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It all started with SNU’s wildest fundraiser idea yet: a student-run reality TV show to raise money for charity. The concept was outrageous enough to guarantee donations—Jeon Jungkook, the sweet yet intimidatingly muscular undergrad, would sit center stage, reading aloud anonymous DMs he’d received. The catch? Five mothers were seated onstage too, each tasked with guessing which of their sons had sent the messages.
The audience loved the absurdity from the get-go. Donations poured in as the livestream ticked upward, view counts climbing like wildfire.
Jungkook, for his part, sat at the glossy desk looking like an angel misplaced in the wrong show. His bunny smile kept slipping out as the audience chanted his name, but his nerves were obvious. His big eyes darted at the stack of sealed envelopes containing the anonymous DMs. He cracked his knuckles, his tattoos glinting under the lights. Jungkook was the type who looked like he could bench-press a car but actually wanted to cuddle puppies and knit scarves. Everyone knew it, and everyone loved him for it.
The five mothers fidgeted in their chairs. Their sons were all SNU students, notorious for thirsting after Jungkook. Each one had been given an anonymous handle through which to submit their DMs. On tonight’s show, the goal was simple: read the DMs, guess which son wrote them, watch chaos unfold, and raise a mountain of won for charity.
“Ready, Jungkook?” the host teased.
Jungkook nodded, though his ears were pink. Somewhere deep down, he secretly hoped—prayed—that the DMs might be from *him.* Kim Seokjin. The chaebol prince of the MBA program, the campus hottie who had Jungkook’s heart in a chokehold. Seokjin was handsome, funny, rich, and way out of his league. If there was any miracle tonight, it would be discovering the DMs came from Jin.
Spoiler: they did. Every single one.
But Jungkook wouldn’t know that. Not tonight.
The host handed Jungkook the first envelope. He cracked it open, glanced at the words, and his eyes went impossibly round.
“Oh my god,” Jungkook muttered. “Do I have to read this out loud?”
“Yes!” the audience shouted gleefully.
He cleared his throat. “Okay. It says: *‘I bet your arms aren’t just good for lifting weights. Bet they’d hold me against the wall just fine.’*”
The crowd erupted. The five moms gasped, fanning themselves with the cue cards. Donations spiked instantly.
One mother pointed at another. “That’s YOUR son. I can tell.”
“No way,” the second mother snapped. “My boy would never use such… wall imagery.”
The host grinned. “Write down your guesses, ladies.”
Meanwhile, Jungkook had buried his face in his hands. His soft cheeks were flushed crimson. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, at least not publicly. He lifted his head and mumbled, “I don’t think anyone actually thinks of me like this.”
The audience laughed affectionately. They all knew better. Half the campus thought of him *exactly* like this.
And backstage, watching from a monitor with Yoongi and Hobi, Seokjin was dying of laughter. “It’s just round one,” he whispered, clutching his stomach. “Wait until the wall metaphors escalate.”
Yoongi side-eyed him. “You’re deranged.”
Hobi cackled. “This is the best charity fundraiser ever.”
And the donations kept rolling in.
By the second round, Jungkook was shaking his head before he even unfolded the card.
“This one says… *‘Your lip ring makes me want to commit crimes. Against morality. Against fashion. Against my GPA. I’d fail my finals if it meant biting it once.’*”
The crowd howled. Jungkook yelped and smacked the card against the desk like he could erase the words. His cousin Jimin, sitting in the audience, was practically falling out of his chair from laughter.
The moms looked scandalized but determined. They argued heatedly over which of their sons had written something so unholy. One mom muttered, “My son barely knows how to use punctuation, that can’t be him.”
Jungkook tried to collect himself, but his voice cracked as he read the next line of the same DM: *“Also, your thighs are weapons. Please let me surrender.”*
He slammed the envelope shut, ears glowing like fire.
“Donations just spiked another 10 million won!” the host crowed. “Keep it coming, people, this is for charity!”
Backstage, Seokjin was leaning against a wall, smug as sin. “Look at him blush. He’s so cute.”
Yoongi groaned. “You’re putting this poor kid through public humiliation for charity money and your own romantic agenda.”
Seokjin just smirked. “Exactly.”
The final envelope of the night nearly broke Jungkook.
He opened it with trembling hands. His lips parted. He hesitated. The crowd screamed for him to read.
“Fine!” Jungkook huffed. “It says: *‘If you ever sit on my lap, I’ll donate my entire trust fund to this charity right now.’*”
The moms shrieked in horror. The crowd lost its collective mind. The livestream’s donation bar exploded upward. People were screenshotting so fast Twitter began trending #LapFund.
Jungkook whimpered, covering his face. “Why are they like this?” he squeaked.
The host fanned themselves dramatically. “Well, ladies, one of your sons is clearly *very* generous. Write down your final guesses!”
The mothers bickered louder than ever, none of them willing to claim such a filthy, outrageous message. The timer buzzed, and the guesses were locked in.
“And the answers will remain… a mystery,” the host announced. “That’s all for tonight, folks! Thank you for donating to charity!”
The audience cheered. Jungkook slumped in his chair, dazed and pink-cheeked. He never once suspected the truth—that the DMs all came from the same person.
That they all came from Kim Seokjin.
Later that evening, the Kim household was chaos. Mrs. Kim had been at the show. She’d heard every filthy word her eldest son had written. And now she was standing in the living room, arms crossed, glaring at Seokjin like she was ready to revoke his chaebol privileges.
“Kim Seokjin,” she said icily. “Did you torment that poor sweet boy for three rounds on national TV? For *charity*?”
Seokjin tugged at his collar. “Uh… it was for a good cause?”
Taehyung sprawled on the couch, cackling. “Hyung, you’re *so* dead.”
Namjoon sat in an armchair, smirking into his tea. “I told you the lap line was too far.”
Mrs. Kim tapped her foot. “You embarrassed him! The poor child looked ready to melt into the floor!”
Seokjin raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, maybe I got carried away. But the donations! We raised enough money to fund the entire scholarship drive!”
Taehyung snorted. “And make Jungkook want to crawl under a blanket forever.”
Namjoon added, “Though, to be fair, he *was* smiling every time he read one.”
Mrs. Kim huffed, clearly torn between pride in the charity haul and exasperation at her son’s unholy flirting. “You march yourself to that boy and apologize.”
Seokjin groaned. “But Mom—”
“No buts!”
Taehyung and Namjoon exchanged a look and burst into laughter as Seokjin squirmed, caught between his terrifying mother and his relentless crush.
“Fine,” Seokjin muttered. “I’ll apologize.”
But deep down, all he could think was how much he wanted Jungkook to know the truth—that every word had been his. And maybe, just maybe, Jungkook hadn’t minded as much as he let on.
The next morning, SNU was buzzing. Everyone had stayed up to watch the fundraiser, and Jungkook’s mortification had gone viral overnight. Posters appeared around campus with “WALL KING” and “#LapFund” scrawled across them. Even the school paper ran an editorial: *Anonymous DM-er Saves Charity Drive with Spicy Dedication.*
Jungkook shuffled into the cafeteria with a hoodie pulled over his head, clutching his tray like a shield. Whispers followed him everywhere.
“Is that him?”
“Those are the thighs from the show!”
“I heard the trust fund guy really meant it.”
Jungkook groaned into his pancakes. Across the table, Jimin was no help whatsoever, wheezing into his coffee. “Cousin, you are *never* living this down.”
Jungkook peeked out miserably. “I just wanted to help raise money for charity! Now the whole world thinks some guy wants me to sit on his lap for cash!”
“They don’t *think,*” Jimin snorted. “They *know.*”
At another table, Seokjin strolled in like nothing had happened, Yoongi and Hobi at his sides. Students turned their heads to watch him, whispers mixing with giggles. Jin’s chaebol glow was untouchable—but for once, his smirk was a little too smug.
“Morning, Lap Fund,” Yoongi teased, poking him.
“Shut up,” Seokjin hissed, but his grin betrayed him.
Hobi cackled. “Bro, you single-handedly turned philanthropy into softcore flirting. I’m proud.”
Seokjin flicked his hair. “All for charity.”
But when he caught sight of Jungkook across the cafeteria—hood up, cheeks pink, pouting into his pancakes—his heart squeezed. Jungkook looked like a kicked puppy. A very muscular, tattooed, piercings-and-all kicked puppy.
Seokjin’s smirk faltered. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe he did owe Jungkook an apology.
From across the room, Jungkook lifted his head just once. Their eyes met. And for a flicker of a second, Jungkook smiled—soft, shy, and hopeful—before ducking back down.
Seokjin’s chest ached. Maybe, just maybe, the fallout wasn’t all bad.
For two days after the chaotic charity show, Jeon Jungkook lived in a haze of confusion. He replayed every DM in his head—each raunchy, unhinged, borderline-illegal metaphor—and tried to line it up with the angelic image he secretly carried of Kim Seokjin, SNU’s resident chaebol god. None of it made sense. Surely, his crush couldn’t be the one sending those messages. Surely.
And then, one evening, a new DM arrived.
No filth. No memes. No outrageous references to Jungkook’s “glutes that could crush a watermelon.” Just a plain:
“Can we meet?”
Jungkook’s heart stuttered so hard he almost dropped his phone. His cousin Jimin, sprawled across the couch, raised an eyebrow when Jungkook suddenly bolted upright like he’d been electrocuted.
“You okay? You look like someone just asked you to donate a kidney.”
“N-Nothing,” Jungkook stammered, quickly typing back: “Okay… where?”
The reply came a few minutes later, with an address Jungkook instantly recognized. He nearly fainted.
Kim Seokjin’s penthouse apartment.
The elevator ride up felt like a climb into his own execution. Jungkook’s reflection in the mirrored doors stared back at him with wide eyes, his piercings glinting under the light, tattoos hidden under his oversized hoodie. His muscles tensed with every floor ding, and by the time he reached the top, he was a mess of nerves.
What if it isn’t Jin? What if it’s some prank? What if it’s the dean waiting with a disciplinary form?
The penthouse door opened before he could talk himself into running away.
And there he was.
Kim Seokjin. Tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome in a casual button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up, holding a ladle in one hand. His hair was pushed back like a shampoo commercial, and the scent of something delicious wafted out from behind him.
“Hi,” Seokjin said softly. Not smug. Not cocky. Just… Seokjin.
Jungkook froze. His brain screamed RUN, his heart screamed STAY, and his knees nearly buckled from the sheer force of his crush standing right there. He actually took one step back, ready to turn and flee.
But Seokjin reached out, catching his wrist gently.
“Don’t run. Please. Come in.”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his wide eyes darting from Seokjin’s hand to his face. Slowly, trembling, he let himself be guided inside.
The penthouse was absurd—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, sleek marble counters, warm lighting—but Jungkook barely registered any of it. His entire existence had narrowed down to one truth:
Kim Seokjin was his anonymous DM sender.
Seokjin must’ve sensed the way Jungkook was practically vibrating with nerves, because he set down the ladle and turned to him, earnestness radiating from every word.
“Jungkook. I need to apologize.”
Jungkook’s lips parted, but nothing came out.
Seokjin rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “Yes, it was me. I was the one sending the DMs. I thought it would be funny at first, you know? Anonymous, a little chaotic, raise some eyebrows for the charity show. But then I saw how sweet you were, how you took it all in stride, and—” He broke off, sighing. “It got out of hand. I never wanted to embarrass you. I should’ve told you from the start.”
Silence stretched, broken only by the simmer of food on the stove. Jungkook’s heart thundered, his entire world tilting on its axis.
“You’re… my anon?” Jungkook finally whispered, voice so soft it was almost a confession itself.
Seokjin gave a rueful smile. “Surprise.”
And for the first time since the chaos began, Jungkook wasn’t sure if he wanted to faint, scream, or throw himself into Seokjin’s arms.
The smell of garlic butter and sizzling meat filled Seokjin’s penthouse kitchen, wrapping Jungkook in a blanket of warmth that made his stomach growl despite his nerves.
Seokjin moved around the stove like it was his natural habitat. With sleeves rolled to his elbows, he chopped vegetables, flipped steaks, and tossed pasta with a flourish that looked straight out of a variety show segment titled “Cooking with Your Campus Heartthrob.”
“Sit,” Seokjin said, pointing to the barstool at the marble island. “I’m making too much food, and if you don’t help me eat it, my fridge is going to revolt.”
Jungkook obeyed like a well-trained puppy, clutching his phone in his lap to keep his hands from shaking. This is real. Kim Seokjin is cooking for me. In his penthouse. And he’s smiling like I’m not about to combust right here.
Seokjin slid a plate across the counter—perfectly seared steak, butter-glazed potatoes, and a salad that looked more Michelin-starred than cafeteria. “Try it. And don’t lie to me. I can spot fake compliments faster than Yoongi can fall asleep in class.”
Jungkook picked up his fork with trembling fingers, cut a piece, and took a bite.
It was divine.
His eyes went wide, and before he could stop himself, a tiny, muffled whimper escaped his throat.
Seokjin’s grin spread like wildfire. “Oh my god, was that a food moan? Jungkook, are you… moaning for my cooking?”
Jungkook nearly choked. “I—I wasn’t—! It’s just—it’s so good!” His ears burned crimson.
“Don’t worry,” Seokjin teased, leaning on the counter with a devastating smirk. “You can moan for me anytime.”
If Jungkook’s body wasn’t already made of solid muscle, he might’ve collapsed into a puddle right there. Instead, he shoved another bite into his mouth to hide his face, chewing furiously while Seokjin laughed, a warm, melodic sound that made Jungkook’s chest ache.
But beneath the humor, there was something gentler in Seokjin’s eyes when he finally set down his utensils.
“Jungkook,” he began softly, suddenly more serious. “I know I made a mess of things with the anonymous DMs. I went too far. But the truth is… I wanted an excuse to talk to you. To make you laugh. To get your attention. Because I—” He hesitated, then squared his shoulders like a man used to making boardroom deals, not romantic confessions. “I like you. A lot. And I was wondering if… you’d go on a date with me?”
Jungkook’s fork clattered against the plate. His entire brain short-circuited.
Seokjin Kim, SNU’s untouchable chaebol, prince of every crush list, king of charisma… had just asked him out.
Jungkook blinked. And blinked again. His mouth opened, closed, then opened once more like a fish gasping for air.
“A d-date?” he squeaked, his voice cracking so badly it echoed against the marble.
Seokjin chuckled nervously, mistaking the panic for rejection. “Yeah. You know… dinner, a movie, something normal. No DMs, no TV shows, no charity stunts. Just you and me.”
Jungkook’s heart slammed against his ribcage so hard he swore Seokjin could hear it. His secret crush—his dream scenario—was happening in real life, and all he could do was stare at Seokjin like he’d just suggested robbing a bank together.
He wanted to scream YES. He wanted to throw himself across the counter and kiss Seokjin until the steak got cold. But his body betrayed him, frozen in a deer-in-headlights state, eyes huge and mouth hanging open.
Seconds stretched. The silence grew unbearable.
Seokjin finally exhaled, scratching the back of his head, embarrassment creeping into his smile. “Wow. Okay. That’s… not the reaction I rehearsed in the mirror this morning.”
Jungkook’s brain finally rebooted, and he blurted the first thing that made it past his fried neurons:
“Your cooking is so good!”
Seokjin froze. Then laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the counter, shaking with uncontrollable giggles.
“Only you,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes, “would respond to a date proposal by complimenting my potatoes.”
Jungkook buried his face in his hands, groaning. But under the mortification, his heart swelled, because even if he was the world’s most awkward crush victim… Seokjin hadn’t stopped smiling at him once.
Jungkook’s face was as red as the steak on his plate. His fork wobbled between his fingers before clattering onto the marble counter for the second time that night.
“I—I mean—yes!” he blurted, way too loud. His voice cracked halfway, like he was going through puberty all over again. “I’ll go on a date with you!”
The silence that followed made Jungkook wish he could teleport out of his own body. But then Seokjin’s smile spread slow and wide, lighting up the entire penthouse like the Seoul skyline outside his window.
“You will?” Seokjin asked, almost disbelieving.
Jungkook nodded furiously, nearly knocking over his water. “Yes! I—I mean… if you still want to. I’m not very good at this kind of thing and I probably won’t know what to say and I’ll probably drop my fork again and—”
Seokjin didn’t let him finish.
One moment, Jungkook was babbling. The next, Seokjin was leaning across the counter, cupping his cheek, and kissing him.
It wasn’t raunchy or teasing like the DMs. It was simple, warm, and entirely disarming. A soft press of lips that sent Jungkook’s heart into complete meltdown.
When Seokjin pulled back, Jungkook’s brain had clearly left the building. He sat frozen, eyes wide, lips tingling, fork still dangling precariously from his hand until it slipped and clattered onto the counter again.
“See?” Seokjin teased, breathless but smiling. “You dropped your fork anyway.”
Jungkook groaned, covering his face with both hands. “You can’t just—! I wasn’t ready—! You’re too—!”
“Too what?” Seokjin asked softly, prying Jungkook’s hands away so he could look into those impossibly wide eyes.
Jungkook swallowed hard. “…Too much for me.”
Seokjin’s grin softened into something gentler. “Good. Because you’re already too much for me too.”
Fast forward three days later, Jungkook found himself standing at the gates of the Kim family residence, a mansion so massive it looked less like a home and more like a palace that could double as a UNESCO heritage site.
“Are you sure your parents aren’t expecting, like, a visiting prince or something?” Jungkook whispered as the chauffeur led them up the marble steps.
Seokjin glanced at him sideways, smile tugging at his lips. “Relax. My mom already scolded me for tormenting you with the DMs. She adores you, by the way.”
Jungkook nearly tripped over the step. “Adores me? She doesn’t even know me yet!”
“Oh, she knows enough,” Seokjin said dryly. “She called me yesterday just to say, and I quote: ‘How dare you bully such a sweet, polite boy with those dirty messages. Don’t you dare ruin this one, Jin.’”
Jungkook flushed scarlet. “Sh-she really said that?”
“Word for word,” Seokjin sighed, though there was affection in his voice. “So you’re already winning, bunny. Don’t worry.”
The butler swung open the grand doors before Jungkook could process that, and then they were swept into the mansion’s glittering foyer.
Mr. and Mrs. Kim stood waiting, and Jungkook barely had time to bow before Mrs. Kim swept forward, cupping his cheeks like he was her own son.
“Oh, look at those big eyes! And the muscles! Jin, why didn’t you tell me he was so handsome?”
“M-Mother!” Seokjin sputtered.
“Oh hush, Jin,” Mr. Kim said, clapping Jungkook on the back. “He looks ten times better than the last guy you brought home.”
“Daaad!”
Jungkook blinked, panic and shyness colliding. But Mrs. Kim just looped her arm through his, steering him toward the living room. “We’re Team Jungkook already. Anyone who puts up with my son deserves a medal.”
Taehyung and Namjoon, already sprawled on the couches, were grinning like hyenas.
“Don’t worry, Jungkookie,” Taehyung sang. “This is tradition: meet Jin’s crush, then roast him mercilessly with embarrassing stories.”
“Oh, this’ll be good,” Namjoon agreed.
Jungkook glanced helplessly at Seokjin, who looked like he was preparing to fake his own death.
Mrs. Kim clapped her hands gleefully. “Did you know Seokjin used to sing ballads into a hairbrush until he was seventeen?”
“MOM!”
“And once he got stuck in our bidet because he thought it was a chair,” Mr. Kim added.
“MOTHER! FATHER!”
Taehyung nearly rolled off the couch laughing while Namjoon actually wheezed into his iced tea.
But Jungkook—despite his nerves—was smiling. Really smiling. Because even while his crush drowned in mortification, Seokjin never once stopped glancing at him, making sure he felt welcome.
And when Mrs. Kim leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “He pretends to be confident, but he’s a softie. Take good care of him, okay?”
Jungkook nodded, cheeks warm, heart swelling. “I will.”
Seokjin groaned, throwing himself onto the couch. “Unbelievable. My entire family’s turned against me.”
Namjoon smirked. “Get used to it, hyung. Jungkook’s one of us now.”
And Jungkook’s heart, already fragile from too much emotion, quietly exploded.
The Kim family dining hall looked like it could host a small royal wedding. A chandelier glittered overhead, the table stretched long enough to require microphones, and Jungkook suddenly felt like a very nervous guest star on Downton Abbey: Seoul Edition.
He sat beside Seokjin, trying to keep his posture perfect as butlers glided in with course after course: appetizers shaped like art, soups served in porcelain bowls, dishes that made the cafeteria food at SNU feel like prison rations.
Jungkook picked up his fork carefully, hoping his hands didn’t shake, but Mrs. Kim leaned forward with that warm, mischievous smile again.
“So, Jungkook,” she said, eyes sparkling, “what do you think of our Jin?”
Jungkook choked on air. He glanced sideways at Seokjin, who was glaring at his mother like he’d just been sentenced to death.
“Uh—he’s…he’s great?” Jungkook stammered, voice squeaky.
“Great?” Taehyung repeated, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, hyung, you deserve better than just ‘great.’”
Namjoon jumped in, smirking. “Yeah, Jungkook. Tell us more. Don’t hold back.”
Jungkook’s face turned crimson, and he immediately stuffed his mouth with soup to avoid answering.
Mrs. Kim sighed dramatically. “See? He’s shy. You’re scaring the poor boy.”
“Not as shy as Jin was when he was his age,” Mr. Kim boomed. “Do you know he once fainted trying to ask a girl to the school dance?”
“DAD!” Seokjin groaned, slamming his spoon down.
“And the girl said no,” Namjoon added helpfully.
“Because she thought he was choking on his words,” Taehyung piled on. “Which, technically, he was.”
The table erupted in laughter—everyone except Seokjin, who sat there with his face buried in his hands. Jungkook, trying not to laugh, reached under the table to lightly touch Seokjin’s sleeve. The gesture was small, but it made Seokjin peek out between his fingers with a faint blush.
Jungkook smiled at him—soft, reassuring—and whispered, “I think you’re great.”
That alone made Seokjin sit up straighter, his embarrassment easing just a fraction.
But his reprieve was short-lived.
“Jungkook,” Mrs. Kim said sweetly, turning her attention back to him. “Did you know Jin once entered a karaoke contest in high school?”
Jungkook tilted his head. “Oh?”
Seokjin sat bolt upright. “No. No, no, no, we don’t need to—”
“He performed a ballad with so much passion,” Mrs. Kim continued gleefully, “that he ripped his pants onstage during the high note!”
The brothers howled. Mr. Kim nearly spit out his wine. Jungkook’s jaw dropped before a giggle slipped free, muffled behind his hand.
Seokjin groaned. “Mother, please.”
“Oh, don’t pout. You won first place!” Mrs. Kim reassured him. “The judges said it was the most dramatic performance they’d ever seen.”
Jungkook was shaking with silent laughter now, eyes crinkled, cheeks flushed. And the more he laughed, the redder Seokjin’s ears turned.
“Okay, that’s enough roast-Jin stories,” Seokjin grumbled, stabbing his steak with unnecessary force. “This dinner is supposed to welcome Jungkook, not assassinate me.”
“On the contrary,” Namjoon said smoothly. “This is exactly how we welcome people into the family. Equal parts food and humiliation.”
Taehyung raised his glass. “To Jungkook! The newest Kim in spirit.”
Everyone toasted, and Jungkook’s heart thumped at the words newest Kim. He couldn’t stop smiling, even as his stomach twisted with nerves.
Dessert arrived—delicate pastries and bowls of fresh fruit—and the teasing only escalated.
“Remember when Jin tried to cook for the first time?” Mr. Kim mused, smirking at his son. “Burned water.”
“IT WAS ONE TIME,” Seokjin exploded.
“Or when he dyed his hair orange in high school because he thought it made him look like an anime character?” Taehyung added.
“Yah! Don’t tell him that!” Seokjin cried.
Jungkook’s fork slipped from his fingers as he wheezed with laughter. He was trying to be polite, he really was, but the image of a teenaged Seokjin with bright orange hair was too much.
Mrs. Kim reached across the table, patting Jungkook’s hand fondly. “You’re good for him, Jungkook. He needs someone who’ll laugh with him—and at him—without being intimidated.”
Jungkook’s chest tightened, warmth spreading through him. He hadn’t expected to feel this…welcome. Not just tolerated, but truly wanted.
Meanwhile, Seokjin was sulking beside him, cheeks puffed out. Jungkook leaned closer and whispered, “I think orange hair would’ve been cute.”
Seokjin turned to him, utterly betrayed. “Et tu, Jungkook?”
Jungkook just grinned shyly, dimples showing.
The laughter continued late into the night, story after mortifying story piling up until Seokjin was begging the staff to intervene. But even through his whining and pouting, there was a softness in his eyes whenever they landed on Jungkook—like maybe, just maybe, enduring his family’s torment was worth it.
And Jungkook, clutching the memory of Mrs. Kim’s whispered He’s a softie, take care of him, knew he wanted to try.
The dinner wound down with everyone still chuckling at the last embarrassing story Mrs. Kim had dropped, and Jungkook’s face still burned from laughing too hard. Even though he had been nervous coming in, the night had ended up strangely warm, almost like he had always belonged at that table. Seokjin, however, looked like he wanted to crawl under it.
When it was finally time to leave, Seokjin grabbed Jungkook’s coat and walked him out to the car waiting at the edge of the long driveway. The night air was crisp, and the mansion’s grand lights glowed behind them, a little too dazzling for Jungkook’s wide, unsure eyes.
“Sorry about them,” Seokjin muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, his usual confidence dimmed into something almost boyish. “They… really like to gang up on me. Especially when they’re excited. Which apparently they are about you.”
Jungkook hugged his coat closer, still smiling despite his nerves. “They were… really kind. I was so scared they’d hate me.”
“Are you kidding?” Seokjin said with a soft laugh. “They already adore you. My mom actually scolded me for tormenting you with those DMs. Said you’re too sweet to be messed with. Traitor.”
Jungkook laughed shyly, shaking his head. “Well… I didn’t really mind.”
Seokjin turned to look at him then, really look, the porch light casting golden highlights in Jungkook’s hair. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, suddenly awkward for once in his life. “I’m… glad you came tonight.”
Jungkook’s heart thudded so loudly he was sure it echoed in the quiet street. The silence between them stretched, humming with something new and delicate.
And before Seokjin could fill it with another apology, Jungkook surprised even himself—he leaned up, quick and hesitant, and pressed his lips softly to Seokjin’s.
It was barely more than a brush, but it was enough to freeze them both. Jungkook pulled back immediately, wide-eyed, cheeks burning like fire. “S-sorry—I just—”
Seokjin blinked, then broke into the most dazzling grin Jungkook had ever seen. His hand lifted almost instinctively, brushing Jungkook’s hair back. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
And then Seokjin tilted his head and kissed him back—slow, sure, pulling Jungkook in before he could retreat. Jungkook made a tiny, startled noise against his mouth, but melted instantly when Seokjin’s tongue teased at the seam of his lips. Without thinking, Jungkook opened for him, and the kiss deepened—wet, warm, breathtaking.
Jungkook clutched at Seokjin’s coat for balance, knees weak, while Seokjin’s hand cupped the back of his neck, keeping him close. The world fell away: no mansion lights, no family watching, just the taste of Seokjin, sweet and certain.
When they finally pulled apart, Jungkook’s lips were swollen, his chest heaving. Seokjin’s thumb brushed over his cheek, smug but tender. “Now that,” he whispered, voice low and rich, “is how we should’ve started.”
Jungkook, flustered beyond repair, dove for the car door before he melted into a puddle right there. Seokjin chuckled softly, watching him slip inside, but the smile lingering on his face was unshakable.
The car kiss had changed everything. One moment, Jungkook was convinced he’d just embarrassed himself in front of his crush, and the next, he was breathless, lips swollen, and unable to stop replaying Seokjin’s mouth on his.
The next morning, he nearly fainted when Seokjin appeared outside his lecture hall, leaning casually against the wall with a coffee in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Students practically tripped over themselves gawking—Kim Seokjin, the chaebol prince of SNU, waiting around like some lovesick boyfriend?
Jungkook wanted to crawl into his hoodie and disappear. “Y-you didn’t have to—”
“I did,” Seokjin interrupted smoothly, pressing the flowers into his hands. “My mother says I need to treat you well. I plan to take that very seriously.”
Cue the whispering frenzy of the entire corridor.
From then on, Seokjin went all-in on grand gestures. He left handwritten notes in Jungkook’s locker (sometimes sweet, sometimes scandalously suggestive), he “accidentally” sat next to him in the cafeteria, and once he even hired the campus a cappella group to serenade Jungkook during lunch. Jungkook’s ears burned so red he had to eat hiding behind his tray, but secretly, he adored every ridiculous minute of it.
The awkward part? Jungkook had no idea how to be someone’s boyfriend. His soft, shy nature made him freeze when Seokjin’s arm slid casually around his shoulders, and when Seokjin kissed him outside the library one evening—slow and teasing, with way too many witnesses—Jungkook literally dropped his books and ran straight into a shelf. Seokjin laughed so hard he nearly cried, then kissed him again anyway, with half the campus watching.
Yet beneath the comedy, something real was growing. Jungkook learned that Seokjin wasn’t just the rich, cocky MBA everyone drooled over. He was kind, thoughtful, and surprisingly good at making kimchi stew from scratch. And Seokjin learned that beneath Jungkook’s tattoos and muscles was someone soft, tender, and full of quiet loyalty.
It wasn’t long before Seokjin broached the subject of moving in together. “My penthouse has way too much space for one person,” he said casually over dinner one night, feeding Jungkook a bite of perfectly cooked steak. “You should come stay. Save on rent. I’ll cook every night.”
Jungkook nearly choked on his water. “M-move in? Already?!”
“Why not? We practically spend every day together.” Seokjin leaned back with a grin. “Unless you don’t trust yourself around me.”
Jungkook’s blush traveled all the way to his ears. He mumbled something about “thinking about it,” but Seokjin already looked like he’d won.
Within weeks, Jungkook found himself unpacking boxes in Seokjin’s penthouse—half nervous, half giddy, and wholly aware that his life had been turned upside down by one ridiculous SNU TV show and a handful of anonymous DMs.
What started as the strangest game on campus had become something real: late-night study sessions on the couch, cooking experiments in Seokjin’s designer kitchen, kisses stolen in doorways, and laughter echoing off marble floors.
The shy undergrad and the chaebol heir were building a life together, one kiss, one awkward laugh, and one grand gesture at a time.
And for Jungkook, it was everything he’d secretly dreamed of.