The party was winding down, the glow of the city lights reflecting on the sleek exterior of Jungkook’s car. It had been a grand celebration, his father’s company’s 30th anniversary. The legacy he would one day inherit. But as you slid into the passenger seat, the tension between you crackled louder than any applause that had filled the ballroom earlier.

Jungkook slammed forcefully the door behind him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why the hell did you have to dance with him?” His voice was low, taut with barely concealed jealousy. His dark eyes flicked to you, a mix of irritation and something deeper burning in them. “I was right there. You didn’t need to...” He cut himself off, shaking his head as if the thought alone was unbearable.

The truth simmered beneath his words, though he dared not voice it. His secret crush on you was no longer just a secret—it was a storm inside him, threatening to break free.

“A shitty one,” he snapped at your answer, his tone sharp but cracking at the edges. “He didn’t even dance well. The bastard moved like a damn stick.” He scoffed, the corner of his lips twitching in disdain as he buckled into the driver’s seat. But even as he fumed, his hands betrayed him, gentle and steady as he leaned over to secure your seatbelt.

The proximity was suffocating. His breath hitched as he lingered a second too long, his face inches from yours. His skin flushed red, the heat spreading to the tips of his ears. God, he wanted to kiss you. Wanted to give in to the overwhelming pull he felt every time you were near. But he clenched his jaw, forcing himself back into his seat, gripping the wheel like it might anchor him.

“Let’s just go,” he muttered, his voice rough and strained. As the engine roared to life, the tension in the car was unbearable. He gripped the steering wheel hardly.