all the ways you’ll have to explain this situation to your therapist in a few days.

“Tall, dark hair, tattoos, buff as fuck,” you mutter, reciting it under your breath for the fifth time. That could describe half the men in Hongdae alone.

A group of younger men walk past, one of them fitting the bill exactly, and you immediately avert your gaze like you’ve been looking at something else the whole time.

This is why you didn’t want to do this. This is why you told Nayeon and Jihyo to quit it with the set-ups. Because now you’re outside an innocent cafe, spiraling about who your mystery date is going to be.

You squeeze your phone tightly in your hand, thumb hovering over the Messages app. If you texted the group chat right now, you could still bail. Fake food poisoning. Pretend you got stuck in traffic. Say you were abducted by a family of aliens and are now on your way to their home planet to save humanity.

But before you get the chance to type the message, another thought hits you: what if, against all odds, it’s actually someone hot, normal, and emotionally stable? Someone who’s ready for a relationship?

Surely, if he’s on the app, he must also have friends who love him dearly and want to see him happy.

You’re going to do it. You’re going to walk in—

Grrrr.

Your stomach growls loudly, and you slap a hand over it like that’ll stop it. Great. Nervous hunger. So now you really can’t leave, because you at least owe yourself a croissant.

Taking one last deep breath, you swing the door open.

The bell above the door jingles as you cross the threshold. It’s warm inside, golden hues of light reflecting off exposed brick walls and wooden tables. Lightbulbs on string lights hang low, and there’s a chalkboard menu written in cursive along with a display case so crammed with pastries it makes your stomach growl again.

Couples are everywhere—huddled in corners, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on stools, whispering across tables. There’s not a single male sitting alone in sight.

You observe it all with a strange feeling tightening in your chest, blooming into your throat, threatening to choke you.

This is it. This is the prank. Nayeon and Jihyo have actually set you up with nobody, just so they can laugh about you waiting pathetically in a coffee shop for a man that will never come.

Your eyes frantically sweep over the cafe once more.

Where is he? Which one is he?

And then, like there’s a spotlight dropping from the ceiling, you see him.

At the far end, near the windows.

Perched on one of the barstools that faces the street. Broad back, dark hair, and an arm propped on the counter that’s covered in inky designs. A whole sleeve of tattoos disappearing under a black t-shirt that clings to muscle.

Tall. Dark hair. Tattoos. Buff as fuck.

A pit opens in your stomach, and a nest of metaphorical bees swarm into the hole. Your whole body is buzzing, from head to toe, with the familiar swell of anxiety and hope and excitement.

That has to be him.

You smooth down your shirt, square your shoulders, and start walking. Each step feels like there’s a vat of cement tied to your shoelaces. You can practically hear Nayeon giggling in your head.

When you finally reach him, you clear your throat and tap his shoulder.

He turns around.

And in that single second, you realize, in undying horror, that the universe has yet again inconvenienced you.

His eyes widen, jaw unhinging. “Cupcake?!”

Your own jaw pops out of its socket too. “You?!”

The monosyllabic word echoes off the walls, loud enough to make the barista look over.

Of all the men in this city—every single one—Wingmate (and your friends) has the audacity to match you with Jeon Jungkook.

Office headache. Resident fuckboy. Your personal corporate nightmare.

And apparently now, you can add blind date to that list.

You spin on your heel so fast you almost trip over your own two feet. If you bolt now, you can salvage your day. You can go on a nice, relaxing walk, maybe go shopping in Itaewon. Maybe you can lie to Nayeon and Jihyo and say the guy was a no-show.

A clean cut exit.

Except Jungkook’s hand shoots out, wrapping around your arm with enough pressure to stop you dead in your tracks. His palm is warm as it digs into your skin. Strong, too.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” There’s amusement tucked into his tone. “Where are you going? You’re gonna bail on a date neither of us want to be on?”

You pivot slowly, glare on full display. “First of all, this isn’t a date. Not anymore. Second of all, you just said it yourself. Neither of us wanna be on it.”

“I don’t know, cupcake, I’m pretty sure when two people meet through a dating app at a coffee shop, the legal term for it is ‘date.’”

His hand is still wrapped around your bicep.

You can feel the barista’s eyes piercing into your skull, and for a moment, a wave of embarrassment rushes through you. You’re officially her entertainment. You contemplate collapsing to the floor dramatically—fainting, a seizure, anything to escape—but Jungkook just won’t let go of your arm.

It’s not even a firm hold, but his strength doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You don’t need to be all dramatic about it,” he says, thumb casually brushing against the edge of your sleeve.

“Dramatic?” Your voice cracks on the last syllable, and you immediately pray for anything, any higher power, to come save you from this. “I was promised tall, dark hair, tattoos, buff as fuck. Not you.”

Jungkook looks down at himself like he’s remembering what he looks like, then back at you.

It doesn’t help your case that he fits the bill to a lethal degree.

“Sorry to disappoint?”

Tears threaten to spill over your waterline. It’s not going to be a cute kind of cry either, if it does claw its way out of you. How is this your life? How has the universe once again shown you that you are incapable of experiencing a healthy relationship?

“Let me go,” you mutter, trying to tug free.

He’s still cocky as ever, but something in his eyes has shifted. “It’s just coffee. We’re already here. You might as well sit down for five minutes.”

“Five minutes might be too much,” you mumble.

“I can settle for two,” he says, releasing your arm only to gesture toward the empty stool next to his.

“When have you ever settled for what I want?” You almost stomp your foot on the ground like a petulant toddler out of frustration.

He rolls his eyes. “God, [Y/N], why are you always like this? Just sit down.”

“There’s no point.” You take a small step backward, then another, hoping he won't notice. “This was such a mistake. I’m going to kill Nayeon and Jihyo—”

“And I’m gonna kill Taehyung, but it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

“I—”

He shifts his body more towards you, hands gripping his stool like he has to hold himself back from strangling you. “They can see on their end when the date starts and ends. There's tracking installed in the app. For safety reasons.”

Oh. That… actually makes perfectly good sense.

“But.” You wave your pointer finger in the air. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to be on a date that neither of us wants to be on.”

“Cupcake—” He runs a hand through his dark hair, looking almost… frustrated? “You’re being stubborn as fuck right now.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“No, you’re being dramatic. It's five minutes and a coffee. I’m not proposing marriage to you.” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk. “Unless you’re scared you might actually like me.”

If there is a God, now would be a great time for him to send a lightning bolt through this coffee shop and burn you to a crisp where you stand.

“Jungkook, this is not happening. I’m leaving. I’ll see you at work.”

Several emotions pass over Jungkook’s face. The arrogance from his face is gone, lips no longer in their signature smirk. “Look, if it makes you feel better… I didn't choose you either. My friend set me up. I told him it was stupid.”

Somehow that makes it worse.

“Just… sit for five minutes,” he offers, nodding towards the stool again. “Then we can leave. Tell our friends we just weren’t a good fit. No hard feelings.”

You stare blankly at him. For the first time ever, you see a man, one who normally spends his weekends hooking up with three girls and bragging about it in the office break room, asking for mercy.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion of searching for something more in a world where everyone wants less, or the humiliating prospect of texting Nayeon and Jihyo that you bailed, or maybe it’s just that you’re starving and the croissants are three feet away, but your knees bend, and you lower yourself onto the stool.

The curiosity lingering in your body doesn’t fade away.

“So,” he laughs, “here we are.”

“Guess so.”

And that’s how, against every ounce of intelligence you possess, you end up on a blind date with Jeon Jungkook.

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#icymi

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