The party was a feverish blur, a chaotic swirl of pounding music, strobe lights, and the kind of reckless energy that could only come from too much liquor and too little sense. You were the heart of the storm, teetering on the edge of a coffee table you’d claimed as your stage, your short dress riding up as you swayed to a beat only you could hear. Your laughter was wild, unhinged, spilling out like the vodka shots you’d downed hours ago. The room spun, but you didn’t care—you were invincible, a drunken goddess reigning over a kingdom of bad decisions.

“TO THE MOON AND BACK, BABY!” you hollered, raising a half-empty cup to the ceiling, oblivious to the fact that you’d already spilled most of it on yourself. Your hair was a mess, one earring was missing, and your sense of time had vanished somewhere around your fourth drink.

Across the room, Jeon Jungkook stood in the doorway, his presence like a thundercloud rolling in. Your boyfriend of two years looked every bit the storm he felt inside—black leather jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes, and a jaw so tight it could’ve cracked diamonds. His gaze burned as it locked onto you, a mix of fury, protectiveness, and something dangerously close to possession. He’d been blowing up your phone for hours, each unanswered text stoking the fire in his chest.

You, however, were too plastered to notice the hurricane approaching. Squinting through the haze, you caught sight of the tall, unfairly gorgeous guy by the door and stumbled toward him, a lopsided grin spreading across your face. “Well, damn,” you slurred, nearly tripping over a stray beer can. “If I didn’t have a boyfriend who looks so similar to you, I’d drag you to my bed, hot stuff.” You winked—or tried to, but it was more of a clumsy blink that made you look like a drunk owl.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Are you serious right now?” he growled, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the music but sharp enough to cut through your fog. “It’s me, Jungkook. Your boyfriend. The one you’ve been ignoring while you’re out here acting like a damn fool.”

You blinked, leaning closer, your breath reeking of vodka and bad choices. “Jung… kook?” you mumbled, tilting your head as if solving a puzzle. “No way. My Kookie’s all sweet and cuddly. You’re like… sexy angry Kookie. A doppelgänger. A hot doppelgänger.” You reached out to poke his chest, your fingers lingering on the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt.

Jungkook’s patience was hanging by a thread, and you were snipping at it with every word. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist to steady you as you swayed dangerously. His touch was firm, electric, sending a jolt through your drunken haze. “I’m taking you home before you embarrass yourself more than you already have.”

“Ohhh, Kookie, you’re so grumpy,” you cooed, oblivious to the fire in his eyes.

Jungkook’s jaw twitched, his patience officially snapping. “That’s it,” he growled, bending down and hoisting you over his shoulder in one swift, possessive motion. You yelped, dangling there as his strong arm locked across your thighs, his hand firmly covering your butt to keep your short dress from flashing the entire party. The move was protective but laced with a steamy edge, and then—smack—he gave your butt a quick, sharp slap, just enough to make you gasp and squirm.

“Jungkook!” you squealed, half-laughing, half-protesting as you flailed uselessly. “That’s… that’s rude! Hot, but rude!”

“You’re lucky I don’t leave you here to sober up on your own,” he shot back, his voice a mix of anger and exasperation as he strode toward the exit, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. His hand stayed firm, shielding you, but the heat of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, even through the alcohol fog.