euno11a

[euno11a]

Summary: When you're dragged to an underground party by your best friend, the last thing you expect is to be thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven — especially not with Jeon Jungkook, the brooding, sharp-tongued heartbreaker with a reputation that precedes him. You barely know him. He barely looks at anyone. But behind that locked door, time slows down, sparks fly, and he's done for. You're sure he'll forget you. He does. But now he’s on a mission to figure out who “Closet Girl” is — and your friends are doing everything they can to mess with him while keeping your identity secret.

genre: University AU | strangers to lovers (sort of)

warnings: flirting, mild romantic tension, social anxiety, embarrassment, minor illness, playful pranks, friendly manipulation, study stress, mild language, sarcastic banter, JK being so whipped, slow-burn romance, light comedy/drama, no serious harm

WC: 18k words

a/n: this is technically pt. 2 without meaning to be

Thursday Night – Jungkook’s Dorm 8:09 PM

Jungkook opens the door mid-yawn and freezes when he sees Jimin, Taehyung, Yanni, and Jenna standing in the hallway like they’re on a mission from God.

“What… are you wearing?” he asks, staring at Taehyung, who’s in sunglasses and a turtleneck like he’s about to brief the CIA.

“Respect the fit,” Taehyung replies, sweeping in past him.

“Don’t ask questions,” Jimin grins, patting Jungkook’s chest on the way in. “You’re about to receive the gift of knowledge.”

Yanni lifts a flash drive dramatically in the air. “And heartbreak.”

Jungkook blinks. “...What?”

They all file in before he can protest. Jimin kicks his beanbag chair into position. Jenna’s already hooking her laptop up to Jungkook’s TV. Yanni’s dragging over a dining chair like she’s preparing to defend her dissertation.

“This is an ambush,” Jungkook mutters.

“It’s an intervention,” Jimin corrects. “For your situation.”

“What situation.”

Yanni taps the spacebar. The TV flickers to life.

A title slide appears:

“THE CLOSET FILES: VOL. 2” A tragic love story told in 720p Presented by: Four people who are tired of your whining

Jungkook groans, flopping onto his bed face-first. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” Taehyung grins, sliding off his sunglasses.

Slide One: A blurry image of a girl from behind, walking through the quad. Head covered with a cartoon closet sticker.

“Subject A, known to the public as Closet Girl, photographed in her natural habitat.”

Jungkook peeks through his fingers. “...Where did you even get that?”

“Campus security has blind spots,” Yanni says flatly.

“I’m kidding,” Jenna adds quickly. “It’s from my camera roll. Don’t arrest us.”

Slide Two: Another photo. Reader sitting under a tree, reading. Closet.png pasted neatly over her face.

“She’s literate,” Taehyung says solemnly. “We can confirm this.”

“She has a favorite pen,” Yanni adds, pointing at the zoomed-in detail of your stationery.

Slide Three: A photo of you from behind again, walking into the library.

“She studies a lot,” Jimin says helpfully. “You’d like her. Oh wait—”

“I DO LIKE HER, I JUST DON’T KNOW WHO SHE IS,” Jungkook cries, dragging his hands down his face.

Yanni grins. “Hence: this.”

Slide Four: Reader holding a coffee cup. You can barely see her, but her wrist has a tiny pen mark on it.

“She writes little reminders on her hand,” Jenna explains. “This one said ‘ask prof for extension.’ We did NOT hack her calendar. Yet.”

“I feel like this is illegal,” Jungkook mutters.

“It’s romance,” Taehyung says. “And art.”

Slide Five: A very blurry picture from the Seven Minutes in Heaven night. Reader walking toward the drinks table. Closet still hiding her identity.

“I remember this,” Jungkook murmurs, sitting up a little straighter. “That was before—"

“Before she got trapped in a closet with your emotionally unavailable self?” Yanni supplies.

Jungkook glares. “I was emotionally available in that closet.”

“You said you were gonna kiss her to shut her up,” Jenna points out.

“She wouldn’t stop panicking!” Jungkook defends.

Jimin pats his shoulder. “It’s okay. We have more slides.”

Jungkook buries his face in his hands again. “God, do I even want to see them?”

“No,” Yanni answers. “But you have to.”

Slide Six: Another shot. Reader sitting in a lecture hall, two rows below Jimin’s camera view. Her head is down, scribbling. Closet.png doing its job.

“You literally sit this close to her in class,” Jimin says, zooming in dramatically. “And yet you never noticed her.”

“She doesn’t talk!” Jungkook protests. “She just… sits there! Like a quiet little nerd—”

He stops. Goes quiet.

“Oh no,” Taehyung says, eyebrows raising. “It’s happening.”

“No,” Jungkook says quickly. “No no no no—”

“You’re picturing her in the closet again, aren’t you,” Jenna asks.

Jungkook covers his face with a pillow and screams into it.

The group breaks into chaotic laughter.

“We’re not even done,” Yanni says, clicking to the next slide.

Slide Seven: Just a text slide. White background. Black font.

"You’ve already talked to her." "You’ve already made her laugh." "And you’ve already said the stupidest thing she’s ever heard."

Jungkook drops the pillow. “WHAT DID I SAY?”

Yanni shrugs. “We’ll tell you someday.”

“WHEN?”

“When you deserve her,” Taehyung says with faux wisdom.

“You’re all evil,” Jungkook mutters, but he’s leaning forward again, face flushed, gaze soft.

“Final slide,” Jenna announces.

The screen goes black. Then—

Slide Eight: A shaky photo. You, walking just past Jungkook on campus. He’s facing the other way. You’re almost shoulder to shoulder — a moment in passing. Two near-strangers. One closet. Fate.

Caption: "You’re always looking the wrong way."

Jungkook stares.

For a long moment, no one says anything. The air buzzes.

“…She’s actually kind of short,” he murmurs.

Everyone turns to him slowly.

Jimin: “Just noticed?”

Jungkook’s voice goes soft. “The back of her neck… it’s—" He cuts himself off. “Never mind.”

“Oh, he’s GONE gone,” Yanni grins.

“You’re welcome,” Jenna says, unplugging the USB.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Taehyung adds, grabbing the popcorn for the road.

Jimin claps Jungkook on the shoulder on the way out. “Good luck finding her, Romeo.”

Jungkook just stares at the blank TV screen, cheeks flushed, brain full of closet-stickered moments and glimpses of a girl he almost knows.

He doesn’t even have a name.

But he’s sure now, more than ever—

He’s already in love.

Thursday Night – 10:04 PM Jungkook’s Dorm Post-PowerPoint. Post-heartbreak. Post-closet-induced delusion.

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

Jungkook stands in the middle of his room, arms limp at his sides, eyes fixed on the black TV screen like it’s going to flicker back on and bless him with another blurry, closet-covered glimpse of her.

He hasn’t moved since they left. Not even a breath.

Until—

“...I’m such an idiot.”

He says it out loud. To no one. Because no one else is in the room. Just him, and a ghost of a girl who might smell like vanilla and who maybe — maybe — wrote a reminder to herself on her hand with the same brand of pen he uses.

He collapses backward onto his bed with a groan and immediately drags a pillow over his face.

“I was right there,” he mumbles into the cotton. “I was literally right next to her. The same exact sidewalk. I was breathing the same air as her. What am I—some kind of visually impaired golden retriever?”

He flips over dramatically. Stares at the ceiling like it insulted him.

“How did I not notice her?”

Another beat.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Pause. “Okay, no — that’s dumb. Why would she? ‘Hi, I’m the girl you fake-threatened to kiss in a closet while I was having a breakdown’ — yeah, great icebreaker, Jungkook. Really nailed that one.”

He groans again, dragging his hands through his hair and sitting up so quickly he nearly knocks his head on the wall.

He stares at the blank space where the photos had been just minutes earlier. The slideshow might be gone, but his mental image bank is full now. Every tiny detail they’d shown him — her in the library, at the quad, that little mark on her hand — all of it’s seared into his brain like it’s been tattooed.

“And she studies,” he mutters, like that’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. “And she wears oversized sweaters. And—God.” He leans forward, hands on his knees, eyes wide.

“She was laughing at something in that library photo. Was that her friend? Was it something they said? Or was she—”

A thought hits him.

“Wait,” he whispers, eyes narrowing. “Did I say something? Was I there? Was I—?”

He suddenly stands, pacing now. His room’s not big, but he’s working it like it’s a runway of shame.

“I can’t believe I flirted with her like that. What was I even thinking? ‘If you don’t stop moving I’m gonna kiss you’? Who SAYS THAT?”

He stops. Blinks.

“…Okay it was kind of smooth,” he admits. “But in a feral, what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you kind of way.”

He drops into his desk chair, spinning in a slow, guilty circle.

“She didn’t even say anything,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “She was just… breathing. Freaking out. And I was making it worse. Of course she wouldn’t tell me who she was after that. God.”

The spin slows. His voice gets softer.

“She was so close.”

He thinks of the photo — the one where he was turned away, and she was walking by.

Literally right beside him.

“Would I have looked at her differently if I’d known?” he whispers.

And then—he freezes.

Because his heart’s telling him no.

No. He would’ve stared at her anyway. He would’ve noticed how soft her laugh sounded under the music. How even panicking, she was kind of funny. How even in the dark, he could feel how smart she was. How real.

He doesn’t even know her name.

But she’s already ruined him.

He slumps back against the chair with a deep sigh, staring at the ceiling again.

“...I’m done for.”

A beat.

Then he grabs his phone.

Jungkook [to Jimin]: u have 24 hrs to turn over her name or I’m telling Yanni you used her serum and said nothing

Jimin [read] Jimin [typing...] Jimin: who’s to say I know her name?

Jungkook: YOU TOOK A WHOLE STALKER SLIDESHOW OF HER HER NAME. NOW.

Jimin: her name... is closet. closet jeon. your wife. congrats.

Jungkook tosses his phone onto his bed.

“Unbelievable.”

Still — his lips twitch.

Because even through the embarrassment, the obsession, the mystery… he’s smiling now.

Tiny. Stupid. Helpless.

“Closet Jeon,” he mumbles under his breath, shaking his head.

And for the first time in days, he falls asleep with a grin on his face.

Friday – 2:47 PM

Campus Café Patio

“Okay,” Jimin starts, sliding Jungkook a cold brew like it’s a sedative. “Don’t freak out.”

“Why would you even say that?” Jungkook deadpans, hoodie string caught between his teeth like emotional support. “Now I have to freak out.”

“Good,” Taehyung says, taking a loud slurp from his drink. “You’ve been weirdly calm for a man who got bested by a PowerPoint full of red-sweater thirst traps.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook mutters, snatching the drink.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about the slideshow. He didn’t even sleep properly last night — just lay there, blinking at his ceiling fan and whispering, “What if she reads books I’ve never heard of?” like a man haunted.

Now Jimin pulls out his phone, tapping the screen like he’s about to detonate something.

“Seriously,” he says. “Promise not to cry.”

“I hate you,” Jungkook replies, already nervous.

“Group project list,” Jimin announces, flipping the phone toward him.

Jungkook grabs it, scans the screen—and freezes.

Group 3:

Jeon Jungkook

Kim Taehyung

Lee Sunmi

Y/N L/N

It hits him like a shovel to the face.

He stares at the name. Then at Jimin.

Then back at the name.

“…You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Her name is Y/N?” Jungkook says, voice rising with each syllable.

“That’s her.”

“YOU KNEW HER NAME THIS WHOLE TIME—?!”

Jungkook practically lunges over the table, the iced coffee jostling as he goes into a full-body meltdown.

“I’m in her group?! And you’re just telling me now?!”

“You weren’t listening,” Jimin shrugs.

“You weren’t even in class the day she got assigned,” Taehyung adds helpfully.

“Oh my God.”

Jungkook sits back down like gravity just gave up on him.

He stares straight ahead. Blankly. Mouth open.

“She was right there the whole time,” he mutters. “In my class. I could’ve figured this out two weeks ago if I’d just—paid attention.”

“You didn’t even know where the class was until midterms,” Jimin says.

“YOU GUYS—” Jungkook spins around to face them again. “Do you know what this means?! I’m in a group project with the literal girl of my dreams and I still don’t know what she looks like!”

Taehyung sighs. “Poetic suffering.”

“She’s just—Y/N. That’s it! I have no face to match. Just… cardigans. A pretty voice. Maybe a vanilla perfume. And this feeling like I got punched in the chest when she said my name.”

“You mean when she didn’t say your name,” Jimin says, deadpan.

“I AM LOSING MY MIND.”

Jungkook puts his head in his hands.

Taehyung pats his back solemnly. “Let it out.”

Meanwhile – 3:12 PM

East Side Lawn

“I cannot believe this,” you hiss, pacing through the grass like you’re on the verge of setting it on fire. “He knows my name now. My full government name. And he still doesn’t know it’s me.”

Yanni is lying in the sun, sunglasses on, eating a cake pop like this is her favorite telenovela. Jenna’s sitting next to her, holding a matcha latte and trying not to laugh.

“Maybe he’s just processing,” Jenna offers weakly.

“Processing WHAT?!” You throw your hands in the air. “The part where I SAT NEAR HIM EVERY MONDAY AND WEDNESDAY?!”

Yanni sighs, watching you like she’s mentally adding sound effects.

“Imagine how funny it’ll be when he finds out and actually combusts.”

“I was next to him in the LIBRARY,” you cry. “We shared oxygen, Yanni.”

Jenna giggles into her drink.

You spin back toward them. “And now we’re in a group project together? How am I supposed to survive that?”

“By being extremely normal and not making it weird,” Yanni says.

“I AM THE WEIRD,” you shout.

A group of freshmen walking by side-eye you. You don’t care. You’re in shambles.

“I bet he doesn’t even recognize my voice,” you mutter. “He probably thinks Closet Girl and I are two different people. I’m out here doing the academic equivalent of slow dancing in a burning room and he’s just... vaping.”

Jenna snorts.

Meanwhile – 3:14 PM

West Side Path — walking toward lecture

Jungkook walks between Jimin and Taehyung, eyes slightly glazed, hoodie back on, muttering something about "soulmate proximity blindness."

“She’s gonna think I’m an idiot,” he says. “What if she already hates me? What if she knew it was me the whole time and was just waiting for me to connect the dots—”

A shout echoes from across the green.

“HE KNOWS MY NAME AND STILL DOESN’T KNOW IT’S ME?!”

They all pause.

Taehyung glances over. “Was that…”

Jimin nods. “Definitely someone in her flop era.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, vaguely curious. “Huh. Wonder what her deal is.”

Taehyung and Jimin both stare at him.

Jimin drags a hand down his face.

“Seriously, how do you survive being you?”

Jungkook shrugs and keeps walking.

Behind him, a girl in a cardigan storms away across the lawn, arms flailing.

He doesn’t even glance back.

Wednesday – 10:09 AM

Media Studies Lecture Hall

Jungkook is sitting at the edge of his seat, leg bouncing, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds like he’s waiting for a prophecy to walk in.

But it doesn’t.

Not Monday. Not Tuesday. Not today.

Not her.

Not Y/N.

It’s been three straight classes, and her seat’s been empty. Her spot at their group table in the library? Also empty. Her name in the group chat? The only thing keeping him sane — but also driving him up the wall.

Because yes, okay, she’s still doing her part — sending in bullet-point outlines, responding to shared docs at 2AM, even cleaning up their slide formatting like an angel — but she isn’t here.

And Jungkook is losing his mind.

"She's literally a ghost again," he mutters, hunched over his desk.

Jimin, beside him, doesn’t even look up. “You’re obsessed.”

“I have to be. She vanished.”

“She’s obviously alive. She’s editing your grammar in the Google Doc in real time.”

“She changed my ‘there’ to the right version,” Jungkook says quietly. “She cares.”

Jimin sighs like this has happened before. It hasn’t.

“You’ve known her for a week,” he says.

“I’ve known of her for two.”

“Wow.”

“She said I use too many semicolons.”

“Hot.”

Jungkook slams his notebook shut and leans back in his seat with a dramatic groan. “Where is she?”

“She’s probably just—busy. Sick. Dead.”

Jungkook glares at him.

“…Or not dead,” Jimin adds quickly. “Probably not dead.”

Wednesday – 12:24 PM

Student Union Hallway

He’s walking out of lecture with a coffee he didn’t want and thoughts he didn’t ask for when—like fate herself intervening—a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

“—I’m serious, I tried to bring her soup and she threatened me.”

It’s Jenna.

Jungkook’s head snaps toward her.

She’s laughing, phone in hand, walking past a table of student orgs like she owns the sidewalk.

Jungkook doesn’t even think — he just speed-walks.

“Hey—hey, Jenna, right?”

Jenna turns, surprised. “Uh—yeah?”

He stops short, breath hitching slightly. “You’re friends with Y/N.”

She blinks. “...Yes?”

“Where is she?”

Jenna looks vaguely alarmed.

“I mean—not in a creepy way,” Jungkook says quickly, hands raised. “I’m not, like—tracking her. Or obsessed. Or—” he stops, catches Jimin’s voice in his head: You’re obsessed. “Okay, fine, maybe a little obsessed, but—she hasn’t been in class. Or at the library. Or anywhere.”

Jenna tilts her head, then smiles slowly.

“She’s sick.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen like she just told him someone unplugged the moon.

“What?!”

“Sick. Like, legit sick. Fever, chills, coughing, the works. She’s been in bed for a week.”

He looks like she punched him in the gut.

“She’s been sick this whole time?” he mutters.

Jenna raises an eyebrow. “Did you think she was ghosting you?”

“No,” Jungkook lies. “...Kind of. I don’t know. I thought maybe she figured out I was a fraud who doesn’t know how to format MLA and decided to cut her losses.”

“She’s still doing the project.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Jenna laughs. “You’re so far gone it’s impressive.”

“I’m in hell,” Jungkook mutters. “I didn’t even know she was gone at first because I didn’t know what she looked like. I’m living a tragic slow-burn where I’m the idiot who can’t read the signs. Literally.”

“She told us you still don’t recognize her.”

“She WHAT?!”

“Relax.” Jenna smirks. “She’s not mad. Just a little feral.”

Jungkook drags a hand down his face.

“Okay,” he breathes. “I need to see her.”

“She can barely sit up.”

“I’ll stand across the room, Jenna. I just need—confirmation that she’s real.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“She’s you-know-who.”

“Say it.”

“Closet Girl,” Jungkook groans.

Jenna laughs again and starts walking away. “Tell her you care by proofreading the citations. APA style.”

Jungkook stares after her, dazed, clutching his coffee like it betrayed him.

“…I’m gonna lose it,” he mumbles.

And when he walks off toward the library, he’s already drafting an apology paragraph he’ll never send.

Wednesday – 3:32 PM

Your Apartment – The Cave of Death™

Your blanket is trying to kill you.

It’s hot. You’re sweating. Your hoodie is clinging to your skin like emotional damage. But also, the moment you move even an inch away from the cocoon of warmth, your bones start shaking like you're being haunted.

You sniffle, swipe at your nose with a crumpled tissue, and attempt to type something coherent into the group project doc.

[Y/N]: Updated slide 6 for tone consistency & added sources. Someone check my fever logic pls, I may be hallucinating APA citations.

You hit send, then immediately fall sideways into your pillow with a dramatic groan.

You’re dying. This is how it ends. Not in a blaze of glory, but in a sea of half-finished NyQuil bottles, unanswered texts, and microwave oatmeal.

A knock sounds at the door.

You don’t move.

Another knock, followed by a muffled, “Y/N, open the door or I’m calling your mom.”

You croak, “I live alone for a reason.”

“Yeah, and I’m ignoring it. Unlock it before I use this soup as a weapon.”

You groan, drag yourself upright, and stagger to the door like you’re in a zombie film.

When you crack it open, Jenna stands there holding a Tupperware container and looking smug.

“Chicken noodle. Handmade. By someone’s grandma. Probably.”

“I told you not to come.”

“You said you’d throw me off the balcony,” she corrects, stepping inside. “That’s not legally binding.”

You shuffle back to the couch, already regretting this social interaction. Jenna plops down next to you, unbothered by your hoodie/blanket/disease ensemble, and places the soup in your lap.

“…I can’t taste anything,” you admit after your first spoonful.

“Perfect, now I don’t have to lie about how good it is,” she says brightly.

You weakly throw a pillow at her.

She catches it. “Also—I ran into your secret little enemy-lover boy today.”

Your brain short circuits.

“…What?”

“Jungkook.”

You choke. “I beg your pardon?!”

“He found me after class. Literally ran up to me and was like, ‘Where’s Y/N? Why isn’t she in class? What happened? Did she die? Am I the reason? Is she mad at me? Please, I’m on the verge.’”

You stare at her in absolute horror.

“He did not.”

“He absolutely did. Boy looked like he’d been sleep-paralysis-haunted by your empty chair.”

You slap your hands over your face. “I’m going to physically dissolve into the floor.”

Jenna leans in. “It gets worse.”

“Please don’t.”

“He looked—wrecked. Like flannel, messy bun, undereye bags for miles. I told him you were sick and he acted like I told him the sun died.”

You’re sweating again. And not just from the fever.

“He was asking about me?” you whisper, horrified.

“More like spiraling about you,” she corrects. “Something something—‘She’s still doing the project but she’s not here.’ And then I think he actually gasped when I told him you had a fever.”

You drop your head into your hands.

Jenna grins.

“I think he might actually like you.”

“I will never recover from this.”

She shrugs, reaching for your phone. “Good. Now drink the soup, text him something cute, and maybe finally admit to the group chat that you’re alive.”

“I can’t text him.”

“Why not?”

“Because then he’ll know I know.”

“...That made absolutely no sense.”

You throw yourself back into the couch, covering your face with the blanket in utter shame.

Jenna doesn’t say anything for a second. Then:

“He asked about your voice.”

You freeze.

“He said he remembered how your voice sounded in the closet. That it was soft. Nervous. And that it stuck in his head.”

You peek out from the blanket like a gremlin.

“Stop making stuff up,” you whisper.

“I’m not.”

You blink.

And then you’re fully under the blanket again, blushing so hard you’re about to pass out from emotional heatstroke.

Jenna laughs.

“God,” you mumble. “I was fine with suffering in peace. Why’d he have to go and be all—worried and hot and confused?”

She sips from your water bottle like it’s wine. “Because he’s whipped, babe. And you’re the reason.”

Tuesday – 10:52 AM

Campus Walkway, en route to Lecture Hall 3C

The sun is actually kind today.

It’s warm but not blistering, and the breeze smells like cheap cologne and last-minute panic — which is to say: peak college energy. You’re finally out of your apartment-shaped sickbay, hoodie swapped for a cute, normal outfit (though your lungs are still politely attempting murder).

Jenna and Yanni flank you like two caffeinated bodyguards.

“I’m just saying,” Jenna’s saying, sipping an iced coffee that’s more syrup than liquid, “if he sees you today, you better not do that weird little cough-laugh thing again.”

“I will literally collapse to the sidewalk,” you mutter.

“You’re not allowed to die until we get the project grade back,” Yanni adds cheerfully.

You’re so busy trying to breathe and walk and not spontaneously combust from knowing Jungkook might be in this building — you don’t even notice the trio of boys walking the opposite direction down the same path.

That is: until you nearly shoulder-check Park Jimin.

“Oh—sorry!” you blurt, stumbling a bit.

Jimin blinks, then lights up like a sunrise. “You’re good.”

Next to him, Taehyung raises his brow, already suppressing a knowing smirk. And behind them—

Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon. Closet. Motorcycle. Meltdown Jungkook.

He’s there. Laughing at something Jimin just said. Shoulders loose. Hair tucked under a hat. Hands in his pockets like he’s not a walking campus heart attack. He’s facing away from you, looking at his friends—unaware.

The gods smile upon you. (For now.)

You turn to your girls, keeping your tone casual: “If I pass out in a coat closet today, someone please check who gets sent in with me this time.”

It’s a joke. A throwaway joke.

But it slices through the air like a blade, lodging itself somewhere deep in the foggy back of Jungkook’s mind. He barely registers it. Just a voice. A sentence. A laugh that—

...No. Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

The voice. That voice.

The second he turns around, you're already past him — laughing with your friends, steps light, legs moving, oxygen flowing like you didn’t just rip his sanity in half.

He stares.

Brows furrow. Mouth parting slightly. Muscles frozen mid-step.

“Bro?” Taehyung calls, realizing Jungkook’s fallen behind.

Jimin turns too, confused. “You good?”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. He’s still watching the space where you were, your words echoing in his brain like a siren:

“If I pass out in a coat closet today—”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It's her.

It was her.

“...No f**king way,” he mumbles, eyes wide.

Then: he spins on his heel and speed-walks away from his friends.

“Uh—Jungkook?” Jimin calls, watching him disappear across the quad.

“Is he okay?” Taehyung asks, genuinely baffled.

Tuesday – 10:58 AM

Campus Library – Men’s Bathroom Stall of Doom

Jungkook is sitting on a toilet seat.

Not to use it.

Not even to escape something like midterm grades, or the fact that he forgot his Econ quiz existed this morning.

No.

He is here for one reason, and one reason only: You. Closet Girl. The girl with the voice he hasn’t stopped hearing in his head for the past two weeks. And he just saw you. Walk right past him. Laughing.

And said that line.

"If I pass out in a coat closet today, someone please check who gets sent in with me this time."

His body reacted before his brain even finished processing it. Now he’s hiding in the stall like a shellshocked soldier, hunched forward with his hands pressed to his temples, trying to mentally reverse time.

It doesn’t work.

He lets out a small, strangled sound—somewhere between a wheeze and a wounded animal—and hits the back of his head against the wall.

“Fuck.”

How did he not see you?

You walked right by him. Right. There.

The voice, the laugh, that line—it all makes sense now. And worse: it had to have been intentional. You knew. You knew exactly who he was.

“Oh my god. She saw me. She heard me. She—oh my god.”

He yanks his phone out with trembling fingers and opens his group chat with Jimin and Taehyung.

JK: she said it JK: SHE SAID SOMETHING JK: SHE SAID A CLOSET THING JK: AND I FROZE JK: IM GONNA THROW UP JK: IM IN THE BATHROOM JK: I NEED A MEDIC

Typing bubbles appear. Then stop. Then appear again.

JM: LMAOOOO TH: we’re coming to the library JM: stay in the stall JM: we’re gonna slide a juice box under the door TH: powerade too if you promise not to cry on it

JK: I DESERVE THIS JK: SHE WAS RIGHT THERE JK: HER VOICE—SHE WAS RIGHT FKING THERE JK: and i didn’t say a word JK: i just stood there like a fking moss-covered rock

He drops the phone onto his lap and leans back against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His ears are hot. His hands are clammy. His heart hasn’t stopped galloping like it’s trying to physically escape this stall and find you again.

You were so close.

He saw the back of your head.

He heard your voice again—and this time, he knows the face it belongs to. The girl he’s been imagining in flashes of memory for days was just inches from him, casually tossing out that callback like it didn’t just detonate every brain cell in his body.

And he just—

He did nothing.

Because of course he did. He’s Jungkook. World-class overthinker. Local emotionally constipated idiot. Professional regret-haver.

“God,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “I f**king hate myself.”

He had so many chances to talk to you—at the party, in the closet, in class, in the library—and each time, he found a new and creative way to fail spectacularly.

But this?

This is next level.

Because you know who he is. And you were messing with him. And now the balance of power has officially shifted.

You’re not just some anonymous blur in his memory anymore. You’re real. You’re witty. You’re walking around campus knowing he’s been spiraling and still choosing to play it cool.

And he’s hiding in a f**king bathroom stall like a cartoon character on the verge of collapse.

Another buzz.

TH: do u want us to bring tissues JM: or a pacifier TH: i heard hugging a plushie helps too

JK: if u ever mention this again i’ll key ur dorm

But he’s not even mad.

He’s jealous. Of himself. For being in that closet. For having you that close and not realizing.

And now that he knows who you are—knows your voice, your laugh, your name—he’s going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Next time?

He’s not freezing. He’s not running. He’s not hiding in a f**king stall like an emotionally wrecked anime boy.

Next time, he’s saying something.

…maybe. After he stops hyperventilating.

Wednesday – 11:03 AM

Campus Courtyard, No One Is Safe

Jungkook doesn’t notice anything. Not the heat, not the crowd, not Jimin’s entire monologue about wanting to drop out and open a ramen truck in Guam.

He’s focused.

He’s scanning every face, every voice, every echo of a laugh. He’s got a phantom radar now—keyed into that voice, that energy, that feeling he got in the closet when someone panicked against his chest and called him names and still made him want to ruin his whole life for her.

And then—

A laugh.

Light, warm, real.

He freezes. A full-body stop like someone just yanked the emergency brake on his nervous system.

“That’s her.”

Jimin nearly walks into him. “What?”

“That’s her.” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming into a void. “She’s here. Right there. Walking. That’s her.”

Taehyung squints ahead. “Ohhhh.”

You’re about ten steps away. Laughing with your friends, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, your sunglasses pushed up into your hair, voice carrying over the crowd like music.

And Jungkook?

He forgets how to function.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “She’s real. She’s—oh my god, she’s right there.”

You haven’t seen him yet. You’re mid-conversation, glancing over your shoulder at something Yanni said. And in that second— That tiny, stupid second— He watches your face light up with a grin so devastatingly gorgeous he feels violently unprepared.

He genuinely considers just—

Grabbing you. Throwing you over his shoulder. Walking into the sunset with no plan, no idea where to go, just you and him and a head full of chaos.

But he doesn’t move.

Because you’re coming closer. Like some kind of cruel, slow-motion dream.

He watches the way your mouth moves when you talk. The way you throw your head back when you laugh. The way your fingers lift to adjust your necklace and his entire brain just short-circuits.

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispers, “you’re shaking.”

“I am not,” Jungkook lies, hands absolutely trembling at his sides. “I’m fine. I’m—oh god, she’s looking over—what do I do?”

“Say hi?” Taehyung offers.

“Like a normal person?” Jimin adds.

“I don’t remember how to do that.”

Then—

You glance up. Right at him. Eyes locking.

He stops breathing.

Your smile falters just a bit. Like you’re surprised. Caught off guard. Your friends look between you and him—a little too smugly—and then...

You start to turn. Like you’re about to keep walking.

“NOPE,” Jungkook blurts.

He takes a massive step forward. Hand out like he might grab you (he won’t—he will—he’s not sure).

You pause.

Turn back slightly.

Eyebrow raised.

He opens his mouth to say anything, but his brain is melting under pressure, and the only thing he manages is—

“You’re her.”

You blink. “...Sorry?”

He steps closer. No hesitation now. The chaos in his head is full volume.

“You. It’s you. I know it’s you. You said the closet thing. The party. You—you’re Closet Girl. You’re Closet Girl.”

Your eyes widen. Your friends? Howling. Yanni is physically shaking Jenna by the shoulders.

And you?

You just stare at him.

“Do you always announce people like that?” you ask, smirking.

“I—yes. No. Only when they’ve haunted my dreams for three weeks.”

Silence.

DEAD silence.

He freezes.

“...I didn’t mean that. That came out wrong. I mean it didn’t but—”

“No, I get it,” you say, grinning now, stepping closer. “I’m flattered.”

He almost dies on the spot.

He’s breathing so fast he’s pretty sure he’s going to pass out on the sidewalk. The sun is too bright. You’re too close. Your voice is too real.

And then—

You lean in a little. Lower your voice.

“By the way,” you murmur, “if I pass out in a coat closet today… check who gets sent in with me.”

…

The words land like a direct hit. A bomb to his chest. A kiss to his brain stem.

You turn.

Walk past him.

Gone.

Just like that.

He doesn’t move.

He can’t.

He stands there, mouth open, brain fried, skin buzzing like a TV left on static.

Taehyung walks over and gently pats him on the back.

“Should’ve thrown her over your shoulder, bro.”

Jungkook sinks into the earth.

Friday – 4:41 PM

Campus Library, Back Left Corner — The “Comfy” Table

You are already seated.

Tea in your mug, laptop open, sweatshirt two sizes too big, and a pen tucked behind your ear even though you’re not using it. Your hair is a little messy. Your socks are mismatched. You’re in your natural, undisturbed, study-goblin form.

Where are Jenna and Yanni?

Oh, they said they’d be late. Some excuse about Jenna’s lab partner setting off the fire alarm in chem, and Yanni needing to print something.

You didn’t question it.

You really should have.

Because at 4:46 PM, someone walks around the corner of the bookshelf behind you — the one that blocks off the little study nook you always sit at — and you hear the familiar rustle of fabric and faint squeak of sneakers and think no. way.

Your eyes lift.

And standing there, confused as hell, eyes wide and bag slung over one shoulder like he just stepped into the Twilight Zone—

Jeon Jungkook.

The world freezes.

Him: wide-eyed, blinking, breath caught halfway through a sentence he didn’t get to start.

You: sitting there in your dumb big hoodie with your tea and your notes and your soul leaving your body.

“…Hi?” you manage.

He stares for a second. Like his brain short-circuited.

“I don’t—okay, I didn’t think this was real.”

You frown. “What?”

He steps closer, looking around like he’s been tricked. “Yanni texted me and said Taehyung told her this was his new secret study spot.”

“…That’s not real.”

“That’s what I’m realizing now,” he mutters.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, so she sent you here—knowing I’d be here—pretending it was for Taehyung?”

He nods.

You both go silent.

Then at the same time:

“They set us up.”

He drops into the chair across from you like he’s just run a marathon through betrayal.

“I knew Jimin was being weird when he made me buy gum and then told me to ‘freshen up emotionally.’”

You choke. “What does that even mean?”

“I still don’t know!”

You both break into laughter—nervous, giddy, chaotic.

And now you’re here.

Across from him. Alone. No friend buffers. No parties. No closet doors.

Just a table. A tea mug. And Jeon Jungkook’s very unfair face staring directly at you.

“So…” he says slowly, folding his hands in front of him, “this is your secret spot?”

You nod. “Where I pretend I’m smarter than I am.”

He grins. “You helped finish that whole project while you were sick. You’re smart.”

You try not to melt. Fail.

“What, you stalking my Canvas activity now?”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

You blink. “Wait—really?”

He looks horrified. “I mean—no! I mean maybe. I just—Jimin kept checking it, and I was near him, and—”

You raise a brow. He slouches in defeat.

“…I might have checked it once.”

A beat.

Then, you smile. “That’s cute.”

He leans back in the chair, gaze warm. “You think I’m cute?”

You sip your tea. “I said what I said.”

“Okay, closet girl.”

You groan. “We are never escaping that nickname, are we?”

“Not a chance.”

Silence again—but a good one. Your fingers tap the ceramic of your mug. He watches you like you’re a constellation or something equally impossible.

Then—

“Can I ask you something?” he says softly.

You glance up. “Sure.”

“…Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That you were you?”

You hesitate. Then: “I don’t know. I guess… it was fun watching you try.”

He bites his lip to hide a grin.

“You’re evil,” he says.

You lean in a little, resting your chin on your hand.

“You like it.”

And the way he looks at you in that exact second—

Yeah. You’re not getting out of this alive.

“You like it.”

That’s what you said. Still smirking. Still dangerous.

And Jungkook? Yeah. He’s down bad. Leaning back in the chair, hoodie sleeves pushed to the elbows, rings catching in the low light like they’re flirting with you too.

“I do,” he says finally, voice softer. “I really do.”

You blink.

He leans forward again, resting his forearms on the table, head tilted slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines on your face.

“So… do you always mess with guys like this? Or am I special?”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning casual. “Depends. Do most guys act like broken Roombas when they realize they’ve been tricked?”

He gasps. “I was composed!”

“You almost passed out.”

“I was managing my blood pressure in an emotionally complex environment.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

He grins, clearly biting back a laugh.

God, he’s infuriatingly hot when he laughs. Head thrown back just slightly. That little dimple you forgot about. It’s not fair.

“So,” he says again, tapping the table lightly. “If I ask you something, will you promise not to make fun of me?”

You narrow your eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, fair.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I was just wondering…”

You wait.

He looks up at you through his lashes, the picture of faux innocence.

“…Have you always looked at me like that in lecture?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you were trying to figure out if I’m a hallucination or just dumb.”

Your jaw drops.

“I don’t—!”

“You do,” he teases. “You tilt your head, and your eyebrows do this little—like—confused judgment arch.”

“Stop watching my eyebrows!”

“I’m a visual learner,” he says seriously.

You cover your face with your hands.

He laughs again. “Okay, okay—serious question this time.”

You peek at him between your fingers.

He bites his bottom lip, nervous energy crackling around him like static.

“Do you wanna hang out?” he says quickly. “Like—not in a closet. Or a group project. Just—like. You. Me. Not studying. Unless that’s your idea of fun, in which case I will absolutely pretend I care deeply about citation formatting.”

You blink.

Then blink again.

“…Are you asking me out?”

“I’m asking you out.”

You stare.

He stares.

Your heartbeat is suddenly in your mouth.

Then—

You set your mug down, leaning forward just slightly, eyes bright.

“Well,” you say slowly, “I do have a very compelling spreadsheet about medieval textile trade routes.”

He smiles. Wide. Dimples. Game over.

“Can I bring snacks?”

You nod. “You bring the food, I’ll bring the trauma.”

Jungkook grins. “Perfect. A balanced meal.”

He glances around, suddenly noticing the time.

“Wait, how long do your friends usually leave you here alone?”

You smirk. “Exactly long enough for this.”

His eyes narrow, smile curling. “They’re trying to kill me.”

You sip your tea. “They’re succeeding.”

Silence.

“…So when do I see you again?”

You blink. “You’re not sick of me yet?”

He leans in again, voice low, just for you:

“I haven’t even started.”

Reader’s Dorm – A Friday Night, 8:17 PM

(Project Due: Monday) (Jungkook’s attention span: in hell)

“I’m begging you,” you groan, flicking the corner of his textbook. “Please, for the love of God and your GPA, just read the page.”

“I read the page.”

“You read the chapter title.”

“That’s the most important part!”

You look up from your laptop and level him with the flattest expression you can muster. He’s lying down on your bed — textbook open across his chest, hoodie sleeves pushed up, one sock halfway off like he lost a battle mid-reading.

“You haven’t even moved your highlighter in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m conserving ink,” he says seriously.

You nearly throw your pen at him.

“Jungkook.”

“Y/N.”

“I will break up with you for academic negligence.”

He sits up, grinning, like that’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said.

“You’d miss me in like half a day.”

“Try me.”

“You’d miss me in half a minute,” he says, now crawling to the edge of the bed like a cat with too much serotonin. “You’d miss my hoodie. My Spotify. My hand—”

“Focus!” You shove a pillow at his face.

He collapses back dramatically, arms spread like a martyr.

“I can’t,” he groans into the pillow. “You’re here. And you smell good. And you keep doing that thing where you bite your lip when you’re concentrating and it’s illegal.”

You pause. “I do not.”

“You do.”

“I do not—!”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Your jaw snaps shut so fast you actually wince.

He peeks over the pillow, victorious.

“…Stop being hot,” he says, pouty. “It’s ruining my academic integrity.”

You roll your eyes, standing to grab the paper instructions from your desk. “You don’t have academic integrity.”

“I did! Until I got a hot girlfriend and a dopamine disorder.”

You shove the rubric in his face.

“Two more sections. Minimum three references. Double spaced. Come on.”

He takes it, pouts again, and grabs his pen.

You watch him finally — finally — start writing, shoulders hunched, lips pursed, tongue peeking out at the corner like he’s solving a CIA file.

And then—

He pauses.

Turns his head toward you.

“You know what’s crazy?”

You brace yourself. “Always.”

He shifts onto his side again, grinning so hard it’s almost obnoxious.

“I don’t need a closet to kiss you anymore.”

You freeze.

Then: your eyes narrow.

He wiggles his brows. “What? It’s a win for progress.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best.”

“You’re not getting a kiss.”

“I’m already moving in.” He lays down dramatically again. “This is my bed now. You can come visit me.”

You cross your arms. “You didn’t answer your discussion question.”

“I discussed the important part.” He reaches for your hand. “Like how lucky I am. And how beautiful you look in sweatpants. And how I would absolutely let you ruin my life if you asked nicely.”

You snort, letting him pull you onto the bed beside him.

“…You’re a menace.”

“And you’re in love with me.”

You glance down at him.

He’s got ink smudged on his hand. Hair pushed back. Textbook pages wrinkled where he crumpled them trying to turn too fast.

And he’s looking at you like you personally invented the stars.

“…Maybe,” you say softly.

He grins.

Then —

“Kiss me.”

You blink. “You just said you didn’t need a closet.”

“I know,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“I want to kiss you because I don’t need a closet.”

And when you finally do — when you lean in and press your mouth to his, slow and warm and gentle — he hums like he’s just unlocked a cheat code in life.

Your pen clatters to the floor. His textbook slides off the bed. Neither of you notice.

Because this?

This is so much better than the closet.

[euno11a]

Summary: When you're dragged to an underground party by your best friend, the last thing you expect is to be thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven — especially not with Jeon Jungkook, the brooding, sharp-tongued heartbreaker with a reputation that precedes him. You barely know him. He barely looks at anyone. But behind that locked door, time slows down, sparks fly, and he's done for. You're sure he'll forget you. He does. But now he’s on a mission to figure out who “Closet Girl” is — and your friends are doing everything they can to mess with him while keeping your identity secret.

genre: University AU | strangers to lovers (sort of)

warnings: flirting, mild romantic tension, social anxiety, embarrassment, minor illness, playful pranks, friendly manipulation, study stress, mild language, sarcastic banter, JK being so whipped, slow-burn romance, light comedy/drama, no serious harm

WC: 18k words

a/n: tumblr wouldn’t let me post it unless I split it into two parts…t’was too long…enjoy

Campus is buzzing. Not the usual hum of sleep-deprived students dragging themselves to class, but the kind of chaotic energy that only comes around when the weekend stretches ahead, warm and wide open.

The quad is drenched in golden late-afternoon sunlight, and the air smells like grass, iced coffee, and the subtle hint of sweat from people pretending they aren’t trying to look hot in 85-degree heat.

You’re weaving between bodies, textbooks tucked under your arm, when it catches your eye: a bright neon flier taped to nearly every lamppost, tree, and bulletin board in sight.

SINS & SAINTS BIGGEST PARTY OF THE SEMESTER — 10PM @ THE PIT SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN GAME 🔥 DON’T BE LAME

Yanni snatches one off a pole as you pass. “This is the moment, ladies.”

You don’t even give the flyer a second glance. “What moment? The one where you both fail your ethics paper because you were too busy shotgunning White Claws in someone’s moldy basement?”

“Oh my god, relax,” Jenna says, laughing. “It’s not moldy. They fixed the leak in April.”

You roll your eyes but let yourself smile as the three of you walk along the sidewalk, the late sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Yanni and Jenna look like they just stepped out of an Urban Outfitters ad — crop tops, layered jewelry, and enough confidence to set fire to half the student population.

And then there’s you. Not quite invisible, but definitely more “background character” than “main event.”

“You know this party’s gonna be huge, right?” Yanni says, waving the flier like it’s a golden ticket. “Last year someone jumped off the roof into the kiddie pool.”

“And broke their collarbone,” you point out.

“Legendary,” Jenna says, smirking.

You snatch the flier from Yanni’s hand, skimming it again. “Why would anyone voluntarily go to something with a ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ game advertised like a feature? We’re adults.”

“Are we?” Yanni asks, eyes twinkling.

“Technically,” Jenna adds. “But also—imagine the chaos. What if someone pulls Jungkook’s name?”

Your heart does a completely unacceptable little stutter at that.

Jeon Jungkook.

Tattooed, mysterious, chronically late to lectures (if he shows up at all), and very much the guy every girl on campus either wants to date, make out with, or get over. He’s got a motorcycle. He barely talks. He shows up to parties, hooks up with girls, then disappears like smoke.

And he’s beautiful. Obviously.

You’re not immune. You’ve had a crush on him since last semester, when he walked into your shared Intro to Media class twenty minutes late, helmet under his arm, chewing gum like he wasn’t the reason every girl in the room forgot what the professor was saying.

But Jungkook is a walking red flag. A whole carnival of them. And you’re smarter than that.

At least, you pretend to be.

“Literally everyone wants him,” Jenna says, reading your mind. “Even the TA from psych. She was full-on blushing when he asked for an extension.”

“Not surprised,” Yanni mutters. “He has that look — like he’s good at everything and knows it.”

“He probably is,” you say before you can stop yourself, then immediately regret it.

Your friends both stare at you, smirking like sharks.

“Wait,” Jenna says slowly, “do you have a thing for Jungkook?”

“No.” You say it too quickly. “God, no. I mean—everyone does. But I’m not stupid.”

“Just stupid-adjacent,” Yanni teases.

“Shut up.”

Before they can press you further, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”

You look up to see Park Jimin approaching, all sunshine and mischief, with Kim Taehyung sauntering behind him like he owns the sidewalk.

Jimin’s wearing a denim jacket over a mesh tank, and Taehyung’s got sunglasses on even though the sun’s nearly down. Between the two of them, they look like trouble you want to get into.

“Hey, ladies,” Jimin says, flashing a grin as he throws an arm over Yanni’s shoulders. “You’re coming to the party tonight, right?”

“Obviously,” Yanni replies, leaning into the attention.

“Can’t miss the annual disaster,” Jenna adds, high-fiving Taehyung like they’re in on some secret joke.

You cross your arms. “You guys seriously hyping up a party where people get locked in closets like it’s summer camp?”

“It’s not just any party,” Jimin says. “It’s The Pit. Sins & Saints theme. Black lights. Fake angel wings. Maybe some fake confessions.”

“Cages,” Taehyung adds casually, like that’s normal.

You blink. “Cages? What kind of party is this?”

“The fun kind,” Jimin winks. “You coming, Y/N?”

“I have an essay due.”

“So bring it with you. I’ll give you moral support while you drink tequila.”

“Tempting,” you say, deadpan. “But I actually want to pass this semester.”

Taehyung leans in, smirking. “Well, in case you change your mind… Jungkook’s gonna be there.”

There it is again. The name. The spark that lights your nerves like a match to gasoline.

You try to play it cool. “Why would that matter to me?”

Yanni coughs loudly. Jenna bites her lip to keep from laughing.

Jimin just grins, already turning away. “No reason. See you at ten.”

And with that, the two boys melt back into the crowd, leaving you with your friends, your unfinished essay, and the creeping sense that this night might not go according to plan.

The quad’s stretched out like a painting, glowing and slow, the heat bleeding off the pavement in soft waves. Everything’s dipped in gold — the trees, the brick buildings, even the stupid neon flyers plastered to every pole.

The bench — their bench — is right where it always is, half in shade, half in sun, like it can’t decide whether it wants to be chill or dramatic. Typical.

Jungkook drops down into his usual spot on the backrest, boots braced on the seat like he owns it. He probably does, at this point — nobody ever sits there unless one of them’s already claimed it.

Taehyung arrives next, flopping into the grass with a sigh so theatrical it could win awards.

“Dying,” he declares. “Melting. This is my final form.”

Jimin shows up with a popsicle he definitely didn’t pay for. “It’s like 85. You’re from Daegu, you’ve survived worse.”

“I have delicate lungs now,” Taehyung replies. “I’m an artist.”

“Your lung capacity’s fine, bro,” Jungkook says. “You were yelling at Rocket League until three.”

Taehyung scowls but doesn’t argue.

A group of girls walks by — upperclassmen, probably — and Jungkook doesn’t miss the way they glance over, not subtle at all. One of them straightens her hair in her reflection on a car window.

He ignores it. Sips his drink. Lets the sun warm his tattoos.

“Party’s gonna be insane tonight,” Jimin says through a mouthful of cherry ice. “Everyone’s going.”

“You say that like you’re not part of the chaos,” Jungkook mutters.

“I am the chaos.”

Jungkook smirks. “You’re five feet of glitter and bad decisions.”

“I’m five-nine,” Jimin says automatically.

“You’re lying.”

“Anyway,” Taehyung cuts in, flopping back so his head hits the grass with a dull thump, “I heard there’s gonna be like… cages. Real ones. Hanging from the ceiling.”

“Where the hell are they getting cages?” Jungkook asks.

“Probably the theater department,” Jimin says. “They owe me after I fixed their soundboard last semester.”

Jungkook makes a face. “You fixed it by slapping it until it stopped buzzing.”

“And it worked.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a bit — the kind only friends with a lot of shared damage can fall into. People keep walking past, all heading somewhere, all talking too loud, dressed like they're auditioning for the same indie film.

A guy on a skateboard nearly eats it trying to check his reflection in the library windows. A girl in a baby tee trips on absolutely nothing when she sees Jungkook watching her. Classic.

He doesn’t react. Barely blinks.

“You know,” Taehyung says, eyes still closed, “I was thinking about that Seven Minutes thing.”

“Oh god,” Jungkook mutters.

“No, listen. Imagine someone wild pulls your name. Like that girl who wears fangs and drinks blood out of a Hydro Flask.”

“She’s a performance artist,” Jimin corrects. “You’re so uncultured.”

“Imagine,” Taehyung continues, undeterred, “you walk into the closet and it’s just like—BAM. Straight-up vampire romance. Feral energy. No escape.”

“I’d rather die,” Jungkook says.

“Sounds like fear,” Jimin singsongs.

“It’s common sense,” Jungkook replies. “That game is high school energy. It's gonna be twenty minutes of giggling and some drunk dude falling through the door trying to kiss someone who already regrets being born.”

Jimin snorts. “Wow. Poetic.”

“Look, I’m going,” Jungkook says, “but I’m not doing closet games. Not my scene.”

“You say that,” Taehyung mutters, cracking one eye open, “but if someone hot pulls your name…”

Jungkook shrugs. “Then she’s unlucky.”

And he means it — mostly. It’s just that… parties like this always end the same. Music too loud, drinks too warm, somebody crying in the bathroom, somebody making bad decisions on a lawn chair.

He doesn’t know why he keeps showing up. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe it’s the thrill of it — the crash of noise, the lights, the way nothing matters for a few hours.

Or maybe it's that feeling.

The possibility.

The moment right before something happens — when everything is charged and uncertain, and the right glance could flip the night on its head.

He exhales, eyes flicking toward a passing group of students. One girl — vaguely familiar — walks by clutching a tote bag and a half-melted iced matcha. Her face jogs something in his brain. A lecture hall, maybe? Media Studies?

He thinks he remembers her — quiet. Always early. Never looked at him, not even when he showed up late and took the seat next to the plug.

But it’s gone in a blink. Just another girl. Just another day.

Taehyung claps his hands suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Alright, sluts. Waffle truck or convenience store noodles?”

“Why are those the only options?” Jimin asks.

“Because I’m a man of taste.”

They get up, stretching, moving like they’re already vibrating with pre-party adrenaline. Jungkook trails behind, helmet in one hand, unread messages buzzing in his pocket.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t notice the girl from the quad still sitting under the tree, book open, eyes half-lifted just as he passes.

He doesn't know her name.

Not yet.

The Pit is already pulsing when you arrive.

Bass thumps under your feet before you even step inside — not just music, but vibration, like the building itself is alive and slightly pissed off. The air smells like tequila, cheap perfume, and those weird vanilla vapes everyone insists are “barely noticeable.” Spoiler: they are very noticeable.

You stop just inside the doorway, blinking.

The party is absolutely unhinged.

There are blacklights everywhere — mounted on the rafters, strung across the ceilings, probably duct-taped to questionable surfaces. Someone’s set up an old confessional booth near the far wall, graffitied and backlit in red. A girl in a rhinestone halo is taking selfies in front of it while a guy dressed as a fallen angel — shirt unbuttoned to nowhere — does a keg stand behind her.

Above it all, a massive banner reads:

SINS & SAINTS: ENTER IF YOU DARE.

...which feels both deeply dramatic and deeply accurate.

There are actual cages suspended from the ceiling — only waist-high, like glorified birdcages, but still. One of them has a guy in white mesh pants swinging in it like it’s Cirque du Soleil. He howls something about forgiveness. No one knows what’s going on.

You take all of this in with wide eyes.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “what the hell.”

“I TOLD YOU,” Yanni shouts over the music, eyes lit up like a kid on Halloween. “They WENT OFF this year!”

“They should be arrested,” you mutter.

Jenna laughs beside you, tugging at the hem of her dress. “I feel like I just walked into the end of the world but make it horny.”

Yanni is wearing a sheer black top over a bralette made entirely of tiny silver crosses, her eyeliner winged out to her temples. Her skirt is so short it might be a threat to public safety.

Jenna went full Saint — white silk slip dress, little feathery halo bobbing over her curls, but with Doc Martens that say she’d still throw hands in the bathroom line.

And then there’s you.

You’d protested the theme all afternoon, but eventually gave in. You’re wearing ripped black jeans, a mesh top over a tank, and a red ribbon choker Yanni tied on you with too much enthusiasm. You didn’t go all-out like them, but you’re here. You showed up. That’s saying something.

Yanni loops her arm through yours and yells, “I swear to God, if I don’t end up in a cage by midnight, I’m suing.”

“They have cages, Yanni,” you say, scandalized. “That’s not normal.”

“I’m not normal,” she grins.

“That’s not comforting!”

You’re halfway toward the drink table when a blur of movement passes you — a guy in a leather jacket, dark hair, jaw like a hate crime. You don’t get a good look, just the impression of tattoos, combat boots, and a casual arrogance like he’s got the party rigged in his favor.

You turn back to the drinks.

Jenna, meanwhile, is adjusting her halo in her phone’s camera. “Okay, I’m thinking I make out with someone with wings. That’s my only rule.”

“Are they required to earn them first?” you ask.

“No, they just have to not be annoying.”

“So… no one here, basically,” you deadpan.

Yanni dumps some suspicious jungle juice into a cup and hands it to you. “Drink. Or at least pretend to. You’re giving off ‘I’m only here for field research’ energy.”

You take a sip and grimace. “This tastes like Hawaiian Punch and college debt.”

“Exactly,” Jenna says. “We’re setting the tone.”

You pass by a hallway draped in red curtains — probably where the Seven Minutes game is happening. Someone stumbles out with smeared lipstick and a dazed smile.

“Oh my god,” you say. “This is summer camp. This is hot, humid, horny summer camp.”

Yanni beams. “A dream come true.”

You’re halfway across the room when you bump into someone — solid chest, sharp elbows. You step back, muttering, “Sorry,” but the guy’s already moving, weaving through the crowd like he’s done it a thousand times.

Again, you don’t get a good look.

Again, you feel that flicker — like something important just brushed past you.

“Who was that?” you ask, mostly to yourself.

Jenna squints after him. “I don’t know. Pretty sure he walked out of a Calvin Klein ad though.”

You shake it off.

This night is too much already — too loud, too crowded, too… Jungkook-shaped. And you’re not here for that. You’re here to survive, observe, and possibly rescue your friends from questionable decisions.

So far, you’re one-for-three.

Yanni grabs your arm. “Okay. I’ve spotted three girls from my art class, two guys I ghosted, and a literal priest costume. Where are the drinks that don’t taste like regret?”

“There are none,” you say. “We are the drinks that taste like regret.”

Jenna raises her cup like a toast. “To sinning responsibly.”

“To surviving this chaos,” you mutter, sipping again.

And across the room, under strobing lights and smoke machine haze, Jungkook leans against the wall near the DJ booth, scanning the crowd.

His eyes flick right past you.

Just a blur of black mesh, red ribbon, and glittering annoyance.

He doesn’t even register it.

But something in him shifts — like he knows he’s missing something. Or someone.

He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, lifts his drink, and watches the crowd move like waves around him.

You’re both here.

You’re both waiting.

You just don’t know it yet.

Jungkook leans against the wall like he’s not trying.

He isn’t.

He’s dressed in all black — ripped jeans, oversized button-down left open over a tank, silver chains catching just enough light to look intentional. His boots are scuffed from the bike ride over, and he hasn't even bothered to fix the strands of hair falling into his eyes.

Still, people look.

People always look.

The Pit is packed. The lights strobe like they’re malfunctioning, bodies moving in all directions, glitter and sweat and wings everywhere. The blacklight catches on teeth, neon paint, the rims of Solo cups. Music throbs like a second heartbeat, drowning out anything that sounds like common sense.

Jungkook watches it all unfold with the calm detachment of someone who’s done this a hundred times.

Which, to be fair, he has.

“Cages,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Really.”

Taehyung reappears at his side, holding two drinks and no sense of subtlety. “You say that like you’re not impressed.”

“I’m not not impressed,” Jungkook says, eyeing a girl in LED horns who’s currently being hoisted into one of the hanging cages by two frat boys in priest collars. “I’m just wondering if this place passed fire code.”

Jimin sidles up on the other side, chewing gum like a menace. “God, I love when everyone’s desperate and underdressed. The vibe tonight is filthy.”

“It’s not a vibe,” Jungkook says, deadpan. “It’s a liability.”

“You’re just mad because you haven’t been recognized by someone hot yet.”

“I literally got here three minutes ago.”

“That’s three whole minutes too long, lover boy.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling faintly.

He scans the room again, letting the visuals wash over him: angel wings, devil horns, fake blood, fake rosaries, someone with a real sword (???), a couple making out aggressively near the “Confess Here” booth. Typical Pit energy, just turned up to eleven.

His gaze passes over a trio near the drink table — glitter, halos, fishnets — then slides away again, uninterested.

Then—

No. He pauses.

Barely.

There’s a girl in black mesh, red ribbon tight around her throat. Not the type trying to be seen. Not the type posing or pouting or clinging to someone’s arm. Just… there. Head tilted. Brows drawn. Like she’s trying to make sense of the chaos.

She’s not looking at him.

He doesn’t know why he notices.

Something about the way she holds herself — casual, a little stiff. Like she showed up for the party but didn’t want to. Like she’s in it, but not of it. It’s a detail, but he’s always been good at catching those.

He’s pretty sure he’s seen her before. Class maybe? One of the early ones, back when he still showed up?

He narrows his eyes. Something tickles the back of his mind — a row of seats, a laptop screen, a girl who never once looked his way even when he was late and loud and trying not to be noticed by a professor.

He’d filed it away as nothing.

And maybe it still is.

He watches her for one more second — how she crinkles her nose at the drink in her hand, how her friend with the silver cross top yells something and throws her head back laughing.

Then someone claps a hand on his shoulder, and the moment breaks.

“Hyung,” a guy shouts over the music — some junior he’s barely talked to — “the Seven Minutes room is right there. You better hope someone sins you into the closet.”

“I’m good,” Jungkook says without missing a beat.

“You sure?” the guy winks. “Heard even the quiet girls are wild tonight.”

Taehyung lets out an ungodly laugh.

Jimin fans himself. “God, I love this place.”

Jungkook exhales slowly and glances back toward the girl in the mesh top, the one he maybe-kinda remembers from Media Studies.

She’s walking away now, swallowed by bodies and wings and fog machine haze.

And just like that, she’s gone again

SINS & SAINTS

10:47 PM — The Pit

You’re halfway through your second regrettable drink — something red and radioactive that tastes like melted cherry Jolly Ranchers and lies — when you realize:

Jenna is gone.

Not lost in the crowd gone. Not hooked up with some guy in a halo gone. Like, vanished.

You scan the sea of limbs and glitter, the swirling blacklights and wall-to-wall bass drops.

No halo. No white silk dress. No Doc Martens stomping some poor frat guy’s foot for getting handsy.

“Wait,” you say, turning to Yanni. “Where’s Jenna?”

Yanni’s still dancing, holding her drink above her head and vibing to something bass-heavy. She doesn’t hear you.

You poke her side. “Yanni. Where. Is. Jenna.”

She freezes, eyes scanning the room with the same dawning horror you’re feeling.

“Oh my god,” she says, gripping your arm. “She was just here.”

“She was literally next to us two minutes ago.”

“She does this sometimes,” Yanni says, frowning. “Remember Halloween? She disappeared for an hour and came back with a matching tattoo with a guy named Car Battery.”

“That was ONE time,” you groan. “And she still won’t tell us where the tattoo is.”

Yanni downs the rest of her drink like it’s going to give her psychic powers. “Okay, we split up. You check the front half, near the drinks. I’ll do a lap by the DJ booth. Scream if she’s in a cage.”

“Or if you end up in one,” you mutter.

She kisses your cheek and takes off, glitter trailing in her wake.

You push through the crowd, slipping past a group of devils grinding to a slowed-down Britney remix, dodging a couple who are definitely fighting and definitely still holding hands.

You pause near the drink station again, heart thumping a little harder than it should.

Still no Jenna.

Just more suspicious liquids in plastic cups and a guy pouring straight vodka into a Capri Sun.

Then—

“Y/N!”

You whip around just as Yanni reappears, hair a little more disheveled, glitter smudged under one eye like war paint.

“I found her,” she pants, grabbing your hand. “You’re not gonna believe where she is.”

“Dead in a bathtub?”

“No.”

“In a cage?”

“Worse.”

“Yanni—”

“She’s at the Seven Minutes in Heaven room.”

You blink. “You’re lying.”

“I swear on my third ex’s face tattoo.”

You let her drag you toward the back hallway — the one that’s been curtained off with red velvet and glowing like Satan’s waiting room. A line snakes down the corridor, people laughing and hollering and shoving toward a closet door guarded by two dudes in fake pope robes.

You round the corner and — yup. There’s Jenna.

Sitting on a stool like royalty, halo tilted sideways, red Solo cup in hand, absolutely thriving.

She’s laughing, clapping, cheering as two strangers stumble out of the closet, sweaty and flushed and looking either victorious or traumatized. Probably both.

You stop in your tracks. “She’s a ringmaster.”

“She’s drunk on power,” Yanni adds, mouth open.

Jenna spots you both and waves like you’re long-lost war heroes.

“MY GIRLS!!” she yells. “You made it!!”

“You left us,” you shoot back.

She shrugs like that’s a problem for another timeline. “I was recruited.”

“What does that even mean?”

“They needed a hostess! I’m very charming!”

Yanni sighs. “This is how cults start.”

Before you can pry her off the stool, someone shouts, “NEXT UP!” and the line shoves forward. A girl pulls her own roommate in by the arm, both of them shrieking as the door slams shut behind them.

You look at Jenna. “This is out of control. We’re leaving.”

“Not until you try it!”

“Absolutely not.”

Yanni laughs. “Let’s just grab her and go—”

But the line moves again, someone shoves forward, and suddenly—

Everything goes wrong at once.

Hands. Shouting. Laughter. Some guy yells, “MAKE ROOM!”

You’re trying to yank Jenna off her unofficial throne, still yelling about how this is not how a party should go, when chaos breaks loose.

Someone shoves the line. A drink spills. People are yelling. The couple in front of the closet stumbles out like they’ve just done three laps around a football field.

You try to back away — but too late.

Hands shove you forward. “Next up!”

Yanni screams, “Wait, she’s not playing!”

“I’m not playing!” you yell, too.

Doesn’t matter. The crowd’s already decided.

The closet door swings open.

You get pushed inside — completely alone.

Click.

The door slams shut behind you. Darkness swallows everything.

You stumble, trip over a shoe or someone’s forgotten dignity, and land against the back wall, trying to breathe.

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die in here. This is it. I’m gonna be found in a party closet.”

You fumble toward the doorknob, already plotting your escape—

And then the door opens again.

A warm body stumbles in, tall and solid and smelling unfairly good — like cedarwood, clean laundry, and a bad idea.

The door slams shut again.

Across the party, Jungkook is just trying to find a bathroom that doesn’t reek of four Loko and sin.

He’s halfway through a hallway that looks suspiciously off-limits when someone calls his name.

“Jeon Jungkook!”

He turns.

It’s some girl he barely knows. She’s got lipstick on her teeth and one shoe in her hand.

“Come ON,” she says, “we need more hot people for the closet game. You’ll save this party. I swear.”

He blinks. “I’m not doing that.”

“Too late!” she says, grabbing his arm with terrifying strength. “Come on, it’ll be funny! You’re hot and mysterious and your face should be illegal.”

“I’m going to sue this entire building,” Jungkook mutters, but the girl is already dragging him.

He doesn’t know why he lets her. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe it’s because this party has reached new heights of ridiculous and he needs a story to make it worth the hangover.

They reach the red curtain. The line parts.

You don’t know who you hate more — Jenna for signing a blood pact with the party demons, or the crowd for shoving you into this glorified coat coffin like it’s part of the plan.

You've been in here for maybe a minute. Two tops. But time moves differently when you’re trapped in darkness, breathing the humid remains of other people’s bad decisions.

It’s cramped. It smells like body spray and spilled White Claw. The door has no handle from the inside. And you're about to start monologuing to the ceiling when—

The door opens again.

You freeze. “Wait—”

A guy stumbles in. Tall, broad-shouldered, all dressed in black with just enough chain action to suggest this person owns at least one motorcycle and zero alarm clocks.

You recognize him in an instant — because your subconscious hates you and made sure to memorize that face like it was an exam topic.

Jeon Jungkook.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s too busy brushing off whoever just shoved him in.

“Okay, okay—Jesus. Don’t break my arm,” he mutters. Then, to the closet, “Sorry, whoever you are. I’m not here voluntarily.”

You don't say anything.

He finally glances your way.

A pause.

“…Huh.”

You cross your arms. “Not who you were expecting?”

“Not even close,” he says, like it’s a compliment and a complaint in one.

The door slams behind him. The lock clicks.

Now it’s just you. Him. Darkness. And a six-inch gap of air between you that’s slowly shrinking the longer you try not to acknowledge how small this closet actually is.

Jungkook shifts, probably trying to give you space, which is hilarious because there is none.

“Look,” you say, “I’m only in here because someone shoved me.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Cool. So neither of us is having fun.”

“Yet,” he says, too easily.

You narrow your eyes, not that he can see it. “You really think that line works on girls in closets?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”

You make a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Okay, no. You’re not allowed to be hot and full of shit.”

“Not full of shit,” he says. “Mildly irritating at most.”

“Mildly?”

He leans back against the wall. “Okay, moderately. Maybe.”

“Glad we agree.”

You try to shift your weight without brushing against him, which fails, because there’s nowhere to move. Your elbow bumps his arm. Your knee grazes his boot.

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, I’m putting you on a movement ban.”

“Excuse me?”

“You keep flailing around like that, I’m gonna get accused of starting something in here.”

“You are starting something. With your whole… vibe.”

He grins. “My vibe?”

“Yeah, the ‘mysterious party menace’ thing.”

“Didn’t realize that was my brand.”

“Oh, come on. You walk into every lecture like you’re arriving late to your own funeral.”

“You know me from lecture?”

Shit.

You freeze.

“I—” You recover, sort of. “I mean, yeah. You’re not exactly hard to notice. Motorcycle helmet? Black hoodie in May? The whole tortured poet aura?”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“No, I—shut up.”

He steps closer, just barely. His voice drops into that annoying, amused register that you suspect makes girls fall in love against their will.

“You’re flustered.”

“I’m trapped. There’s a difference.”

“Still,” he says, tone low, teasing, “you’re very talkative for someone who didn’t want to be in here.”

You suck in a breath. “I’m trying to defuse the awkward tension.”

“Well,” he says, leaning slightly closer, “you’re not doing a great job.”

You go still. “…Why?”

“Because if you don’t stop fidgeting and talking at a hundred miles an hour,” he says, voice light but just a little dangerous, “I’m gonna kiss you just to shut you up.”

Your brain whites out.

You forget how to stand.

You definitely forget how to breathe.

You make a noise that could be a laugh, or possibly a system reboot.

“…That’s rude,” you manage.

Jungkook grins. “Is it working?”

You blink at him. Slowly.

“…That’s your solution? Kissing as a silencing tactic?”

Jungkook smirks. “Efficient.”

You squint at him in the dark. “That’s assault with extra steps.”

“Only if it’s not well received.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, shoving lightly at his arm. “You’re actually worse in real life.”

He laughs, like that didn’t wound you at all. “In real life? What, you’ve imagined a better version of me somewhere else?”

You hesitate for half a second too long.

He catches it. Of course he does.

His smile shifts — not smug now, but curious. “Wait. Do I know you?”

“Nope.”

“You sure? You’re acting like you’ve had a whole character arc about me.”

“I just have good observational skills.”

“And a little crush?”

You snort. “Please. I only crush on emotionally available people.”

“Ouch.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’m not emotionally unavailable,” he says, mock offended. “I just don’t like… people.”

“That’s literally the definition.”

Jungkook moves a little closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to invade. Like someone stepping past your comfort zone just to prove they can. His voice is quiet, playful.

“Okay, but be honest — if I had kissed you, what would you have done?”

You meet his gaze in the dim light. Your heart does an actual backflip, but your mouth?

Deadpan.

“Bitten you.”

He grins, all teeth. “Kinky.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see god. “You are unbelievable.”

“I get that a lot.”

Another beat passes.

The party noise pulses outside. The door shakes once, like someone bumped into it. Neither of you move.

He tilts his head, watching you more carefully now. “So who are you, anyway?”

You blink. “What?”

“You know who I am. Everyone knows who I am, apparently. But I don’t know you.”

You shrug, trying to sound unfazed. “Just a girl in your class.”

“Which class?”

“I’m not telling you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve seen how your brain works. The second you find out, you’ll start showing up late on purpose to make an entrance.”

He grins, wide and dangerous. “So you have been watching me.”

Damn it.

“That’s not—”

“Obsessed,” he says.

“Oh my god, I’m going to strangle you with one of those dumb chains on your pants.”

“They’re not dumb. They’re functional.”

“For what, exactly? Attaching yourself to reality?”

“Wow,” he says, smiling now like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. “You’ve got jokes.”

You glance at the door. “Seven minutes better be almost up.”

“Why?” he asks, voice dipping just slightly. “You scared you’re starting to like me?”

You look back at him. “I’m scared you’re starting to like me.”

That shuts him up for half a second.

Then—

“…Touché.”

There’s a pause. You can hear your own heartbeat in the quiet.

He steps just a little closer. “Okay. Serious question.”

“Unlikely, but sure.”

“Are you always like this?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“This,” he says. “You know—snarky. Quick. Unimpressed. Kind of mean in a fun way.”

You stare at him. “Are you into being bullied?”

“I’m starting to wonder.”

The door bangs open just then, and the light hits both of your faces. You flinch at the sudden glare. Outside, someone yells, “ALRIGHT, CLOSET DWELLERS, TIMES UP!”

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

Finally, he leans a little closer and says under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear:

“You still didn’t tell me your name.”

You raise a brow.

“You didn’t earn it.”

He laughs, and it’s way too genuine. Like he didn’t expect this night to go like this at all — and somehow, that makes two of you.

As you duck out of the closet, brushing past him in the doorway, you hear him murmur:

“I’m gonna find out, you know.”

You throw a look over your shoulder, smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Good luck.”

The door flings open.

Air, light, freedom.

You stumble out like someone just dragged you back from the underworld. The world is louder now, messier. Colors sharper. Sounds distorted, like everything’s underwater and also on fire.

Your heart is still pounding. Your brain? Gone. Missing. Presumed dead. Your dignity? Filing a police report.

You turn in a daze, blinking through the chaos—and find Yanni, breathless, holding a very giggly and wine-drunk Jenna by the elbow.

“THERE you are!” Yanni yells over the music. “We thought you got kidnapped by the Pit goblins!”

Jenna cackles. “I told her you were probably in the closet making out with a stranger. I WAS RIGHT.”

You blink at them.

Open your mouth.

Immediately close it again.

Yanni frowns. “Wait. Are you okay? You look like you just got hit by a really hot bus.”

You stare at her.

Then—

“I need air. I need, like, seventeen breaths of non-sweaty air. I—do you have water? I think I forgot how to swallow. I forgot—I forgot my name.”

Yanni’s eyes go wide. “Did you actually make out with someone?! Oh my god, who was it? Was he hot? Did he have a tongue ring? Was it that guy with the fake angel wings? Please tell me he had wings.”

“I—no. No wings.”

“Okay, so not a red flag. Good start.”

You grab both of them by the arms and start dragging them away from the closet, feet moving on autopilot. “We need to go. Just—somewhere. Away. Outside. Antarctica. I don’t care.”

Jenna, still loopy from the cocktail she stole from a girl dressed as the Pope, squints at you. “You’re acting weird.”

“Something happened,” you say, voice a little unhinged. “Something catastrophic.”

Yanni gasps. “Did you black out?!”

“No, worse.”

“Did you throw up on someone?!”

“WORSE.”

Yanni pulls you down onto a sagging patio couch under a string of flickering lights. The Pit’s back deck is quieter — only a handful of people out here, laughing or making out or both.

You sit between them, trying to remember how to form human sentences.

Jenna leans her head dramatically on your shoulder. “You definitely kissed someone.”

“I didn’t.”

Yanni narrows her eyes. “You wanted to.”

“I didn’t!”

They both stare at you.

You sigh. Long. Shaky.

Then you say, very quietly, like it might summon him if you say it too loud:

“I was in the closet with Jeon Jungkook.”

.

.

.

Jenna sits up so fast she elbows you in the boob.

Yanni chokes on her drink and coughs, “I’m sorry—WHAT?”

You hold up your hands, like it’ll protect you from the emotional storm about to erupt. “It was an accident! I got pushed in first, and then some drunk idiots shoved him in after me, and then the door locked and we were just there. Together. In the dark. Breathing the same air.”

Jenna is vibrating. “YOU WERE BREATHING JEON JUNGKOOK’S AIR. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GIRLS WOULD PAY FOR THAT EXPERIENCE.”

“I didn’t ask for the experience!”

Yanni grabs your arm, shaking it. “Okay but what happened?! Tell us everything. Did you talk? Did he recognize you? Did you touch his hair? Did he touch you? Did your souls kiss?!”

You stare at her. “What the hell is a soul kiss?”

“Shut up and answer me!!”

You drag your hands down your face. “We talked. He was annoying. And hot. And annoying about being hot. He said if I didn’t stop panicking he was gonna kiss me and I think my nervous system flatlined for like ten seconds.”

Jenna screams. A real one.

Yanni grabs her cup and throws it into a bush just so she can clap. “That’s it. That’s the plot of a Netflix movie. I’m calling a casting director right now.”

“Guys, stop—”

“Did he know who you were?” Jenna asks, eyes wide.

You deflate. “No.”

Yanni freezes.

Jenna gasps like she’s watching a baby deer get hit by a truck.

“He didn’t recognize you?”

You shake your head, slumping into the couch like your spine is giving up. “Not even a little. I told him I was in his class, and he just blinked at me like I was an off-brand yogurt at the back of the fridge.”

“But—but you sit in the second row!”

“Yeah, apparently that’s not enough to pierce through the wall of apathy and leather jackets.”

Jenna is personally offended. “You’ve been thirsting over him for MONTHS.”

“Not out loud!”

“Your search history says otherwise.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

“‘Does Jeon Jungkook have a girlfriend’ is not a casual search, Y/N.”

Yanni throws an arm around your shoulder. “Okay. So. We have a situation.”

You groan. “No, we don’t. The situation is over. I will simply crawl into a hole and never speak to anyone again.”

“OR,” Yanni says, grinning, “we make him fall in love with you.”

You snort. “Hard pass.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I! The guy barely knows what day of the week it is. He didn’t even know my name, and I was two inches from his face.”

Jenna fans herself. “God, I wish I was two inches from his face.”

Yanni is already spiraling into scheming mode. “Okay but hear me out: what if this is your origin story?”

“I don’t need an origin story. I need ice and maybe a lobotomy.”

“You’re gonna end up married to him.”

“I’m gonna end up IN A STRAITJACKET.”

They both lean in at the same time, grinning like devils.

And somewhere inside you — beneath the panic and the humiliation and the complete collapse of your self-esteem — something sparks.

A very tiny, very traitorous thought:

He doesn’t know who I am yet.

But what if he wanted to?

.

.

.

No. Absolutely not. You refuse to be delusional.

But still…

You clutch your drink with both hands and whisper to yourself like a prayer:

“…I cannot go back in that closet.”

Jungkook steps out into the warm night air, the noise of the party still thrumming behind him like a heartbeat that’s had too much sugar and zero regard for consequences.

He barely gets two steps out the door before he sees movement near the gate — a blur of color, of bare shoulders and tangled hair and wild, frantic energy.

Her.

The girl from the closet.

She’s running.

Well, not running — but walking very quickly in a way that screams “I just made a horrible decision and I’m trying to disappear into the night like it never happened.”

He watches as she yanks her friends down the sidewalk, arms waving, words too far away to make out. One of them glances back at the house, laughing. The other throws her arm around the girl’s shoulder like she’s trying to keep her from disintegrating.

Jungkook can’t hear them. Can’t read their lips.

But he doesn’t need to.

He’s seen that look before.

People don’t leave parties like that unless something got to them.

And apparently… that something was him.

He watches them disappear around the corner. The wind shifts, warm and sweet and heavy with the scent of grass and spilled vodka.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, the edges of his mouth tugging up, involuntarily.

He doesn’t smile a lot.

But right now?

He’s grinning.

11:18 PM — Inside, Kitchen

He finds Jimin first, leaning against the fridge, sipping from a red cup with glitter smeared across one cheek like someone tried to make out with a rave.

Jungkook walks up, casual as hell. “Hey.”

Jimin lifts a brow. “You’re still vertical. Closet girl didn’t kill you?”

Jungkook leans on the counter beside him, eyes scanning the room lazily. “Nope. She was fun.”

Jimin grins. “Define fun.”

“Annoyed. Loud. Mean. Called me out within the first two minutes.”

“So, your type.”

Jungkook gives him a lazy look. “Do you know who she was?”

Jimin blinks. “You mean you didn’t?”

“No. She said we’re in the same class, but…” He shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly focused on academics in there.”

Jimin sips his drink, way too amused. “You’re telling me you spent seven minutes pressed up against someone and didn’t bother to ask her name?”

“I didn’t get her name. She wouldn’t give it to me.”

Jimin whistles. “Damn. Girl’s got boundaries.”

Jungkook turns his full attention to him now. “So… do you know her?”

Jimin smiles. Slow. Evil.

“Maybe.”

Jungkook straightens. “What.”

“I mean, I’ve seen her around. Could be anyone.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an answer adjacent.”

“Jimin.”

Jimin just grins wider, like this is his favorite hobby. “Why? You wanna see her again?”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is too quick, too defensive. Then: “I just—she seemed familiar.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Before Jungkook can retaliate, Taehyung appears, wearing someone else’s sunglasses and holding a plate of mini cupcakes he absolutely did not make.

Jungkook turns to him like salvation. “Tae. Please tell me you know who the girl in the closet was.”

Taehyung pauses, cupcake halfway to his mouth.

Then, slowly, he lowers it and says: “Ohhhh. You mean the girl with the smart mouth and trust issues?”

“Yes!”

“Yup. Definitely know her.”

“Who is she?!”

Taehyung smiles with all his teeth. “Can’t say.”

Jungkook stares at him.

“What do you mean you can’t say?”

“Non-disclosure agreement.”

“That’s not a real thing!”

“It is now.”

Jungkook throws his hands in the air. “Are you both insane?”

“Yes,” Jimin says, grinning.

“We’re protecting the plot,” Taehyung adds solemnly.

Jungkook blinks. “What plot?”

“The enemies-to-lovers one,” Jimin says, sipping his drink. “You’re in the first act. Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not—!” Jungkook cuts himself off, pinches the bridge of his nose, then mutters, “You guys are the worst.”

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung says cheerfully.

Jungkook turns, heading for the living room, but Jimin calls after him:

“You really gonna let a girl roast you in a closet and disappear without finding out her name?”

Jungkook doesn’t stop walking.

But he does smirk.

“Of course not.”

11:42 PM — Later, Upstairs Hallway

Jungkook leans against the wall, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. But his head isn’t in it.

He’s thinking about the sound of her voice. The way she said, “You didn’t earn it.” The way she pushed past him and didn’t look back.

He still doesn’t know her name.

But he’s starting to think he needs to.

Desperately.

You’re early. Not obnoxiously so, but early enough to get your usual seat — second row, slightly to the left. Close enough to focus, far enough to keep your laptop screen hidden when you’re secretly Googling niche references during class.

You’re wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt. Nothing fancy. Hair pulled back. Glasses on. A normal girl living a normal life, unbothered and deeply uninterested in emotionally reckless men with perfect jawlines and leather jackets. You are zen. You are healed.

...You are lying to yourself.

Your leg has been bouncing under the desk for a solid five minutes. You haven’t even opened your laptop. You’re just staring at the professor’s slides like they personally betrayed you.

And then—

The door opens.

You hear it before you see it. That faint creak of poorly oiled hinges and the collective inhale of every girl in the room.

You don’t turn around.

You don’t have to.

You know it’s him.

Because everyone in a ten-foot radius straightens like they’re about to be graded on posture. There’s a flutter of lip gloss applications. Someone actually whispers his name.

You pretend to be deeply focused on the “Media Ethics and Digital Responsibility” slide.

Jeon Jungkook walks in. On time.

The professor blinks like he’s hallucinating. “Huh. Welcome, Mr. Jeon. Look at you.”

Jungkook just nods, loose and casual, but you can feel it.

He’s different today.

He doesn’t do his usual routine — no airpods, no gum chewing, no half-lidded stroll like he’s walking into a photoshoot instead of a lecture.

No, this time… he’s scanning.

Not in a weird way. Just—calculated. Eyes moving across each row like he’s checking a list in his head. Looking for something. Someone.

Your stomach tightens.

And then—

His gaze glides right past you.

Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flicker. Nothing.

He slides into a seat a few rows back, drops his bag, and leans back like he didn’t just steamroll your entire emotional ecosystem last night.

You blink at your screen.

Wow.

Okay.

Coolcoolcoolcoolcool.

So he just… forgot you existed? Already?

You tell yourself it’s a good thing. That you’re off the hook. But still—

Your phone vibrates in your lap.

Then again. And again.

You glance down.

YANNI [9:57AM] FIND US AFTER CLASS

JENNA [9:57AM] LIKE IMMEDIATELY

YANNI [9:58AM] BIG. SHIT. IS. HAPPENING.

YANNI [9:58AM] HUGE.

JENNA [9:58AM] YOU MIGHT BE FAMOUS

You: 🙃

11:07AM — Campus Library, Third Floor (aka Gossip HQ)

You find them between the graphic novel section and the fake potted plant that hides the worst Wi-Fi signal on campus.

Yanni is pacing. Jenna is sitting on the floor with a laptop open, half a croissant in her mouth and murder in her eyes.

“FINALLY,” Yanni breathes, grabbing your wrist and yanking you down beside her.

“What is happening?” you whisper. “Did someone die?”

“YOU might,” Jenna says around a bite. “From cardiac arrest.”

You blink. “Why?”

Yanni flips her phone around.

It’s an Instagram story. Jungkook’s account. You recognize the handle from your extremely short-lived stalking phase.

The video is short. A dim hallway, flashing lights, the thump of party music in the background.

Text overlaid:

"7 minutes wasn’t long enough. If you know who she is… tell her." 👀🖤

Your heart stops.

You stare at the screen like it might explode.

“Wha—”

“He’s looking for you,” Yanni whispers, eyes wild.

“He’s trying to CROWD-SOURCE you,” Jenna adds. “LIKE A MISSING PERSON.”

You genuinely don’t know what to do with your hands. “I—I don’t even have Instagram. I didn’t see this.”

“Well, now the entire internet has,” Yanni says, scrolling through dozens of replies and reshared stories. “People are putting up theories. One girl swears it was her and her friends are backing her up.”

You feel a little sick.

“I—he doesn’t even remember me.”

“He does now.”

Before you can spiral further, a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Aha. Found you.”

You whip around.

Taehyung and Jimin are approaching, looking like they just stepped out of a K-drama fight scene. Jimin is in an oversized hoodie and glasses, sipping from a matcha latte. Taehyung is holding a leather-bound journal like it’s a prop.

“Oh my god,” Yanni whispers, straightening like she’s about to present a thesis.

Jimin nods at you. “Closet girl.”

Taehyung gasps. “I knew it!”

You slap both hands over your face. “I am going to dissolve into the carpet.”

Jimin flops down next to you. “You’re literally a phenomenon.”

“I don’t want to be a phenomenon! I want to be anonymous.”

“Too late,” Taehyung sing-songs. “He’s obsessed.”

“He’s not—”

Jimin cuts you off. “He made us look through the security footage of the Pit to try and find you.”

You blink. “There’s security footage?!”

“That’s not the point.”

Yanni claps like she’s been waiting for this all her life. “Okay, okay, okay. NEW PLAN.”

Jenna nods. “Mission: Keep Her Hidden.”

You snap your head to look at him. “Wait, what—?”

“We cannot let him find you too easily. The mystery is part of the power.” Yanni explained, a smile that was a little too enthusiastic spreading across her face.

“She’s right.” Jimin chimed in.

You blink between them all, a growing sense of terror blooming in your chest.

“I feel like I’m in a YA novel.”

Taehyung beams. “You are. And it’s about to get so much worse.”

If Jungkook knew his Instagram story would cause an actual phenomenon, he would’ve thrown his phone in the nearest sewer.

He’s seated on the edge of the fountain, legs stretched out, black boots dusted with dry grass. Sunglasses perched on his head, arms crossed, regret pouring off of him in waves.

There is a line.

A real, breathing, giggling line of girls waiting to speak to him.

“I swear,” the third one in a row says, flipping her hair, “it was me. I had this red tank top on—”

“You weren’t wearing red,” Jungkook says flatly, not even looking up.

She blinks. “You remember that?”

He sighs. “Unfortunately.”

She pouts, tosses her hair again, and walks off.

The next girl steps forward with more confidence than he’s emotionally prepared to deal with.

“Hey,” she says, batting her lashes. “So, I was totally gonna come up to you last night, but I got pulled into beer pong, and—”

“Not you either,” he says, already tired.

Behind him, Jimin is sprawled on the grass like a cat in the sun, sipping iced coffee and watching the chaos like it’s live theater.

“I don’t know, man,” he says. “Closet Girl’s starting to sound like a fever dream.”

“She was real,” Jungkook mutters.

Taehyung, perched dramatically on the fountain’s edge, hums. “This feels like a modern fairy tale. Only instead of a glass slipper, she left behind unresolved sexual tension and a mild existential crisis.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Just drags a hand down his face.

“You know,” Jimin adds, “you could just let her go. Move on. Forget it happened.”

Jungkook stares at him like he’s just suggested licking a subway pole.

“I mean it,” Jimin continues. “Is this really worth it?”

Jungkook leans back, letting the sun hit his face.

And after a pause, he says:

“…She was funny.”

Taehyung blinks. “Funny?”

“She was… sharp. Gave me shit. Told me I didn’t earn the right to flirt with her.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It was just… real.”

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look.

But before either can respond—

“Hey, Jeon.”

They all glance up.

A girl in a glittery top and too-high heels struts up like she’s approaching a casting call.

“I was wearing angel wings last night,” she purrs.

“Congratulations,” Jungkook says dryly.

“I think I’m the girl you’re looking for.”

“You’re not.”

“How would you know?”

Jungkook blinks slowly. “Because I just would.”

She scoffs and storms off, muttering something about him not being that hot anyway.

Jimin snorts. “The delusion is wild today.”

Taehyung raises his brows. “You know, you did make her a mystery. People love a good mystery.”

“I hate this mystery,” Jungkook mutters.

And then—

Taehyung straightens suddenly.

“Oh,” he says, too casually. “There she goes.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap up.

“What?!”

“She’s walking past,” Jimin adds, barely containing his grin.

Jungkook jumps to his feet, scanning the path just ahead of them.

He sees a group of students. A couple laughing. A guy with a skateboard. A girl in a floral skirt. Another in an oversized sweater.

But no one familiar.

No her.

“Where?” he demands, turning back to them.

Taehyung just shrugs, biting back a smile. “Hm. Maybe she slipped away again.”

Jimin’s grinning like the devil. “So mysterious.”

Jungkook stares at them.

And then slowly, slowly, sits back down, glaring at nothing.

“I hate you both.”

“You’re welcome,” Jimin says cheerfully.

Meanwhile — You, Just 20 Feet Away

You’re clutching a smoothie and telling Jenna that you swear to God if Yanni says the words “power move” one more time, you’re going to commit a crime.

You do not see Jungkook.

You do not see the crowd of girls.

You do not see your entire romantic fate spiraling out in a perfect storm of timing, ego, and extremely bad luck.

But you do hear Yanni’s voice crackling through your group chat ten seconds later:

YANNI [12:43PM] HE’S OUTSIDE RN. WALKING DISTANCE. I REPEAT: JEON JUNGKOOK IS WITHIN WALKING DISTANCE.

You pause. Look up.

“…The universe is playing games with me,” you mutter.

Jenna just takes your smoothie and sips like it’s none of her business. “Welcome to Act Two.”

Three Days Later – 12:19PM Campus Lawn, under the shade of an old oak tree

Yanni is dramatically slicing into her overpriced salad like it’s personally offended her.

“I swear to God,” she says, spearing a piece of lettuce, “if she doesn’t just tell him soon, I’m going to combust.”

“She doesn’t even want him to know!” Jenna laughs, peeling the wrapper off her sandwich. “She’s surviving off vibes and secondhand embarrassment.”

Across from them, lounging on the grass, Jimin snorts into his iced chai. “Honestly, mood.”

Taehyung is lying flat on his back, sunglasses on, using Jimin’s thigh as a pillow and holding his phone above his face like it’s too exhausting to lift it further.

“It’s better this way,” he hums. “Mystery. Intrigue. Emotional damage.”

Yanni points at him with her fork. “See? That’s the energy we’re all riding on.”

“I don’t know how she hasn’t just imploded,” Jenna says, sipping her drink. “She had a panic attack in the psych building bathroom yesterday because someone said Jungkook's name too loud.”

Taehyung laughs. “That could’ve been anyone.”

“No,” Yanni corrects. “She knew exactly how he said it. Deep voice. Tiny rasp. A little pouty. ‘Jungkook.’” She mimics it, exaggerated and ridiculous.

Jimin wheezes.

Taehyung props himself up on one elbow, turning to the girls with mock-serious eyes. “You guys are evil.”

“Thank you,” Yanni says, deadpan.

And then—

“You’re evil,” comes a familiar, slightly exasperated voice behind them.

All four turn.

Jeon Jungkook walks up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, black jeans, silver chain catching the sunlight.

He looks… tired.

Not in a tragic way. More like haunted by the choices that led him to this exact moment.

Taehyung lifts two fingers in a lazy peace sign. “Ah. The lover boy returns.”

Jimin just grins like Christmas came early. “How’s your army of imposters?”

Jungkook drops onto the grass with a groan. “Still growing. I got ambushed by three more girls outside the business building this morning.”

“Business building girls,” Jimin mutters. “That’s a bold demographic.”

“She said she left her earring in the closet with me,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair. “She was wearing cat ears.”

“Oh no,” Jenna whispers behind a laugh.

Yanni coughs into her drink.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them. “Do I know you two?”

“Nope,” Yanni says, biting into a cherry tomato. “Just enjoying the show.”

Jenna shrugs, fighting a grin. “Free entertainment.”

Taehyung watches them both like he’s just realized something.

Jungkook leans back on his palms, legs stretched out, expression a mix of exhaustion and suspicion. “You guys ever regret making me post that?”

Jimin doesn’t even blink. “Nope.”

“I knew this would happen,” Jungkook mutters.

“You didn’t know people would create full conspiracy boards,” Taehyung points out. “Someone literally mapped out Closet Girl’s shoe print from the party photo.”

“Don’t forget the girl who recreated the closet,” Jimin adds. “Like. Bought a closet. Filmed a fake interaction.”

“God,” Jungkook groans, scrubbing his face. “I’m an idiot.”

He exhales through his nose, still half-distracted, when—

“Well, it’s even funnier,” Jenna says, not quite under her breath, “because she doesn’t even have socials.”

Yanni chokes on her soda.

Jimin and Taehyung both freeze mid-laugh.

And Jungkook— Whips his head around so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash.

“Wait.”

Yanni slaps Jenna’s arm.

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. “You—” He points between them. “You know her?!”

Jenna blinks. “Who?”

“Closet Girl,” Jungkook says, sharp now, sitting up straighter. “You just said she doesn’t have socials—how would you know that?”

Yanni lifts her cup to her mouth, speaking through her straw. “Could’ve been anyone.”

“But it’s not,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing. “You know who it is.”

He looks at Taehyung and Jimin like they’ve personally betrayed him. “You said you didn’t know!”

Taehyung holds up his hands, unbothered. “We didn’t say that.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, already laughing. “We just didn’t say anything helpful.”

Jungkook glares. “You assholes.”

Yanni leans in, chin resting on her hand, absolutely loving this. “Why do you want to find her so bad?”

Jungkook hesitates. Just for a beat.

And then, quieter than expected, he says:

“…Because I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Taehyung blinks.

Jimin’s mouth parts a little.

Yanni and Jenna exchange a look.

“That was almost sweet,” Jenna says.

“Almost,” Yanni echoes.

Jungkook looks at them like he’s debating a crime. “Please. Just give me one clue.”

Jimin just smiles, stretching out on the grass again. “Mmm. No.”

“Not even her name?” Jungkook tries.

Taehyung grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jungkook scrubs his hands over his face. “You people are evil.”

Yanni smiles sweetly. “We’ve been over this.”

After another beat of sulking, he finally stands, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

“You’re all the worst.”

“We know,” Jimin says, cheerful as ever.

Jungkook sighs, starts walking away— And turns back around.

“If she ever asks about me—”

“She won’t,” Yanni says.

“Okay, if she does,” he presses, “can you just tell her I’m not as annoying as I seem?”

“No promises,” Jenna says.

He groans again and walks off, muttering something under his breath.

The moment he’s out of earshot, the group erupts.

“THAT,” Jimin says, sitting upright, “WAS TOO CLOSE.”

Yanni fans herself. “I panicked, okay?! I didn’t mean to say it—he just appeared.”

“You almost ruined the whole thing!” Taehyung says gleefully. “But also… he’s losing his mind.”

“And she has no idea,” Jenna adds, grinning.

Jimin leans back with a content sigh. “This is better than television.”

Same Day — 4:42 PM Campus Library — Second Floor

The study area is quieter than usual, with just the occasional cough, a rogue phone vibration, or someone smacking their space bar like it owes them money.

You, Yanni, and Jenna are huddled around your usual table — highlighters scattered, tabs open, coffees half-melted. It’s productive chaos. Or it was, until Jenna froze mid-sentence.

“...Don’t look now,” she says, voice already breathless with suppressed panic, “but Jungkook and his friends just walked in.”

Your soul immediately ejects from your body.

“WHERE—”

“Don’t look,” Yanni hisses, stabbing her pen in warning. “You’ll give us away.”

You stare down at your laptop like you’re trying to astral project into it.

Footsteps shuffle closer, closer—

And then.

They sit at the table directly behind you.

Your chair is now back-to-back with Jungkook’s. There is a shared inch of air between you. You can feel the heat off his stupid, beautiful, back-in-black hoodie.

Jenna mouths OH MY GOD. Yanni is gripping her iced latte like she’s about to squeeze it into mist.

Across from Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung sit — and the moment they spot Yanni and Jenna?

They grin. Smug. Pleased. Silent little devils. Not a word — not a wave — just the occasional flicker of laughter and shared glances while you sit there about to spontaneously combust.

“I swear to god,” Jungkook says behind you, low and miserable, “if one more girl corners me between classes and asks if I like strawberry lip gloss, I’m dropping out.”

“She had a presentation,” Jimin offers. “She brought visual aids.”

“She brought a poster board,” Jungkook groans. “With a QR code to her TikTok.”

“Impressive,” Taehyung hums.

Jungkook thumps his head gently on the table. “I just wanted to meet her. One girl. Now I can’t go to class without hearing someone yell ‘closet king’ at me.”

Yanni chokes into her drink.

You’re doing breathing exercises you learned in a freshman wellness seminar. They are not working.

“I hate all of you,” Jungkook mutters. “You said you’d help.”

“I did help,” Jimin says, like it’s obvious.

“You gave me nothing.”

“False,” Taehyung says, adjusting his sunglasses indoors like a menace. “We gave you... ✨context✨.”

Jungkook scoffs. “No. You gave me trauma.”

There’s a pause. Then, Jimin goes, “Fine. Want another clue?”

You tense so hard your back pops.

Jenna grabs your thigh under the table. Yanni is vibrating. Everyone is vibrating.

“Yes. Something real this time.”

“...She has elbows.”

There’s a pause.

A very long one.

“She has what?” Jungkook asks, flat.

“Elbows,” Taehyung says innocently.

You almost die.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says slowly, like he's speaking to a small child, “everyone has elbows.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung nods. “She fits right in.”

Jimin is snorting into his hoodie sleeve.

You, meanwhile, are clamping your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

“Is this a joke to you?” Jungkook asks, exasperated. “Do you want me to suffer?”

“I’m not lying,” Taehyung says, clearly delighted. “She definitely had elbows. Two, even.”

“Wow,” Jungkook deadpans. “A girl with two elbows. I’ll just walk around campus asking people to show me their joints.”

Jimin shrugs. “Could work.”

Your hand is cramping from clutching your pencil so tightly. Yanni is in physical pain from holding in her laughter. Jenna scribbles onto her piece of paper, turning it to you.

THEY SAID ELBOWS. I’M LOSING IT.

Jungkook groans behind you, slumping so hard in his chair you feel it through the back of yours. “I’m going insane. I’m actually insane. This is what insanity feels like.”

“And yet,” Taehyung says, completely deadpan, “she walks among us.”

Jimin sips his drink with a smirk. “Right under your nose.”

Behind your screen, you scream silently. Jenna writes out another message:

RIGHT UNDER HIS NOSE. THEY’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE.

You’re certain of two things:

You will never emotionally recover from this.

Jungkook is going to need a therapist when he finally figures it out.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t even turn around.

Not once. He gets up after ten minutes, mumbles something about “going to get gum,” and walks off—shoulders tense, head down, frustration rolling off him in waves.

The second he’s gone, your table explodes.

“I CAN’T,” Jenna whispers, doubled over.

“ELBOWS?!” Yanni wheezes. “HE’S GOING TO BE HAUNTED BY ELBOWS NOW.”

You drop your face into your arms. “If he finds out it was me, I’m changing schools.”

Jenna wipes a tear from her eye. “You’ll be a myth. A cryptid. A legend with joints.”

Taehyung and Jimin? Still sitting there. Still smirking. Still saying nothing.

Later That Night, Jungkook’s Dorm

“I’m not giving up,” Jungkook mutters, scrolling through his DMs.

“What are you even looking for?” Jimin asks from the other bed.

“Someone with elbows,” Jungkook mutters.

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Okay, yeah,” Jimin says, nodding. “You’re fully broken.”

[euno11a]

feel like I’ve been dead for the last year

anyways, new fic coming soon

[euno11a]

Hellooo ! how are you? Hope you’re doing great ! Just wanted to ask you what happened to baby girl pt 2 I remember reading part 1 and it was so good! 🤩🤩

UGHHHHHHHHH

so I have pt 2 in the works, I just haven’t had time to get it out😭😭😭 I’m planning on getting it out soon and then maybe staring another thing👀

[euno11a]

im not sure if you're still doing stuff for the Saja boys, but the brain juices are flowing... 👀

What abt a Jinu x Reader where Reader is a dark romance girly? HEAR ME OUT! ✋️🙂‍↕️🤚

Im talking Reader just loves dark romance. Haunting Adeline, Your Soul to Take, Lights Out-... I think you get the idea.

And she's just OBSESSED with Jinu's demon form. She won't say it, but it's obvious. The gold eyes... the fangs... She's just obsessed, that's really all there is to it.

Oh and don't get her started on Idol... (can you blame her? It's PEAK 😭🙏)

Reader's fav lyrics are "I'm the only one who'll love your sins" but you didn't hear it from me!

"You look like you could just... I don’t know—devour me"

The warm, cozy scent of garlic and spices filled the air as you sat at the kitchen counter, watching Jinu work effortlessly in front of the stove. His movements were smooth, confident, like he had done this a thousand times before—despite the fact you knew he didn’t cook all that often. Still, tonight was different. He’d insisted on making dinner for the two of you, and you were content just to watch him work.

Except, you found yourself... staring at him more than the food.

The way the light caught in his dark hair, the quiet confidence in his every action, the easy sway of his hips as he moved around the kitchen—all of it had you completely mesmerized. It wasn’t even the food you were focused on at this point; it was him. The faint gleam of his gold eyes catching the kitchen light. The way his sleeves were slightly rolled up, revealing a glimpse of toned forearms.

You let out a soft sigh, resting your chin in your hand, completely lost in your thoughts about him.

Jinu, who had been stirring something in the pot, glanced over his shoulder. “What’s with the stare, Y/N?” His voice was casual, but you could hear the amusement there, as though he knew you were watching him.

You blinked and immediately looked away, a bit flustered. “N-Nothing,” you said quickly, feigning innocence and trying to keep your gaze from drifting back to him.

Jinu, however, wasn’t fooled. He chuckled softly and turned to face you completely, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re staring at me like I’m some kind of mysterious creature.”

You bit your lip, trying to act casual, but honestly? You couldn't stop your eyes from lingering on him, especially now that you could feel that familiar warmth settling in your chest, the kind you always felt when he was close.

“No, really, it’s nothing,” you said, looking down at your hands to avoid his gaze.

Jinu’s grin widened, knowing exactly what was going on. "Mm-hmm." He shook his head with a little sigh, and then, as if on cue, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

You heard the soft rustle of fabric, and when you looked up, Jinu had already shifted—just a little—into his demon form.

The change was subtle at first, but the moment his golden eyes locked with yours, you could feel it. His pupils were slitted, like a predator's, and the dark aura around him seemed to intensify in the small kitchen. His fangs poked out from between his lips, sharp and unmistakably dangerous, yet utterly beautiful to you. You felt your heart rate pick up, your breath catching in your throat.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, your eyes practically sparkling as you stared at him.

Jinu leaned against the counter casually, his golden eyes glowing in the soft light of the room. He could see the effect he had on you, and he wasn’t sure whether he should tease you or just let you have your moment. But when he saw you literally pouting at him, with that adoration written all over your face, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Is this what you were staring at?” He asked, his voice low, smooth, almost playful. “You know, I could’ve just finished making dinner, but I figured you’d rather see me like this.”

You couldn’t even hide it. You were totally fangirling.

“I—I can’t help it, Jinu!” You exclaimed, your hands clutching the edge of the counter for support. “You look so good like this! The gold eyes, the fangs... it’s like you’re a whole new person—and you look even better than before!”

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the attention, even if he tried to play it cool. “Better than before, huh? I must really be that good looking, huh?”

You practically glowed as you nodded enthusiastically. “You know it! I mean—look at you! You’re... you’re perfect. You look so dangerous, but also so... hot.”

Jinu smirked, pleased with the compliment. “Well, you certainly seem to love it.” He pushed off the counter and stepped closer to you, the air between you two thick with that simmering tension you always felt when he shifted. “But tell me—do you love this form? Or do you just love the fact that it’s me?”

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. “I love everything about you, Jinu. But this... this is a whole other level. You look like you could just... I don’t know—devour me,” you said, your voice dripping with an almost teasing tone.

His smirk deepened, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. “You want me to devour you, Y/N?” he asked, his voice smooth and low, the teasing edge now clearly visible.

The air seemed to crackle with the promise of something dangerous, and you knew he was playing along—enjoying how much you admired him. It made you feel... wanted. Needed.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” you said, your voice quiet but full of longing. “I think I’d like it... a lot.”

Jinu chuckled, and for a moment, you thought he might lean in—close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. But instead, he stepped back, putting his hands on his hips with a self-satisfied grin. “You’re lucky I’m making dinner, or you’d be in trouble right now.”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “You're making me wait for food, and now you tease me like this? That’s cruel.”

He just gave you a wink. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Can’t handle a little heat in the kitchen?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the wide grin that spread across your face. “I think I can handle you... and your demon form, Jinu. Just don't make me wait too long, okay? Because now... I’m really hungry.”

His golden eyes softened, and the playful edge to his smile faded slightly. “Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel. I’m making your favorite.”

You felt your heart flutter at that, the warmth of his care and attention hitting you right where it mattered. “You always know how to make me smile.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “You keep staring at me, though, and I might just get distracted and burn the food.”

You grinned even wider, watching him carefully, the sight of his demon form still making your heart race. “Wouldn't be the worst thing that happened today... as long as you’re the one making it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your lingering gaze. “Guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you then.”

And with that, he turned back to finish dinner, the glow of his demon form a constant reminder of how much you were drawn to him—all of him.

[euno11a]

Omg thank you so much for giving us Saja boys content!!! The way you write them makes my heart swoon🩷 can you write how the Saja boys would take care of a sick reader? 🥲

"I Can't Go Out *cough cough* I'm Sick..." w/ Saja Boys a/n: mean girls reference anyone?

Jinu

You woke up to the faint sound of the door clicking open. Your head was pounding, your throat sore, and your body felt like it was made of lead. You groaned and tried to sit up, only for the dizziness to hit you again, forcing you to slump back against the pillows.

A few seconds later, you heard Jinu’s familiar voice.

"Well, well, look who's awake." He said it lightly, as if this was just another casual visit. You blinked up at him, seeing him standing by your bedside with a cup of tea and a small bowl of soup, wearing that usual playful, confident grin of his.

You tried to muster up a smile, but your energy was too low. “Jinu, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck...”

He raised an eyebrow, not even a hint of surprise. “Ah, you look like it too,” he teased, placing the soup on the nightstand with a flourish. "But hey, that’s why I'm here. To save you from your suffering. No big deal."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thanks, hero."

Jinu sat down on the edge of the bed, looking you over with a mix of affection and nonchalance. “Don't mention it. You can’t expect me to leave you hanging when you look this miserable. Plus,” he added with a smirk, “I think you need me to take care of you. I’m the only one who can handle all of this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? The only one?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Obviously. You want me to prove it?”

You rolled your eyes again, but the exhaustion in your body made it hard to keep up with his teasing. “You’re impossible,” you mumbled.

Jinu’s grin softened slightly as he reached for the cup of tea and gently lifted it to your lips. “Drink this. It’ll help with the headache. You’re lucky I made it extra strong. I’m a good caretaker, don’t you think?”

You took a sip, and while it was too hot at first, you felt the warmth spreading through you. “I guess I’ll give you credit. This doesn’t suck.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said with a wink. “Don’t get used to me being this nice though. I’m a busy guy, you know?”

You chuckled softly, your eyelids growing heavy again. You couldn’t help but feel comforted by the ease in his voice, the way he was so calm and nonchalant about caring for you.

Before you could fall asleep again, you heard his voice once more, this time softer, more genuine.

“Get some rest, alright? I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

And just like that, you closed your eyes, feeling comforted by the quiet presence of Jinu, the one who always knew how to make everything feel just a little bit better without needing to be overly dramatic about it.

Abby

You woke up to an overwhelming presence beside your bed. A soft, persistent weight on the side of your mattress made you crack an eye open, and there he was—Abby, practically looming over you, his face filled with exaggerated concern.

"Look who finally decided to wake up," he said, trying—and failing—to hide the relief in his voice. “I swear, I thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

You groaned, your voice hoarse from the fever. "Ugh... Abby, I feel like crap."

"Yeah, no kidding." He immediately started adjusting the pillows behind you, trying to make you sit up more comfortably with all the carefulness of a person who was way too invested in making sure you were okay. “Of course you do. You’ve been out for hours, but don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control. Soup, tea, meds. You name it, I’ve got it.”

You blinked at him, still trying to adjust to your surroundings. “You... really went all out, huh?”

Abby grinned like it was no big deal. “Of course. I’m basically the best at this.” He patted his chest dramatically, striking a mock heroic pose. “I’m the caretaker you need right now. I don’t even know why anyone else would bother trying to step up. It’s all me, baby.”

You couldn’t help but laugh weakly at his antics. “So modest.”

“Well, someone has to be the humble one around here, right?” He gave you a wink, then gestured to the tray of food and medicine. “I made you a special chicken soup—only the best for you. And this tea,” he picked up a cup with a proud look on his face, “I brewed it myself. Don’t even think about getting out of bed unless you drink it. I’m not taking any chances with you catching something worse.”

You chuckled despite yourself, lifting the cup to your lips. "How long have you been sitting there watching me sleep?"

Abby waved off the question like it was no big deal. "Long enough to make sure you didn’t do something silly like try to get up and walk around on your own."

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a half-smile. “I’m not that helpless.”

“Uh, sure, you’re not," Abby replied with a dramatic eye-roll. "But I know how you get when you're sick. I couldn’t leave you to deal with it alone. Not when I could be here... being amazing."

You looked at him, not sure if you should laugh or sigh. “You really don’t have to do all this, Abby. I can—”

“Nope,” he cut you off, wagging a finger in front of your face. “You’re gonna rest and let me do my thing, okay? Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” He made a big show of adjusting the pillows again and fluffing the blanket around you. “Now, drink up, and no arguing.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue, and honestly, his over-the-top enthusiasm was kind of comforting in its own way. With a soft smile, you nodded and took another sip of the tea.

“There you go,” he said, his expression softening a little. “Now, if you need anything else, just let me know. I’m here. 100% in charge.”

You smiled at him, despite yourself. “Thanks, Abby. I guess you’re pretty great at this after all.”

He puffed his chest out, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Told you.”

Mystery

You woke up in the middle of the night, a cold shiver running down your spine. The room was dark and quiet, save for the sound of your breathing and the occasional shuffle of sheets. Your head throbbed, and the ache in your throat made it difficult to swallow.

Suddenly, you felt something shift beside you. A soft glow from a dim lamp illuminated Mystery’s face, his expression calm but concerned. He was sitting next to your bed, not making a sound, just watching over you like some sort of guardian angel.

"Y/N," his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make your heart feel lighter. "You’re awake.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes closing again from the overwhelming exhaustion. But before you could rest, you felt a hand on your forehead, a cool, calming touch. It was comforting, but you still flinched slightly from the chill.

"Shh," Mystery said, his hand lingering for a moment longer. "You're burning up. I’ll get you some water."

Without another word, he quietly rose from the chair beside your bed, his movements smooth and deliberate. You watched him go, a strange warmth settling in your chest. He wasn’t the type to be overly expressive, but when it came to you, he was gentle and careful, as if he was trying to protect you in the most subtle way possible.

When he returned, Mystery handed you a glass of water and helped you sit up a little to drink it. He didn’t say anything as he held the glass steady, his eyes fixed on you with such intensity that it made your heart flutter despite your sickness.

“Thank you, Mystery,” you murmured, your voice hoarse.

His expression softened ever so slightly. “Rest,” he said simply. “I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

You didn’t even have to say anything. His calm presence was enough to soothe you back to sleep, knowing that he was there.

Romance

It was late, and you felt miserable. The fever had come on so quickly that you could barely focus, but you managed to crawl into bed. You pulled the blankets up to your chin, hoping the warmth would help, but the shivers wouldn’t stop.

And then, as if on cue, the door to your room opened, and Romance walked in, a teasing grin on his face. “What, Y/N? You think you can get sick without my help? I’m hurt.” His voice was light, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes as he approached.

“Romance, you’re... you're too much right now,” you groaned, barely able to lift your head.

“Shhh, don't talk, baby. I’ve got you,” he said in a playful, yet soothing tone. He grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table and gently held it to your lips. "Here, drink this. I don’t want you passing out on me."

You tried to protest, but Romance just smiled at you with that cocky confidence you were so used to. "You know I’ve got skills, right? I’m practically a nurse. The best nurse."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile at his antics. “Really?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, his grin widening. "I’m here to take care of you, baby. And when you’re all better, I’m taking you out for ice cream, okay?”

His words made your heart flutter, even in the middle of your fever. "That sounds... really nice," you whispered, feeling comforted by his constant teasing, despite your condition.

“Of course it does,” he winked. “Now, close your eyes and rest. I’m not going anywhere until you’re better. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, feeling your body relax as he stayed by your side, his presence a soothing balm for your discomfort.

Baby

You felt like you were in a haze when you woke up. Your whole body ached, and your head was spinning. You groaned softly, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

And then, just as you thought you might fall back to sleep, you heard a voice. Baby’s voice, full of concern but also that cheery, sunny energy you loved.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, you awake? You feeling okay, baby?”

You opened your eyes to see Baby standing beside your bed, holding a cup of something warm and comforting. He had that bright, boyish smile on his face, though it was tinged with worry.

“Ugh... not really,” you muttered, your voice thick with exhaustion.

“Aw, baby, I’m so sorry you’re feeling sick,” he said, his tone soft and full of sympathy. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently handed you the cup. “I made you some tea! It’s gonna make you feel better, I promise.”

You tried to sit up, but Baby was already there, propping you up with pillows so you could drink comfortably. He stayed close, watching you sip the tea, his face softening with every little sigh of relief you gave.

“Feel better?” he asked quietly, his fingers lightly brushing your hair back from your face.

You nodded, closing your eyes. “Yeah. Thanks, Baby. You’re too sweet.”

He beamed. “Anything for you, baby. Don’t worry about anything right now—just focus on getting better. I’m here.”

As you lay back, Baby stayed right by your side, his warm, caring presence making you feel like everything would be okay. His gentle voice and smile were the perfect remedy for the sickness you were fighting.

[euno11a]

im begging you.. PLEASE GIVE US LOSER JINU

I see way to many people making him wayy to confident. That man is a LOSER !!! I'd honestly love to see him just get flustered by the reader brushing hands with him or just PDA in general.

You'd be doing me a service with loser Jinu 🫡🫡

"But...I'm your loser,,,right?" w/ Jinu

Jinu was a mess. He was always a mess, but today—today was something else. He’d been trying his best to keep it together. He really had. But there was only so much one man could do when faced with you.

You had that way about you—effortless, calm, and cool while Jinu could barely string a sentence together without his face turning twenty shades of red. To top it off, the two of you had been hanging out more recently, just as friends at first, but now? Well, the lines between friendship and something more were becoming increasingly blurry.

Today had been a practice session, full of tight routines and exhausting moves. Everyone had already filtered out of the practice room, leaving only you and Jinu in the quiet aftermath. You were sitting on the floor, wiping sweat from your brow as Jinu stretched his legs out beside you. He couldn’t help but steal glances at you, trying his best to act normal. You hadn’t noticed, or maybe you were pretending not to. Either way, Jinu was doing his best to keep the nervous energy in check.

Until you did it.

You brushed your hand lightly against his.

It was barely a touch. Barely even a brush, but it felt like everything to Jinu. His body went rigid, his thoughts froze, and all he could think was, What was that? What just happened?

His heart started to race. His face? Completely flushed. He pulled his hand away almost immediately, as though it was on fire.

No. No, that was nothing. It wasn’t a big deal.

But it was a big deal, and Jinu couldn’t stop himself from internally combusting at the thought of it.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t even seemed to notice. You were casually talking about something—probably some random subject, but Jinu couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the fact that his skin was still tingling where you’d touched him. Every single nerve was on high alert, and all he could do was stare at the floor, trying to keep his face from resembling a tomato.

But then you did it again.

"Hey, you feeling alright?" you asked, leaning a little closer, your shoulder brushing against his. He froze again, his pulse quickening as you lightly bumped his arm.

"Y-Yeah, totally," he stammered, his voice cracking at the last word. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to play it cool, but there was no way to mask the panic in his expression. “I’m just... uh, you know, tired. We worked hard today.”

You tilted your head, still close enough that he could feel your breath on his skin. He could hardly think straight with you so close. "Mmhm, well, you don’t look tired. You look more like you’re... avoiding something."

"Wh-What?" Jinu blinked, still trying to make sense of his own feelings. Avoiding? Was he? Was he avoiding... you? How could he even think about avoiding you when he was so in his head right now?

"You’re acting strange," you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully. "Did I do something?"

“Wha—what?” Jinu quickly turned his head to look at you, his mind scrambling to keep up with the conversation. “No, no! You didn’t—uh, I mean... you’re fine. You’re perfect. I’m just—uh, you know... a little distracted.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Distracted by what? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

"I—" Jinu cut himself off, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He was panicking now. You couldn’t possibly know that he was the one acting like a fool, right? You couldn't know that his hands were shaking because you just brushed against him.

His face was burning now, a deep crimson that he couldn’t hide. He tried to stand up, hoping the motion would give him something to do other than stare at you like an absolute mess.

“Are you okay? You’re looking a little... off,” you said, your voice gentle but filled with genuine concern.

Jinu turned his back to you, trying to gather himself. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Really. Just... just give me a second, alright?”

He took a few deep breaths, willing his heart to stop thumping in his chest, but it was no use. He felt like he was losing it.

She’s too close. You’re so close to her, Jinu. Just breathe.

But before he could regain any sort of control, he felt something. A light, almost playful touch on his shoulder.

“Jinu,” you said quietly, and just the sound of his name from your lips made his stomach flip. "Hey, don’t run off on me now. Talk to me. What’s going on?"

He slowly turned around, his hand instinctively brushing against his face, trying to hide the obvious signs of fluster. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words came out in a tumble. "I-I’m not running off! I just... need a second! I’m just tired, alright?"

You blinked, and then your expression softened. “You’re acting like I broke you, Jinu. It’s just a touch. It’s no big deal.”

He stared at you, his lips parted, trying to figure out what to say. The way you said that—so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world—made his heart beat even harder.

It wasn’t just a touch. Not to him.

To Jinu, it felt like the world had shifted. Like his heart had made a wild leap into a new space he wasn’t prepared for. You were so close to him, your fingers still grazing the edge of his sleeve, and the thought of you being even closer sent him into a spiral of nervous energy.

Jinu couldn’t stop it anymore. His nerves were taking over, his face flushed as he tried to avoid meeting your eyes. "I... I’m just not good at this," he admitted in a small, almost embarrassed voice. “I’m not good at... you know... being close to people. I’m not good at... touching.”

Your gaze softened, a little smile curling at the edges of your lips. “Oh, Jinu,” you murmured, stepping closer again. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be good at it. You just need to be with me.”

“B-Be with you?” His voice cracked, and he could hear the unmistakable tremor of nerves in it.

You gently cupped his face with your hand, your touch light but undeniably tender. “Yeah. You don’t have to be perfect at it. I just want to be close to you. Is that alright?”

Jinu’s world stopped for a second.

You, touching him—his face, his arms, his heart—without even realizing the effect you were having on him. It was as if his brain had short-circuited. His hands were shaking, his breath coming out in uneven bursts as you held him so carefully, so gently.

And that was it. That was the moment.

He broke. All of his usual confidence? Gone. The cool, charming Jinu he was supposed to be? Completely vanished.

With a sheepish grin, his voice came out in a stammer. “I’m... I’m really bad at this,” he mumbled. “You’ve gotta stop making me... feel things.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a loser, Jinu.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he met your gaze—flustered, confused, but in a way that made him feel a little lighter. “Yeah... I know. But I’m your loser, right?”

You smiled back, and that was all it took.

“Yeah, Jinu. You’re my loser.”

[euno11a]

gosh knowing Baby irl would be so annoying for me because I was raised by a southern woman, and I use "baby" as a casual pet name all the damn time lol. he'd probably get flustered hearing his name spoken with such tenderness and affection tho

a/n: sooooo I don't really know if this was a request, but I absolutely LOVED this idea, so i went all out

It was a typical afternoon in the practice room—loud, chaotic, and filled with the relentless hum of rehearsals. Baby was leaning against the wall, casually watching the team work through the new choreography. His mind, however, wasn’t entirely focused on the moves. No, he was too distracted by you.

You’d been a part of the team for a few months now, a southern soloist with an unmistakable charm. You were fierce when you needed to be, but your kindness and the warmth in your smile was what really caught Baby’s attention. Not to mention, the way you said “baby” all the time—especially when you spoke to him.

It was always with such tenderness, a soft twang to the way you said his name, that made his heart race and his thoughts go fuzzy. You’d call him over during rehearsals, and every time it happened, Baby felt his face heat up, his cool persona slipping for just a second.

“Baby,” you called from across the room, your voice light and airy, yet there was that southern sweetness in it. "Can you pass me those water bottles, baby?"

His gaze snapped to you immediately. He was already feeling that familiar heat in his cheeks.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, trying to act casual, but his voice cracked just a little. He walked over to where you were, passing the bottles over, and for some reason, he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled at him.

"Thank you, baby," you said, your voice lilting with a drawl that made his heart stutter. It was like you were saying it just for him—no one else, just Baby.

He turned his back quickly, pretending to look for something on the counter, but he couldn’t escape the warmth spreading through his chest. It felt like you were sending little sparks through his system, lighting him up in the best way.

"Y’know, you really need to stop calling me that," Baby muttered, his voice quieter than he intended, though it didn’t come out nearly as serious as he’d hoped.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a playful grin. “Why? You don’t like it, baby?”

Baby nearly tripped over his own feet at the way you dragged out the “baby,” like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a nickname you used for everyone, but when it came from you, he couldn’t help but feel a little weak in the knees.

“It’s not that I—” Baby cleared his throat, trying to look unaffected. "I just... It’s too... sweet." His voice softened as he spoke the last word, unable to hide the way it made him feel.

You smiled knowingly, stepping a little closer. “Oh, baby, you just don’t know how to handle a little southern charm, do ya?”

Baby’s face flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I can handle charm just fine,” he said, his grin coming back a little too quickly. “But you’re, uh... giving me too much of it.”

“I can’t help it if I’m just naturally sweet,” you teased, your southern accent practically dripping from the words. You took a step forward, leaning just enough so that your shoulder brushed against his.

Baby’s heart raced. He could feel the heat rising in his chest again. Why does she have to do this to me? he thought, trying desperately to maintain his composure, but he was struggling. The gentle way you called him "baby" in that accent was enough to make him feel like his legs were about to give out.

“You’re making me all flustered,” Baby admitted, his voice a little quieter than usual. “You can’t keep doing that to me, you know.”

You flashed a soft, innocent smile, but there was that playful gleam in your eyes that made Baby’s breath catch. “What, baby?” you asked innocently, tilting your head slightly. “I’m just talkin’ to ya.”

“Oh, I know what you’re doing,” he muttered under his breath, his mind racing to keep his cool. But his heart? It was thudding in his chest like it was trying to escape.

Later that day, Baby was trying his best to avoid the situation. He wasn’t used to feeling so... flustered. So out of his depth. But somehow, every time you said “baby” like that, it sent him spiraling.

He was in the practice room, trying to focus on some dance moves, when he heard your voice call out again.

“Hey, baby! Can you show me that move again?”

Baby stopped mid-step, staring at the mirror. He could see his own reflection, and his flushed face didn’t exactly scream “cool guy.” He groaned inwardly. Why does she have to say it like that?

When he turned around, you were already walking toward him, your steps light and carefree. There was that smile again, the one that seemed to disarm him without effort.

You gave him a little nudge with your shoulder as you approached. “C’mon now, baby. You can’t leave me hangin’ like this.” You gave him a wink, a casual yet teasing gesture that made his stomach flip.

Baby scratched the back of his neck again, trying to keep himself from turning into a puddle. “It’s... it’s just a move. You don’t gotta call me ‘baby’ every time you want something from me.”

“Oh, I’m not callin’ ya baby just to get things from you,” you teased, walking around him to get a better view of the moves. “I just like the way it sounds when I say it.”

“W-What’s so great about the way it sounds?” Baby stammered, his voice cracking again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to melt or laugh at how much you were throwing him off.

“Well, sugar, it’s ‘cause I say it with love.” You leaned in a little closer, giving him an exaggerated wink. “You’re a sweet one, Baby. I can tell.”

Now Baby was blushing so hard he felt like he might burst into flames. “I—stop—okay, I get it!” He raised his hands defensively, trying to act tough, but the flustered look on his face betrayed him. “You don’t gotta be so... so... affectionate!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound like a warm breeze on a summer day. “Oh, but you’re so cute when you get all flustered, Baby. How could I not call you that?”

And just like that, Baby’s defenses were gone. He tried to laugh it off, but there was no hiding how flustered he was now. You had completely knocked him off his game.

“Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel things, huh?” he said with a half-smile, trying to regain some composure. “But... if you keep calling me that, I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

You leaned in, your voice dropping a little lower and softer. “Well, baby, maybe that’s the plan. I like seein’ you all flustered.”

Baby let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, trying to keep his cool, though it was clear you’d won this round.

“Well, maybe I’m just too much for ya, baby,” you teased, poking his chest lightly. "But that’s okay. I’ll take it slow with you."

That’s when Baby realized it. No matter how many times you called him “baby,” no matter how sweetly or tenderly you said it, he was completely hooked. The way you said it with such affection and warmth—it wasn’t just a name. It was a feeling.

And for the first time, Baby found himself wishing that you would never stop calling him that.

[euno11a]

Hii im not really good at English tho i would like to request a Baby Saja hc where he's interested in a curvy kpop star cuz curvy girls need love too !! (you can make her a soloist or a member in a girl group) He would try to court her by showing off his rappin skill, strength,..nonchalantly for a long time until they actually hit it off which shocked everyone since they didnt think Baby can actually bag a tall baddie 😭 the rest can be up to you disiaojdbsj im literally kicking my feet just thinking of this storyline. No rush ofc !! Hope you have a great day and good morning, afternoon, evening and night to you 🥹💕

"She's Looking, Act Cool!" w/ Baby Saja

The studio was bustling as usual—idols running around, choreographers shouting instructions, and the hum of excited energy all around. But Baby? He was doing his best to act cool. He had perfected the art of pretending he wasn’t completely nervous every time Y/n walked past.

Baby leaned against the wall of the practice room, arms crossed as he casually watched her from a distance. She was in the middle of a dance rehearsal, her movements smooth and powerful, her confidence radiating with every step. There was a certain ease in the way she moved, a grace that made Baby’s heart flutter in ways he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

“You’re staring again,” Mystery’s voice cut through his thoughts, his usual monotone voice laced with the slightest edge of amusement.

Baby immediately straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “What? Nah, I’m just—uh, observing, you know? Studying... her choreography.”

Mystery raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Mm-hmm. Sure. You don’t have that look in your eyes right now.”

“What look?” Baby shot back, but his grin was a little too wide. “You’re crazy. I’m cool. Always cool.”

Mystery rolled his eyes and went back to his phone, but Baby could see the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yo, Baby,” Romance called out, leaning against the doorframe. “You really need to stop pretending you’re not into her.”

Baby froze for a moment, his gaze flicking to Romance. “What are you talking about?” he asked too quickly, the slight crack in his voice betraying him.

Romance smirked. “I’m talking about Y/n. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re way too into her. You keep acting like you’re not, but we all see it.”

“I’m not—” Baby started, but the words died in his throat when he saw Y/n smile at something one of the other dancers said. That smile. That smile. It made his heart do an involuntary flip.

Romance raised an eyebrow. “See? You’re hopeless, man. Go talk to her.”

“I’m just—” Baby stammered, trying to maintain his composure. “I’m keeping it cool. Don’t need to rush anything.”

“Oh, please. You’re about as smooth as a brick,” Romance said, laughing under his breath. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Baby shot him a playful glare but couldn’t stop the flush of heat creeping up his neck. Romance wasn’t wrong, though. The more he tried to act like it was no big deal, the more it was a big deal.

It was two weeks later when the first real conversation between Baby and Y/n happened. He had been biding his time, playing it cool, keeping up his rapping during practices, throwing her the occasional smirk or wink—but he hadn’t actually talked to her much outside of brief hellos or casual comments.

Today, though, she had approached him.

“Hey,” Y/n’s voice was calm, her eyes meeting his with a kind of quiet intensity. She had always seemed confident, but there was something softer now, something... open.

“Oh, hey!” Baby said, his tone a little too enthusiastic. He cleared his throat, trying to act like he was totally chill, even though his heart was thudding in his chest. “What’s up?”

Y/n smiled, her lips curving just a little. “I heard you rap, you know? You’re pretty good.”

Baby’s eyes widened, but he quickly recovered. “Pfft, yeah, you know, just messing around. I’m always rapping, never stop. Gotta keep the cool factor intact.”

She laughed, and it made his chest feel lighter, but also like a weight had settled there. “You’re so humble,” she teased, leaning against the practice room wall next to him. “But seriously, I’ve been meaning to ask... could you show me some moves sometime?”

Baby’s mind went blank. Show her moves? Did she want him to teach her something, or was this just... her way of flirting?

“I—I mean, I guess I could show you a few tricks,” he said, trying to sound casual, though his voice was shaky. “It’s nothing special, though. You might get too impressed.”

Y/n grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

The next few weeks were full of small moments like that. Baby’s attempts to remain nonchalant were wearing thinner and thinner. He’d rap in passing, his voice smooth and confident, but inside, he felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest every time she flashed him one of those smiles. He’d flex his muscles, trying to show off his strength during random moments, but somehow it always seemed to make him even more flustered than before.

At one point, he even tried to show off by picking up some weights near the practice area—casually, of course. Romance and Abs were both there, watching.

“Dude, you’re seriously doing the ‘big strong man’ routine?” Abs raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “C’mon, man. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Baby shrugged it off, trying to maintain his cool, but the sight of Y/n walking by, glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow, made his muscles tense.

“Baby,” Y/n called, walking over, “you’re really going for the ‘look at my muscles’ thing, huh?”

Baby swallowed hard. “What? No, I was just... ugh. You know, just doing my usual thing. Nothing special.”

Y/n tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Right. Just don’t hurt yourself trying to impress me. I’m not that easily impressed.”

“Wait, you think I’m trying to impress you?” He couldn’t stop the words from slipping out before he could stop himself. His heart raced, and his entire body seemed to heat up. Oh no.

Y/n laughed, clearly entertained by his flustered reaction. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know?”

“I’m not flustered,” Baby quickly said, but his voice cracked a little. He immediately turned away, pretending to grab more weights just to avoid eye contact.

Abs and Romance exchanged a glance, and Romance gave a slow, teasing smile. “Someone’s definitely not fooling anyone,” he muttered to Abs, who snorted in laughter.

A couple of days later, Y/n and Baby found themselves alone in the practice room again. Baby had been walking around aimlessly, trying to distract himself from the thought of her, but he had failed miserably.

“So,” Y/n started, leaning against the mirror as Baby adjusted his hoodie, trying to look cool but feeling like his palms were sweating. “You really do have a lot of... moves, huh?”

“Ah, you know. Just the basics,” Baby said, doing his best to act unaffected. But his smile was a little too wide. “Wanna see something?”

Before she could respond, he broke into a short rap, one he’d been working on for a while, just to show her a little piece of his soul. His movements were fluid, his confidence undeniable—but his heart was beating faster than ever.

Y/n watched with an unreadable expression at first, but then... she smiled. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned in, genuinely impressed. “That was amazing, Baby.”

Baby felt his chest swell at the praise. “Pfft, told you, right?”

For a moment, the air between them felt lighter, more relaxed. The usual tension of Baby trying to keep up his tough, cool guy façade was finally gone. He didn’t care about being cool anymore. He just cared about making her smile.

“So,” Y/n said slowly, walking closer to him. “I guess I owe you something for that. How about we get some coffee? On me?”

Baby’s heart skipped a beat. "Really? You mean, like, a real date?" he asked, trying to play it cool even though his voice cracked just slightly.

Y/n smirked. “Yeah. A real date. No rapping, no muscle flexing—just us.”

"That’s exactly what I wanted," Baby said, almost breathlessly.

And just like that, the slow burn of his feelings finally came to fruition. His nonchalant attempts had worked—though maybe not in the way he thought—and now he was standing there, really seeing Y/n for the first time. And this time? It wasn’t a game.

It was real.

[euno11a]

Saw some of the saja boys fanfics you've written! They're so good!! Could you perhaps do one where they comfort us while we're crying?

"You're okay..." w/ Saja Boys

Jinu

The cold air of the practice room felt sharp against your skin, as if it could freeze the emotions threatening to spill out of you. You sat alone in the corner, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest, face buried in your hands. Tears flowed freely, as they always did when you allowed yourself to feel anything. The pressure, the constant weight of expectations, had finally cracked the façade you’d been holding up.

You hated that it had to be like this. But here you were—vulnerable, raw, broken in a way you hadn't allowed anyone to see before. You had kept it together for so long, but sometimes the mask slipped, and now it was impossible to pretend.

Jinu entered the room quietly, his steps light but deliberate. He noticed you instantly—hunched, fragile, the silent sobs almost too quiet to hear. For a moment, he froze. He didn’t know what to say. You had always seemed like the one who kept everything together, the one who smiled through the hardest of times. But now...

He exhaled softly, taking in the scene, before walking toward you with slow, purposeful steps. Jinu wasn’t the type to shy away from confrontation, but comforting someone in a moment like this... it was something new for him. Yet, his protective instinct kicked in without hesitation.

"Hey," his voice was soft, warm, like the touch of sunlight on a cold day. "You okay?"

You shook your head slightly, too caught in your own emotions to answer. His heart sank a little. Jinu had seen you deal with the world’s pressures before, but this was different. It was rawer. It was real.

Sitting down beside you, he didn’t ask you to explain. He didn’t push you to say anything at all. He just sat there, close enough for you to feel his presence, but far enough to give you space. His arm brushed against yours, and the small contact was enough to draw you out of your storm, if only for a moment.

It wasn’t long before he spoke again, his voice low, almost like a secret between just the two of you. "I know you feel like you have to be perfect all the time... but you don’t, you know? You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself."

You sniffled, trying to stop the tears, but they wouldn’t stop. "I... I don’t want to let anyone down. Not you, not the fans... no one."

Jinu turned to face you, his eyes steady, understanding. "You're human. You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to be tired."

The words hung in the air between you, simple yet profound. No one had said it like that to you before. It was always about strength, about pushing through. But Jinu... Jinu understood that sometimes strength wasn’t about holding on, but about letting go. Letting yourself feel.

He took a deep breath, a small chuckle escaping him. "If I told you how many times I’ve felt like I was gonna break... I swear you’d probably laugh. But I get it." His voice softened even more, like a warm blanket. "It’s okay to fall apart for a while. I’ve got you."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You had always admired his confidence, the way he could light up a room with a single smile. But here, in this quiet moment, he was offering something far more valuable: his support.

You leaned into him, just slightly, a silent acknowledgment that you weren’t alone. He didn’t flinch or back away. Instead, he placed his hand gently on your shoulder, a steady weight that anchored you.

"You don't have to be perfect for me. For anyone," Jinu continued, his voice low and steady. "I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’re in this together."

For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to lean fully into his comfort, shoulders shaking with each quiet breath, but somehow, the tears slowed. Not because the pain was gone, but because there was someone beside you, someone who understood that you didn’t need to hide.

Jinu stayed like that, not trying to fix anything, just being there. And in the silence that followed, you realized something: you weren’t alone.

Abby

It was late, and the practice room was nearly empty—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic tapping of shoes against the floor. You’d been running through choreography for hours, your body exhausted, but there was still that nagging feeling deep inside. Something wasn’t right.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was a mix of frustration and fatigue, with your usual confident smile nowhere to be found. The weight of the upcoming performance was pressing down on you. The team was counting on you, the fans were expecting perfection. But, at this moment, it all felt like too much.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice, one you recognized instantly.

“Yo, you good?”

Abs was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. But you could tell by the way his jaw was clenched that something was on his mind.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, trying to brush him off with a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just tired, you know?”

He didn’t buy it. Abs wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially not with you. He pushed off from the doorframe and walked over, his tall, imposing figure casting a shadow across the floor as he approached.

“Right.” He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the mirror, then back at you. His eyes narrowed, as if sizing up the situation. "You sure? Looks like you’re holding back something more than just sweat."

You were about to brush him off again, but something about his directness made you pause. It was like he could see through the act, cut straight to the heart of things without even trying.

Abs didn't move, waiting for you to speak. He wasn’t pushing, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze that said he wasn’t going anywhere until you let it out.

With a frustrated sigh, you dropped your head, looking down at your shoes. "I just... I don’t know. I’m trying so hard to keep up, but it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m scared of failing. Scared of letting everyone down."

Abs stood there for a moment, his presence heavy in the room. For a split second, you thought he might brush it off, tell you to suck it up like he usually would. But instead, he did something unexpected.

He took a step closer, his posture relaxed but his eyes softening. “Listen,” he said, his voice lower than usual, like he was speaking to someone who deserved more than just a quick fix. “I get it. The pressure's unreal. I see it in your eyes every damn day. But you don’t have to carry that on your own, alright?"

You looked up at him, startled. Abs didn’t talk like this often. He was more about tough love, about pushing people to be their best. But now? Now, he was offering something different: understanding.

“You’re not a machine," he continued, his voice a little rough around the edges, like it pained him to admit it. "I don’t care how many hours you put in, how perfect you are on stage—no one’s gonna call you out for being real. Not on my watch.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Abs raised his hand.

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off. “I see you pushing yourself to the edge. It’s exhausting, I know. But I’ve seen you at your best, and no matter how much you struggle, you’ve got what it takes. Don’t forget that.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of the city outside.

Abs took another step closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, okay? You just gotta show up, and that’s all you can do. The rest, well... we’ll figure it out.”

You could feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just slightly, the tightness in your chest easing a bit. Abs had this way of cutting through the noise and making things simple, making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t offer any hugs, didn’t try to be overly sweet about it. That wasn’t his style. Instead, he gave you a look—a look that said he understood, but also that you didn’t have to say anything more if you weren’t ready.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked after a pause, his tone still matter-of-fact but with a softness to it now.

You nodded slowly, feeling that familiar trust bubbling up despite your hesitation. Abs didn’t have all the answers, but in his own way, he knew exactly how to help you take the next step—no words, just presence.

Without another word, he gave you a slight nod, the kind that spoke volumes. "I’ll be around, alright? But you better show up tomorrow with that fire again. I know you’ve got it in you."

And just like that, he turned and walked toward the door, his confident swagger back in full force, leaving you with something you hadn’t expected: the quiet, simple reminder that you weren’t alone in this fight.

Romance

The dance studio was buzzing with the usual energy of the team running through choreography, but tonight, something felt off. Your movements were stiff, lacking the usual flow you prided yourself on. The routine was more complex, but it wasn’t the steps that were holding you back—it was your head. You couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was the pressure of the upcoming comeback, or the fact that you’d been running on empty for days now, trying to stay sharp. Whatever it was, it was messing with your focus, and you could feel it.

Romance, as usual, was the first one to notice when something was wrong. Not that he ever missed a chance to mess around. But tonight, his playful demeanor was sharper than usual, his eyes catching the small things you couldn’t hide.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that trademark smirk of his. "Well, well, well... If it isn’t the hottest mess in the room." His voice was playful, teasing. He was always like this—light-hearted, easy with a wink and a grin that made you want to smile, even on the worst days.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding how the words had hit a little too close to home. "What do you want, Romance?" You tried to sound nonchalant, but your voice came out a little more strained than you intended.

"Just checking to see if the world’s still spinning," he replied smoothly, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the room. "But honestly, if you keep up with whatever this is," he motioned with a playful gesture to your uncoordinated movements, "I might just have to save the comeback and give you my backup dancer spot."

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was half-hearted. Romance’s charm was relentless, like a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds. He had that way of making everything feel less serious, less overwhelming, but you knew he wasn’t stupid. He could see through your act.

He crossed the floor in two strides, his confidence smooth like he was walking down a runway, but his eyes were still locked onto you.

"Hey," he said, his tone softening, just enough that it pulled your attention back to him. "What’s really going on?"

You bit your lip, trying to think of something to deflect the question, but Romance wasn’t having it. He moved in front of you and stopped you mid-spin, gently grasping your wrist to hold you in place.

"I’m not buying the 'I’m fine' routine. Not from you, of all people." He tilted his head, his usual playful smirk now replaced with something more genuine—a quiet concern that made you pause. "What’s eating at you?"

For a moment, you didn’t answer. His proximity, his steady gaze... it made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t ready for. Romance had a way of disarming you, making you forget the walls you’d built around yourself.

"I’m just... tired," you said finally, your voice quieter than you meant. "Everything’s been piling up. And I’m scared I won’t be good enough when it’s time to perform. I’ve been messing up more than I want to admit, and I don’t know how to fix it."

Romance didn’t hesitate. His hand, still holding your wrist, moved slightly to rest on your shoulder, a grounding gesture, one that let you know he was there. "Look, I get it. The pressure? It’s brutal. But you’re not in this alone, alright?" He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level, one that made the room feel smaller, like it was just the two of you.

"I’ve seen you on your worst days, and you’ve always come through. So you’re telling me, this time’s different?" He raised an eyebrow, his flirtatious demeanor returning just a touch, but there was something softer behind it now. "You, the one with the moves? The one who can make the entire stage light up just by walking in? You think you can’t handle this? I’ve got news for you, babe—there’s nothing you can’t do."

You blinked, surprised by the confidence in his words. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was a universal truth—like he knew you could do it, even when you couldn’t see it yourself.

"Besides," he added, stepping back with a wink, his usual playful edge slipping back into place. "If you need a little more inspiration, just remember—you’ve got a pretty great dance partner waiting to pick up the slack. I mean, who else could pull off a move like me?" He gestured to himself with a grin, a clear invitation to tease him right back.

You laughed, the tension in your chest starting to melt away. "You’re ridiculous."

"Yeah," he said, eyes glinting with mischief. "But you love it."

And just like that, the weight that had been sitting on your shoulders felt lighter. Romance had a way of bringing you back to yourself, reminding you of who you were—without needing to say anything too profound, without trying to be perfect. Just a little flirty, a little serious, and exactly what you needed in that moment.

"Now," he said, stepping back into his usual carefree stance. "You gonna finish this routine or what? Because as fun as watching you fumble around is, I’m kind of ready to see you shine."

With a deep breath, you nodded, your confidence returning, even if just a little. "You’re right," you said, your smile teasing as you raised an eyebrow. "I’ll show you how it’s done."

"That’s the spirit." Romance shot you one last wink before stepping back, giving you the space to reclaim your energy. "And just remember, I’m here when you need someone to drag you across the stage."

The room no longer felt heavy. You’d found your rhythm again, thanks to Romance. With a final glance at him, you took your place, ready to finish what you’d started.

Mystery

The studio was quieter than usual, the only sounds being the soft shuffle of your sneakers against the smooth floor and the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the room as you sat against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest. You’d been rehearsing for hours, your body aching, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that weighed you down. It was something deeper—a frustration you couldn’t shake, a fear that had been building silently for days now. You didn’t know what to do about it.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the cool wall, trying to quiet your racing thoughts. But the pressure, the constant push to be perfect, it was like a weight that never left. What if you weren’t good enough? What if the comeback failed? What if you let everyone down?

You hadn’t noticed the soft footsteps until they were right next to you.

Without a word, Mystery sat beside you, his presence so still and calm that you almost didn’t realize he was there at first. It was typical of him—quiet, like a shadow that just appeared and blended into the background, never drawing attention. But you knew he was always aware, always paying attention, even if he didn’t say much.

You didn’t say anything at first, just continuing to stare at the floor, feeling the weight of the silence between you.

But then, as if reading your thoughts, his voice broke the stillness, low and soft. “You’re thinking too much again.”

It wasn’t a question, just an observation. His tone was casual, but there was a certain warmth to it that made you pause. You glanced up at him, surprised to find him looking at you with that familiar, almost teasing glint in his eyes. His usual aloofness had softened, replaced with something... gentler.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but even you could tell it didn’t sound convincing. The words were hollow, meant to push him away, but he wasn’t having it.

He leaned in just a little, close enough for you to feel the subtle shift in his energy, though he didn’t invade your space. “No, you’re not,” he said quietly, his voice still holding that soft edge of care. “You’re never just ‘fine’ when you’re like this.”

You were about to argue, but something about the way he said it made you stop. There was no judgment in his words—just the quiet certainty that he understood. And somehow, that made it all the harder to keep up the façade.

Before you could speak, Mystery reached out and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, the weight of it a comfort more than anything. You looked at him, and for a brief moment, he let you see something in his eyes—a rare, almost puppy-like concern that was unlike his usual stoic demeanor.

He stayed silent for a moment, just offering you his presence, before speaking again, his words almost a whisper. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know. It’s okay to let it out.”

You blinked, taken aback by how much sincerity was packed into those few words. It wasn’t like him to be this open, but with you, in these rare moments when it was just the two of you, it felt... different.

“You’re always so quiet," you said with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "I forget you’re actually capable of talking."

At that, he gave you a small, almost shy smile—a rare thing, but it was enough to make you pause. “I talk when it matters,” he replied simply, but there was something in his voice that hinted at a deeper layer of care, something he didn’t usually show to anyone else.

You chuckled softly, feeling the tightness in your chest ease just a little. His presence was like a warm blanket in the middle of a storm—quiet, but undeniably there.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating. Mystery’s hand stayed on your shoulder, grounding you, like a steady anchor in the chaos of your mind. He didn’t need to say much—his silence spoke volumes. But then, just when you thought he’d fall back into his usual quiet self, he spoke again, this time with a playful glint in his eyes that made you laugh despite yourself.

“You know,” he said, the corners of his lips curling up slightly, “you’re really bad at hiding things. You always think you’re fooling everyone, but I can see it in your eyes.”

You blinked at him, not expecting this shift. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face. “The way you get all serious when something’s bothering you. Like right now. It’s written all over your face.”

You tried to look away, but the slight teasing in his voice made you realize he wasn’t mocking you—he was trying to make you feel better, in his own quiet way.

“And,” he added, his voice softening again, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this, alright?”

You nodded, your heart swelling just a little. It wasn’t often that Mystery opened up like this, but when he did, it was clear that he cared more than words could say.

Finally, you leaned your head against his shoulder, just for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between you again. This time, it felt like a comforting presence, not an uncomfortable void.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mystery didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the small shift in his body as he relaxed, his hand gently resting on your shoulder again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, with just a hint of a smile in his voice, “but I’m your weirdo.”

And somehow, in that simple moment, everything felt a little more manageable.

Baby

It had been a long day—rehearsals, interviews, press, and endless schedules had left you mentally drained. You’d spent the last couple of hours in the studio, trying to work through some choreography that just wasn’t clicking. Despite your best efforts, nothing seemed to be coming together, and it was starting to wear on you.

Sitting on the floor, you rubbed your eyes, exhausted and frustrated, the pressure of the comeback weighing heavily on you. You just couldn’t seem to shake the anxiety that had been creeping up on you for weeks.

The door to the studio creaked open, and a familiar voice broke through your frustration.

"Yo, what’s with the drama?" Baby’s voice rang out, a little louder than necessary, like he was trying to make his presence known, trying to keep up the cool front he always wore like armor.

You didn’t even look up, knowing exactly who it was. Baby had that aura of confidence that was borderline cocky, always moving like he owned the room—even when he didn’t need to.

“Nothing,” you muttered, your tone a little sharper than you intended. “Just tired.”

Baby didn’t take the hint. Instead, he strolled over to where you were sitting, his usual swagger on full display as he threw himself down next to you with a dramatic sigh.

"You sure?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that looked far too casual for someone who clearly could see you were a bit of a mess. "You look like you’re ready to drop dead, so I’m gonna assume this isn’t just ‘tired.’"

You shot him a half-hearted glare, but even that didn’t manage to hide the exhaustion in your eyes. “I’m fine, really,” you insisted, trying to brush him off.

But Baby wasn’t fooled.

He tilted his head back with a smile that could light up the room, his cool demeanor quickly shifting as he let his guard down. “Psh, no way. I’ve seen you a hundred times, and this isn’t ‘fine’ you’re giving me right now.” His voice was teasing, but there was something underneath it that made you pause. He was serious about getting through to you, even if he had to act a little ridiculous to do it.

“C’mon,” he continued, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “I know the weight of the world’s not really on your shoulders, right? Just tell me what’s up.” His usual teasing tone was warm and genuine now, the "cool" act completely dropping when he noticed your weariness.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your hands pressed against your forehead. “It’s just everything. The comeback, the performances, the interviews. I feel like I’m not enough. Like no matter what I do, it’s not going to be good enough.”

Baby’s expression softened almost immediately, the playful teasing in his eyes replaced with a more serious concern. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Hey, listen to me. You’re more than enough. You always have been.”

You shook your head, not fully convinced. “I don’t feel like it.”

Before you could say anything more, Baby let out an exaggerated sigh and dramatically collapsed back on the floor, arms flung out wide. “Okay, hold up. I need to take a second to process this." He looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying to regain his "cool" act, but it was clear that he wasn’t letting you go without a fight. "Why does this always happen? Everyone gets all stressed and forgets that we’re literally made for this, huh? If anyone can nail this comeback, it’s you.”

You looked over at him, your lips curling into a reluctant smile at his antics. His attempts to play it cool were always a little over-the-top, but that was what made him so... well, Baby.

“Stop being so dramatic,” you said with a soft laugh. "You're not that cool."

Baby rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow, his smile as bright as ever. “Okay, okay. So I’m not that cool. But you know what? That’s why you need me.” His voice dropped to a playful whisper. “I’m the sunshine in this room, and you’re the clouds. I’m here to brighten your day, whether you like it or not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. The way he said it, so over-the-top, with his usual grin and energy—it was hard to stay upset when he was around. Baby had a way of turning everything around, even when it felt like nothing was going right.

“Just... don’t burn me out with all that sunshine of yours,” you teased, feeling a little lighter already.

“Psh, I’m shining,” he said dramatically, pushing himself up into a sitting position and flicking his hair back with a grin. "But don’t worry. I’ll always make sure you’re in the shade when you need it.” He nudged you again, this time more gently. “But seriously... don’t let the pressure get to you, alright? You’ve got this, and you’re way more than enough. Don’t forget that.”

You glanced at him, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. Baby’s words, no matter how goofy or over-the-top, always had a way of cutting through the noise. His energy, even when he was being a bit much, always made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, the words carrying a weight of sincerity that surprised even you. "I needed to hear that."

"Anytime, kid," Baby replied with a wink, standing up and offering you a hand. “Now, let’s get up, take a breather, and remind the world that we’re unstoppable. And maybe I’ll let you in on some of my cool dance moves." His grin was all charm, his confidence almost blinding.

You took his hand, letting him pull you up with ease, already feeling the pull of his unrelenting energy working its magic. Maybe you weren’t as far from being okay as you thought. With Baby around, it felt like things would be just fine.

[euno11a]

THAT DEMON HUNTERS FIC???????? OHHHH YEAHHHHH OHHHHH YEAHHHHHHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

RAHHHH THANK YOU

[euno11a]

not an ask but oh my goodness!! your writing for mystery is so amazing, i really do love the way you characterize him, it just makes so much sense.. really hoping for more writing of him from you if you ever feel like it!! <33

AHHH THANK YOUUUU

I am planning on writing for all of them a lot more, but I’ve felt like crap the last while so I was taking a break

more to come some time soon!

[euno11a]

how does it feel carrying the whole fandom of the saja boys on ur back ……..

I feel myself getting stronger everyday💪😎

Wait but all honesty, is that true?😭😭

[euno11a]

I hope this is an okay question to ask, but in your request box, are there any requests your excited to post or excited to write? :O

omg I love questions! Yes! There are quite a few requests I have that are in the works, hopefully being posted soon, that I am really excited to have been working on! Most importantly, I’m excited for you guys to read and enjoy them!

[euno11a]

im glad im not the only one talking ab jinus fangs because I AM ACTUALLY GOING INSANE his human form is handsome yes but im actually going feral over his demon form and ESPECIALLY those fangs and glowing eyes… why is he so hot i am not okay and i need more scenes with him like that… the your idol performance is something else but im also obsessed with that scene with rumi and jinu fighting and he smirks like “you’re strong” and the fangs show like PLEASE SHOW ME MORE OF THOSE FANGS okay im done now thank you for coming to my ted talk i am totally normal and sane and not obsessed with this movie and jinu

HONEYYYYY rant all you want, I’m equally obsessed 😏😏

[euno11a]

THIS IS SO GOOD WTF

huntrix x saja photoshoot

[euno11a]

HII I LOVE UR "kiss-proof test" with the saja boys😍

Could you pls make where the reader is like pranking the boys by wearing a very revealing outfit and plans to go out, so the boys reaction is like "HUH you? Wearing that? OUTSIDE? HELL NO" or something like that

i will leave the rest to you if you want to do it differently😁 I JUST WANT JELOUS OVERPROTECTIVE SAJA BOYS🥰🙏🏻 have a great morning,afternoon,night🫶🏻

Wearing a revealing outfit w/ Saja Boys

Jinu

You had spent hours planning the perfect prank. And what better way to mess with Jinu than by pushing him right to his limit? He was always so cool, so collected, like nothing could faze him. It was time to see if you could finally get a rise out of him.

You slipped into the outfit—a little more daring than usual, revealing enough to catch attention but still classy. It wasn’t outrageous, but you knew it’d be enough to rattle him. You checked yourself out in the mirror, making sure everything was perfect, and then took a deep breath.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but Jinu’s reaction was definitely going to be entertaining.

You walked out into the living room, doing your best to strut without looking like you were trying too hard. Jinu was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious. That was, until you stepped into his line of sight.

The moment he saw you, his phone slipped from his hands and fell to the floor with a loud thud. His eyes went wide, his usual smirk faltering for the first time in ages as he took you in—head to toe. His mouth opened slightly, then snapped shut, like he was trying to put together a sentence but couldn’t quite manage it.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Well? What do you think?”

Jinu stood up almost too quickly, his eyes still fixed on you, his hand twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or run away. He rubbed his face, taking in a deep breath before finally speaking. “What are you wearing? You’re seriously gonna walk around in that?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What’s wrong? You don’t think I look good?”

Jinu’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin. This was different. His gaze darkened slightly, his posture straightening as if he were preparing for something big. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you: I know you look good. That’s the problem.” He glanced around, like he was trying to figure out how to handle this. “You’re gonna turn heads, and not in the ‘wow, they look amazing’ way. You’re gonna get attention—and not the kind that’s good for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused at how rattled he was. “So what? You’re telling me I shouldn’t look this good? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Jinu’s voice was suddenly more serious, and you could tell he was getting a little agitated. “I’m saying that if you walk outside like that, people are gonna look at you the wrong way. I can’t let that happen. You’re—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “You’re mine to protect, okay? I’m the one who’s supposed to make sure nothing goes sideways. You don’t need people gawking at you like you’re some... I don’t know, movie star or whatever.”

You smirked, feeling the heat of his words. This wasn’t the reaction you were expecting—but it was definitely more fun than you anticipated. “Oh? So now you’re the big protector? Just because I want to step outside looking a little... fabulous?”

Jinu paced a little, his eyes not leaving you. “It’s not about you looking good—god, you always look good.” His voice dropped slightly, almost too soft for you to hear, and then he shook it off like it didn’t matter. “It’s about people’s eyes on you. People who don’t know you. People who could get the wrong idea and say things, do things. And I’m not about to let anyone make you feel uncomfortable. Especially not today.”

You could see it now—Jinu’s usual cool demeanor was cracking, replaced by a fierce protectiveness you hadn’t expected. And you had to admit, it was kind of adorable.

“You’re not letting me go out, huh?” you teased, stepping a little closer, watching him like a hawk. “You’re seriously telling me I can’t leave the house?”

His eyes locked onto yours, the usual cockiness in his smirk replaced by something more intense. “I’m not telling you you can’t—I’m telling you I’m not letting you.” He pointed at you as if you were some kind of unruly child. “Not like this. No way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how seriously he was taking this. “Wow, you’re really overreacting, huh? It’s just an outfit, Jinu. No one’s gonna die.”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped. “I can’t... I can’t handle the thought of you getting hurt or—” He paused, and for a second, his confidence wavered. His face flushed, like he realized how over-the-top he was being. “You’re just... you’re too important to me. I don’t want anyone treating you like some... object they can stare at.”

You stepped forward, your grin softening as you took in his words. It was clear now: This wasn’t just about his usual cocky bravado. Jinu genuinely cared about you—and that made the whole prank feel a little less fun.

“I didn’t think you’d be this protective,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I thought you’d just make fun of me and move on.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t look away from you. “Of course I’d make fun of you. But don’t act like I’m not watching your back. You’re my responsibility, you know? If I let you go out in this, I’d never forgive myself.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re really something else, Jinu.”

He puffed out his chest, regaining his usual confidence. “I know. I’m just that good.”

You paused for a moment, feeling the shift between you two. “You’re right,” you said after a beat. “I guess I’ll change… for now.”

Jinu’s eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for you to try something. But then, his expression softened just a little. “Good choice. I’ll let you keep your dignity for today.” He winked, the cocky smirk back in full force. “But next time, maybe save the pranks for someone else, yeah?”

You chuckled and walked back toward the bedroom, but before you could get too far, Jinu called after you, his tone softer than usual.

“And seriously... you do look amazing. But I’m not letting anyone hurt you, no matter what you wear.”

You smiled to yourself as you entered your room. Maybe Jinu was a little over-the-top sometimes, but that was what made him so special.

Abs

You had to admit, the moment you decided to prank Abs, you had no idea what you were getting into. His cocky smirk, his over-the-top swagger—there was no way you could just walk into the room in something ordinary and expect him not to have something snarky to say.

But today, you were determined. You needed to break through that unshakeable coolness of his, show him that he wasn’t always in control.

You picked out the outfit—the one that you knew would rattle him. Bold, revealing, and definitely a little out there. You stood in front of the mirror for a moment, grinning to yourself as you imagined Abs’ face when he saw you. This was going to be fun.

You strutted into the living room where ABS was lounging, his legs kicked up on the couch like he owned the place, casually scrolling through his phone. He barely looked up at first, too engrossed in whatever nonsense he was reading, but when he finally did, his eyes widened and then narrowed as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

ABS slowly set his phone down, his fingers tapping on the armrest as he studied you—eyes scanning, lips curling into that signature cocky grin. “Huh. So this is what you’ve been planning, huh? Thought you’d show up looking like a million bucks, huh?”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, letting him take it all in. “What’s the matter, Abs? You don’t think I can pull it off?”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost dangerous. “Pull it off? Honey, I’m more worried about how you’re gonna keep it on.” His smirk deepened. “You’re definitely gonna need more than that to stop the entire world from staring at you.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his usual swagger. “Oh, so I’m that irresistible, huh?”

He stood up from the couch in one fluid motion, walking toward you with a confident swagger that you couldn’t help but admire. “Look, you know how I am. I’m always the one turning heads. But you, walking around in that? Everyone in a five-mile radius is gonna be talking about you. It’s gonna be chaos. You want that kind of attention?”

You took a step closer, not backing down an inch. “What’s the matter, Abs? You jealous of a little competition?”

His eyes flashed for a moment, and his grin faltered just slightly before he leaned in, his gaze sharp. “Jealous? Me?” He scoffed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “Nah. Never.” He eyed you up and down again, the teasing grin back in full force. “But, come on. You’re seriously about to walk outside like that? I’m telling you right now, you’ll never be able to handle the kind of attention you’re about to get. People won’t even know how to act.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “So what? You think I’m too much for the world to handle?”

“Oh, it’s not the world I’m worried about,” Abs shot back, crossing his arms and giving you a once-over. “It’s you.” He leaned against the wall, his gaze never leaving you. “You can’t just walk around wearing... this and expect to go unnoticed. Not that I don’t think you can handle the attention. It’s just...” He paused, clearly trying to put his thoughts together. “It’s not just attention, okay? People can be dumb. They can be... creepy. And I’m not about to let anyone get any ideas. You get me?”

You stared at him for a moment, surprised by how serious he was. This wasn’t just about his usual cocky self. This was Abs, the guy who always thought he had everything under control, actually looking a little... protective?

“Aw, look at you,” you teased, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “Are you worried about me?”

Abs rolled his eyes, but there was a slight tension in his jaw. “Worried? Pfft.” He flicked his wrist like it was nothing. “I’m not worried. I just don’t like the idea of people thinking they can mess with you. I’m the only one who gets to mess with you.”

You took a step closer, leaning in just enough to make him shift a little. “So, what’s your plan? You gonna stop me from going out? You gonna take me by the hand and drag me away?”

His lips parted for a second, like he didn’t quite know how to respond. Then he gave you that trademark smirk, though it was tinged with something else now—a little softer, a little more serious. “I’ll definitely stop you if I have to. You think I’m gonna let you out there and let the whole city stare at you like you’re some... object?”

You chuckled, watching as Abs tried to act like the situation wasn’t bothering him, even though you could tell it was. “Is that what you think? You really think I’m some... object?”

He immediately dropped his confident act, his eyes softening. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly said, and for the first time, you saw a hint of hesitation in his expression. “I just mean... people can be gross. I don’t want them looking at you like that, okay?”

You blinked, taken aback by how genuine his words were. Abs, the cocky troublemaker, was actually protecting you. And you couldn’t deny it felt nice.

“Aww, Abs.” You shook your head with a grin. “Look at you. All protective and cute.”

His face immediately turned red, and he quickly turned his head away, trying to recover. “Cute? Don’t call me that.” He crossed his arms again, but this time, it wasn’t with his usual swagger. It was almost like he was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t being soft.

“I’m not changing just because you say so,” you teased, stepping back toward the door. “But maybe... maybe I’ll think about it.”

Abs glared at you, his eyes dark, but there was a playful gleam to them now. “You better think about it, because if you don’t, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” You challenged, turning back to face him with a grin. “What are you gonna do? Keep me locked in the house?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “If I have to. You don’t want to test me on this, trust me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Abs rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the hint of a smile from tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember, I’m the one who’s always got your back.” He paused for a moment, and when you didn’t respond, he added, “So... you’ll change, right?”

You gave him a wink. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You better,” Abs said, his usual cockiness back in full swing. “Because I’m not letting anyone mess with you. And if anyone even thinks about it, they’ll be dealing with me first.”

You smiled to yourself as you walked away. Maybe he was a little over-the-top sometimes, but it felt good to know that Abs really did care.

Mystery

You knew exactly what you were doing when you picked out the outfit. It wasn’t something outrageous, but it was a little more daring than usual—just enough to catch someone’s eye. And who better to test it on than Mystery? He was always so calm, so composed. You’d often wonder if he ever cared about anything outside of his usual cool detachment.

Today, though, you had the perfect opportunity to see if you could get even the smallest reaction out of him.

You walked into the living room, feeling that usual confidence when you were in something that made you feel good. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he sat on the couch, reading a book. He barely looked up, his eyes skimming the page like nothing could distract him.

“Hey, Mystery,” you said, trying to sound casual but knowing you were about to break the silence. “What do you think?”

He didn’t immediately respond, and you almost thought you had failed to grab his attention. But then, he slowly glanced up over the edge of his book, his eyes briefly scanning your outfit before flicking back to the pages.

“Hm,” he murmured, his voice low and calm, but you couldn’t help but notice a subtle change in his posture. “It’s... bold.”

You raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback. “Bold? That’s it?”

He closed the book with a soft thud, his eyes still fixed on you, but now with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was concern. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, it made your stomach flutter a little.

“You’re going out in that?” he asked, his tone still even, but there was something different about it. Like he was silently weighing the situation.

You smirked, walking a little closer, enjoying the fact that you were managing to shake him from his usual calm. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stood up slowly, his gaze lingering on you just a little longer than usual. His eyes weren’t cold, but there was something guarded in them, like he was trying to figure out how to handle you in this outfit.

“I didn’t say that.” He spoke slowly, his voice steady but firm. “It’s just... You don’t need to attract unnecessary attention, that’s all.”

You frowned slightly, not expecting that response. “Unnecessary attention? What do you mean by that?”

Mystery paused for a second, and you could see his mind working. He was choosing his words carefully, his usual calm exterior intact. “People can be... unpredictable. You never know who’s paying attention or what they’ll think. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t put yourself in a position where you might feel uncomfortable later.”

It wasn’t what you had expected, but it was clear now that he wasn’t as indifferent as he sometimes came across. Mystery was more protective than you’d realized, even if he didn’t always show it in the typical way.

You tilted your head, trying to read him. “Are you worried about me?”

He didn’t immediately respond, but there was a slight change in the way he stood, his gaze flicking away from yours for a brief moment, almost as if he was trying to mask something. His voice remained steady, but you could hear the faintest trace of something behind it—concern, maybe, or just a quiet care. “I’m not worried. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. That wasn’t what you had expected to hear. Mystery wasn’t exactly the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, but right now, he was doing something close to it.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, trying to ease whatever concern you’d stirred up. “I can handle myself.”

Mystery’s eyes softened just slightly, though he quickly tried to maintain his usual reserved demeanor. “I know you can. But... that doesn’t mean I want to see you in a situation where you might regret your choices.” His eyes shifted over you again, as if he were reassessing everything. “I just... care about you.”

The words came out quieter this time, almost like he wasn’t used to expressing that kind of sentiment. And just like that, the calm, cool Mystery you’d come to know had revealed something deeper—something that was still, as always, understated but unmistakably there.

You stepped closer, your voice teasing but your eyes soft. “Mystery, you’re really something, you know that?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were slightly embarrassed. “I don’t say these things often.”

“Clearly,” you quipped, giving him a knowing smile. “But I think it’s sweet.”

He didn’t look at you directly, but his lips quirked up just enough to show you that he appreciated the compliment. “I just don’t want you to be in a situation where you feel... uncomfortable. You’re not like everyone else. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

Your heart gave a little flutter at his words. For all his quiet nature, for all the times people assumed he didn’t care, here he was, quietly standing up for you in the most gentle way possible.

“I’ll be fine, Mystery,” you reassured him. “And... thank you. Really.”

He nodded, his gaze steady as always, but this time with a slight warmth you couldn’t miss. “Just... be careful. I’m not always around to watch out for you.”

You chuckled, feeling that soft, protective energy from him seep through. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, he gave you one last lingering look, his usual composed self taking over again. “Good. Now... I’m going to pretend I didn’t have this conversation, alright?”

You smiled, knowing he was more than just the quiet, cold guy people assumed he was. He was calm, cool, and quiet, but beneath it all was someone who truly cared. “Alright, Mystery. But you know you’ve got my back.”

He gave you a subtle nod, his expression unreadable again, but the way his eyes met yours was enough to say everything that words couldn’t.

Romance

You had known Romance long enough to recognize his style. Smooth talker, charming as hell, always with that smirk that made you wonder if he was always flirting or if it was just his natural state of being. But today? Today was different. Today, you were about to push his buttons in the most playful way possible.

You slipped into the outfit—a little revealing, a little bold, but not too over-the-top. You wanted to catch him off guard, test his reaction. He was always so confident in his skin, so self-assured. But you wondered... just how would he react if you dared to wear something a little more eye-catching than usual?

You walked into the living room, giving him just enough time to get a good look. Romance was lounging on the couch, his usual relaxed posture, one arm draped over the back of the chair, a lazy grin playing on his lips as he scrolled through his phone.

“Hey, Romance,” you called out casually, leaning against the doorframe. You could practically feel the mischievous energy crackling in the air.

He glanced up, eyes flicking over your form. The usual confident smile slid off his face for just a moment before quickly reappearing. His lips quirked into a smirk, and his eyes took their sweet time appreciating the view. “Well, well, well... Look at you, all dressed up. Trying to kill me with that look, are we?” His voice was a smooth purr, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes.

You gave a dramatic sigh, crossing your arms. “What? You think I look that good?”

Romance leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes gliding over you as if you were the only thing in the room. “Baby, you look like you just stepped out of one of those romantic comedies. Damn, you’re stunning.” He grinned, but his eyes narrowed slightly, the teasing light in them flickering for just a moment. “But I gotta ask, where do you think you're going in that?”

You smiled, enjoying the playful banter. “What? You think it’s too much? I’m just gonna step out for a bit. What's the big deal?”

He straightened up, his posture shifting ever so slightly. His usual carefree attitude was still there, but now there was a faint undercurrent of seriousness in his tone. “The big deal, darling, is that you’re gonna have everyone in the city watching you like you’re the star of the show.” He leaned back, still studying you with that half-smirk. “And I’m not sure I’m cool with that. You’re my responsibility, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing the room to stand just a little closer to him. “Oh? Your responsibility? Are we going down that road now?”

Romance’s grin never wavered, but there was a shift in the way he was looking at you. He was playful, but there was also something deeper in his gaze now—a little more possessiveness, maybe. “Oh, I’m always down that road,” he replied smoothly, his hand brushing through his hair with a small chuckle. “See, you may think you can just waltz out there, turn heads, and make everyone fall at your feet. But I know you. And I know what happens when you catch people’s attention... They forget how to be decent.” He let the words hang in the air, his tone light but there was a subtle tension behind it.

You could see he was trying to keep it casual, trying to make it sound like just another one of his flirtations. But the way he spoke told you he wasn’t exactly happy with the idea of you being out there—alone.

“So, you’re saying you want to keep me locked up in here?” you teased, a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I can’t handle a little attention?”

Romance laughed, standing up now and taking a step closer. “Oh, no, baby. I know you can handle it,” he said, voice dropping to a more serious tone for just a beat. “You’ve got that kind of power. But I’m not letting anyone else mess with you. That’s where I draw the line.”

You were caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. Normally, Romance was all fun and games, a tease in every sense of the word, but right now? Right now, you could feel the protective side of him pushing through.

“You care that much?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost amused by the contrast in his usual playful demeanor.

He rolled his shoulders back, trying to play it cool again. “I don’t care about you walking around looking like a goddess or whatever. But what I do care about is people thinking they can get close to you. You deserve the best, and that’s not gonna come from some random stranger who thinks you’re just an object to stare at.”

You stared at him for a moment, the cocky smirk on his face not quite reaching his eyes. There was something more to him than the usual flirty comments and confident swagger. “Wow, Romance. I didn’t know you could be so... serious.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes in that way that made it clear he was uncomfortable with the compliment. “Yeah, well, I’m not always here for the spotlight, but when it comes to you... Yeah, I’m gonna be protective.” His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the seriousness behind it. “I’m not about to let some jerk look at you like that. You’re worth so much more than a second glance from some random fool.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “I’m not exactly helpless, you know. I can handle myself.”

Romance’s eyes softened for a moment, his usual playful glint replaced by something more genuine. “I know you can. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit by and watch someone treat you like you’re just... there.” His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a second longer than usual. “I’ve got you. Always.”

You met his gaze, your smile softer now. “I appreciate that, Romance. Really.”

He shrugged, a grin creeping back onto his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sappy on me. I’m still the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” He winked, trying to recover his usual cocky tone.

But you could see it. Underneath all the charm, the flirty lines, and the jokes—he cared. Deeply. And that was more than enough to make you feel safe.

“I guess I’ll stay in, just for you,” you said, laughing softly.

Romance pulled you closer with that mischievous grin, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Good. Now you’re thinking like I do. And don’t think I didn’t notice how great you look. But I’m still not letting you out of my sight.”

“Fine,” you laughed, “but only because you’re so charming.”

He chuckled, his playful grin back in full force. “Damn right I am.”

Baby

You knew Baby was that guy. The one who strutted around like he had all the answers, acting so laid-back, like nothing in the world could faze him. The perfect picture of "cool," or at least, that’s what he wanted everyone to believe.

But you knew better. You knew he was just a big softie who was probably way more affected by things than he let on.

So, today? Today, you were going to push his limits and see just how far you could get him to break that cool, aloof act. The outfit you chose was bold—revealing but not overly crazy—just the right amount to make anyone do a double-take. You were curious if Baby would keep his effortless "cool" vibe, or if you could finally crack him and reveal the sunshine hiding underneath.

You walked into the living room where Baby was lounging on the couch, acting like he was the least interested person in the world. He glanced up, his eyes barely leaving his phone screen as if you were just another part of the background.

But the moment his eyes landed on you, the phone slowly lowered, and the usual carefree, aloof attitude seemed to flicker, just for a second. His eyebrows shot up, and he blinked, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he was seeing things correctly.

“Uh...” he began, his usual cool tone slipping for just a second, “…what’s this now?” His gaze stayed on you, that classic cocky smile of his forming, though you could tell he was more than a little thrown off. "You’re, uh, wearing that? Seriously?"

You couldn’t resist a grin as you posed, leaning casually against the doorway. “What, you don’t think I can pull it off?”

Baby leaned back in the couch, arms behind his head as he tried to play it cool. "Nah, it’s not that… It’s just…” His voice trailed off for a second as he looked at you, his jaw tightening just a bit. "It’s a little extra, don’t you think?"

You smirked and stepped closer, watching him squirm just a little. "Extra? What, you think it’s too much?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to act like he wasn’t entirely fazed, but you saw through it. You knew him too well. “Nah, nah. I mean... you look good and all. But, like… people are gonna notice, y’know?”

You raised an eyebrow, now standing in front of him, watching as his usual “cool guy” act cracked ever so slightly. “And what? You don’t want people noticing me?” you teased, crossing your arms.

He immediately shot up from the couch, eyes wide, trying to play it off like he was just "concerned" about the situation. "No! I didn’t—" He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to recover from the slip-up. "I just... You’re not... you’re not gonna go out like that, right?"

You leaned forward, clearly enjoying the fact that you were getting under his skin. "Why? You think it’s too much attention?"

His gaze darted around, like he was looking for something to latch onto so he didn’t have to keep staring at you. "I’m just saying… it’s a lot for people to take in, okay?" He seemed to be struggling to keep that nonchalant tone. "I don’t know, I mean, you can handle it, but—" He trailed off, clearly not finishing the thought.

You smiled, taking another step closer. "But what?"

Baby swallowed hard, still trying to act like this was no big deal. "It’s not like I’m, y’know, worried or anything," he said, trying to force a laugh. "It’s just… I mean, I’m not stupid. People get weird about stuff like that." He bit his lip, his eyes flicking to the side before locking back on yours. "And I’m not about to let people... treat you like that."

There it was. You’d cracked the tough shell. Underneath the cool, aloof persona was a guy who cared. Baby, the one who tried to act like nothing fazed him, was visibly bothered by the idea of anyone messing with you.

You stood still, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his unspoken protectiveness. “So, what? You gonna stop me from going out?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Baby froze, his face going pink as he fumbled for words. “I-I didn’t say that,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I just... I just think you should be careful, that’s all.”

You smiled softly, not pushing him any further, but letting the quiet moment linger for a second. "I get it, Baby. But I’ll be fine. You know I can handle myself."

He sighed, clearly a little relieved, but that easy-going smile never quite reached his eyes the way it usually did. "Yeah, I know you can," he mumbled, almost to himself, before glancing away like he was trying to shake off his own feelings. "But it doesn’t hurt to have someone look out for you... y’know?"

You took a step closer and gave him a teasing wink. "You’re sweet, you know that?"

His face turned an even darker shade of pink, and he immediately crossed his arms to hide the awkwardness creeping up his neck. “Shut up, okay? I’m just—just saying—people are gonna stare, and I don’t want to see anyone acting all weird around you, alright?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying the way he was so adamant about protecting you, even though he was clearly trying to act like he was still too cool for this kind of conversation.

“Alright, Baby,” you teased, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind. And I promise, I’ll be careful.”

He nodded vigorously, his face still flushed as he looked away, clearly embarrassed now. “Good. That’s all I’m saying. Just... don’t go getting yourself in trouble. People can be idiots.” He threw a casual wink your way, but it was clear he wasn’t quite as relaxed as he normally was. “I’ve got your back, okay?”

You smiled, knowing he was asking as much for himself as he was for you. "Of course," you said, giving him a soft grin. "You always do."

And just like that, Baby’s cool, aloof act had completely dissolved in front of you, leaving only the big-hearted sunshine beneath it all. He was still trying to act all “too cool,” but there was no denying that he cared. Maybe a little too much.

————————————

a/n: I have a list going right now for all the requests I have about the Saja Boys, so expect more later on today (hopefully)!!