the city sprawled before you, a shimmering ocean of neon and headlights, alive with restless energy. you stood by the glass, loosely wrapped in a silk robe, arms crossed as if bracing against an invisible weight. behind you, the familiar rustling of sheets, then silence. you knew Jungkook’s routine by now—he always stepped onto the balcony for a cigarette after. no lingering touches, no whispered words. just heat that flared and faded just as quickly. and that was fine. this wasn’t love. this was a battle disguised as intimacy.

except tonight felt different.

you sensed the shift before you heard him. he subtle warmth of his presence, the way the air grew heavier between you. then—his arms, hesitant yet firm, circled around you from behind. not just a possessive hold. something more… anchoring.

his breath skimmed your neck as he spoke, voice unusually rough. “i might break my own rules tonight.”

you raised a brow, glancing back slightly. “is that so?”

his hold tightened, forehead resting against your shoulder. “two weeks.” a shaky breath. “two weeks, and i told myself i’d be fine. that i could handle this.” his lips ghosted over your skin—soft, almost desperate. “but i wasn’t. i haven’t been fine since the second you walked out that door.” his fingers curled into your waist, as if grounding himself. “i thought i could do without this. without you.” a quiet, bitter laugh. “i was wrong.”

your heartbeat pounded, but your voice remained steady “that wasn’t part of the deal.”

“damn, i know.” his grip faltered, then softened, as if waging a silent war with himself. then, in a whisper that sounded like surrender—

“i want more.”