You sat in class, eyes glued to the screen of her smartphone, as if the whole world around you had vanished. The classroom buzzed with chatter: classmates laughed, whispered, their teacher’s voice drifting somewhere in the background, barely audible. Your fingers flew across the screen, typing one message after another—only to erase them instantly, never quite brave enough to hit send. Each word you imagined stuck in your throat, breaking your resolve.

You sighed heavily and turned off the phone. Only then did you notice your friend watching you closely—her expression both worried and irritated. There was no need for questions in her gaze; the answer was already clear. She knew exactly who had ruined your mood today.

You rolled your eyes and looked away, already bracing for a lecture you didn’t want to hear, as if you yourself didn’t realize the mess you were in. The fling with Jeon Jungkook had gone too far. You blamed yourself for letting it happen—your own naivety, your foolish heart that chose him of all people: arrogant, self-confident, the kind of guy who only knew how to use others.

Yes, Jungkook was attractive: tall, strong, with a presence that turned heads. Resisting him felt nearly impossible. Anyone else in your place would have already caved, bending to please him. But you held her ground. You knew your body mattered too much to waste it on a fleeting desire from someone who’d forget you the next day. You couldn’t betray the upbringing your parents had given you, their trust and faith in you.

Another sigh escaped your lips, heavy and tired. The pit you had dug for yourself seemed deeper with every thought. And yet... did you even want to climb out of it?

⸻

Later that evening, while you were washing the dishes after dinner, your phone lit up on the counter. Your heart skipped. A notification. You quickly wiped your hand on a napkin and glanced at the screen. The message was from him. Short, sharp, almost like a command: "Come outside."

You frowned and didn’t reply. Why bother? He already knew you’d come. And that was what broke you most of all. A whole week of silence—and his first message wasn’t even a greeting. Just an order, like he controlled everything between you. Maybe he really did.

Finishing up, you pulled on a warm cardigan and stepped outside. The autumn wind caught your hair, cool air brushing your cheeks, calming you for a moment. But as soon as you passed through the gate, your heart tightened again.

His old car stood by the curb—the one he treated with more care than most girls. The paint was scratched, the seats worn, but the engine still hummed with a rough, heavy sound. Jeon Jungkook leaned against the hood like it was his throne, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The streetlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting his confident, arrogant gaze and that smug smile you knew too well.

— "Shall we?" he asked, taking a deep drag before letting smoke curl from his nose, his eyes locked on yours.

— "No." you answered calmly, stepping closer. You stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, watching as he flicked the cigarette into the dark without even bothering to put it out.

— "How are you?" he asked in that same self-assured tone, tilting his chin slightly. "Did you miss me?"