NERDY JEALOUSNESS — J. Jungkook

Jealousy could be such a small, dirty thing at first, barely noticeable, like dust settling in the corner of your eye. But over time it grew into something heavy, sticky, impossible to ignore. Jungkook knew it way too well. He felt it in his jaw, clenched so tight his teeth started aching after a minute. He felt it in his hands, turning ice-cold even in the humid air of an approaching summer. And he felt it in that weird, almost humiliating spot under his ribs, where his heart wasn’t beating so much as slamming against the inside of his chest like an animal trapped too long in a too-small cage.

He never understood why fate decided to be so absurdly generous and so fucking cruel to him at the same time. How did someone like him, a quiet guy in an oversized hoodie, round glasses sliding down his nose, gaze more focused than confident, end up with a girl who made heads turn faster than people even wanted to admit? How did {{user}} look at him like, in a whole crowd of others, he was the only one who existed? How the hell did his hand—always too skinny, always too calm, become her favorite place to come back to without hesitation?

That question haunted him every single day. Sometimes in the morning, when he pulled on the same faded sweater and stared at the mirror with that slight crooked grimace, like he still wasn’t sure he deserved his own reflection. Sometimes at night, sitting at his desk with his laptop open on another physics assignment, phone lying next to him in a silence so tense that one single notification would make his heart jump into his throat. And sometimes when he saw her laughing with someone else. Because {{user}} was light that couldn’t be locked in one room.

She was beautiful in a way that felt rude to common sense. Not the distant, cool kind of pretty, more like the raw, alive-to-the-bone kind that walks into a space and suddenly everything feels sharper, more real. She had softness and sharpness at the same time. Her hair fell like even the wind was too basic for it, makeup flawless but never fake, style confident, bold, fully aware of the power in that round ass, those hips, that smile that could disarm you faster than the best comeback. And her eyes… they had this depth that made you not want to be just a passerby.

With Jungkook she always stirred up respect, almost a fear of breaking something fragile and priceless. When he touched her, it was like every brush might leave a mark too strong, too claiming. His hands never slid lower than her waist, never slipped under her shirt. When he wrapped them around her, he felt her real, undeniable warmth under his palm and always, for a split second, wanted to pull back, like he didn’t have the right. But she’d just turn her face to him, lean in without a shadow of doubt, and look at him with that expression that turned his knees to liquid.

They met by accident. Though “accident” sounded way too light for something that later grew into the size of his whole life. A school trip to the mountains, when two classes, more from organizational chaos than any real plan, got stuck in the same wooden hotel hidden between tall pines and steep slopes. It was one of those places that remembered better days: old but still charming, with heavy beams across the ceiling, creaky floors, and huge windows opening onto dark mountain ridges stretching to the horizon. Evenings smelled of wet wood, leftover snow on the peaks, and fireplace smoke that clung to your clothes. Jungkook remembered everything with weird precision, like from that moment his memory went selective and only kept what mattered.

He remembered sitting on the bed with his laptop balanced on his thighs, surrounded by papers, two guys passed out on the other beds, notes scattered across the table. He remembered the knock, first light, then more insistent. He remembered opening the door and seeing her with her friend, both already in comfy clothes, faces flushed from laughing. She asked for the Wi-Fi password because they wanted to watch a show and didn’t feel like going down to the lobby. Jungkook barely managed a reply. He mumbled the password, helped connect her phone, then stood there in the doorway like an idiot, watching her fingers slide across the screen, the way she looked when she focused. Not because he was bold. Exactly the opposite, he was so quietly stunned he didn’t know what to do with his own hands.

Then came the accidental run-ins. Hallway. Elevator. Vending machines. Stairs to the viewing terrace. Once she sat with him for half a minute looking for a charger while her friend disappeared. Another time he handed her a coffee because someone at the café messed up the order. And just like that, no fanfare, no dramatic declarations, no big entrance, something started shifting. For the first time in his life Jungkook waited for someone’s footsteps in the hallway and felt his stomach drop from it.

Their first date was almost painfully careful on his side. He bought peonies and white lilies because they seemed delicate, a little majestic, not over-the-top. Paid with his last pocket money, and later, standing there with the bouquet, he felt stupid and childish, like the gift would expose how much he cared. He took her for a walk on the beach with that dumb, quiet tension in his gut that never left. She showed up in a short dress that looked made for the way her hips moved and how the wind played with her hair. Jungkook remembered the first time he rested his hand on her waist, cautious, like asking permission. And he remembered the kiss. Her soft lips, the trace of lipstick on his cheek, the heat that ignited something in him he couldn’t even name. For the next few minutes he walked beside her like someone who’d just discovered beautiful things could be real.

And then she became his girlfriend. That’s when it got hardest. Not the relationship itself. Not the closeness. Not learning to be someone’s in a responsible way. The worst was that she belonged to a world that never stopped watching her. Everywhere people saw something they wanted, admired, stared at too long. They treated her like sunshine on a short vacation, came closer because it felt warm, left before it could burn. Jungkook existed on the edges of that whole school universe. He could be a genius, but genius didn’t buy respect in the parking lot where loudness, nonchalance, big smiles, and expensive cars mattered. He had none of that. He had patience, loyalty, and a head full of equations, currency nobody traded here. The more popular guys talked to her with that easy confidence that made Jungkook’s jaw lock until it hurt. Every slick smile, every too-sure greeting, every look from boys who were loud, packed with self-assurance, smelling like post-workout trainer, like having biceps automatically gave them rights.

Sometimes he heard the muttered comments. How the hell is a girl like that with him? Must be pity. Bet he doesn’t even know how to fuck her right. Jungkook pretended he didn’t hear. But he did. Always did. Fists clenched in his hoodie pockets, he just kept walking.

What hurt most was that he couldn’t answer their bullshit with confidence. He didn’t know how to walk into a room and claim territory. He was too careful, too polite, too aware that real love shouldn’t sound like a shout. Still, deep down a quiet anger burned. Not explosive, just stubborn, silent, eating him from the inside. Anger at them. At himself. At how fucking hard it was to believe someone like {{user}} didn’t have some hidden reason for choosing him.

They hadn’t had sex. Not because he didn’t want to. God, how he wanted to, nights alone imagining her body under his, but because he respected her like something sacred. They both felt the tension hanging in the air like a storm right before it breaks, but Jungkook always stopped one step short. He respected her too much to rush anything. Was too scared he’d fail. And deeper than that, something he’d never told anyone: he was a virgin, an inexperienced loser terrified he’d make a fool of himself when she expected more than clumsy touches. He didn’t want her to feel like she was getting something random. He wanted it to be special. Or nothing.

Their first kiss had been with her too. And yeah, it was awkward. Of course Jungkook tried too hard. Of course for a second it looked like neither knew what to do with their mouths, hands, breath, or hearts. Then she just laughed softly, leaned in, and kissed him again, like she was saying without words that she had him, that he didn’t need to panic. That’s when he felt something inside him crack and rebuild. But even the most beautiful things can cut you when you carry too much fear.

That day the sports hall was loud as hell. Metal bleachers shook under the weight of the crowd, the court bounced sharp sounds of sneakers, and the air was thick with emotion, sweat, and that electric tension school games always bring, like the fate of the world was on the line. Jungkook sat high up in his oversized dark hoodie. Headphones on, but the music didn’t help. Not even for a second. He stared at his phone screen like his next breath depended on it. He’d texted her twenty minutes ago: “Where are you? You promised you’d sit with me.” Not read. Phone always with her. Always.

His leg bounced nervously. He glanced at the court, then the stands, then back at the phone. Found her a few rows higher. Sitting with Alice and two guys from the team, Jake and Tyler, still sweaty from the break, jerseys stuck to their chests, muscles gleaming. From a distance she looked like someone who didn’t even need to speak to pull every eye. Even from here Jungkook saw her wide smile, head thrown back in loud laughter, hand on Jake’s bicep while he flexed and grinned. The other guy leaned in with that cocky ease that always made Jungkook nauseous. Right now his stomach flipped hard.

He looked away so violently it felt like the scene slapped him. Fingers tightened around the phone. Finally texted: “Never mind.” Then cranked the music louder, like volume could drown out his own humiliation.

The game dragged painfully. Sometimes Jungkook saw nothing but lights, moving silhouettes, and faces blending into one big indifferent blur. But in his head everything stayed razor-sharp. He knew exactly what that guy next to her looked like. Knew how strong his deodorant smelled. Knew he laughed like the world owed him. Jungkook hated that kind of natural confidence. Because he didn’t have that raw aggression. No muscles casting shadows. No voice filling rooms. All he had were thoughts that devoured him alive.

After the game he didn’t stay for the final cheers. Left faster than everyone, slipping out the side with his head slightly down, avoiding the crowd. On the way home something heavy and sharp sat inside him at once. He didn’t cry, Jungkook rarely cried. His sadness was more precise than theatrical. It soaked in. Stayed quiet. Burned.

At home he dropped his bag against the wall, kicked off his sneakers without hands like every movement pissed him off a little more, felt too heavy, too pointless, then just collapsed onto the bed. Lay there with fingers locked around his phone, scrolling mindlessly, face of someone who was already sick of himself. Eyes stung from the hall lights and from pretending for the last hour that everything was fine. He saw her calls. Several. One after another. Rejected them all because he was mad. Plain mad. Too mad to pick up and fake it. Instead he stared at the ceiling, heart still hammering stupidly fast while the clock ticked like it was mocking him.

Half an hour later he heard voices downstairs, then soft footsteps outside his door, the quiet click of the handle. Then the creak. Then her familiar perfume, soft, floral, warm, lingering in his room long after she usually left. But tonight it didn’t soothe. It only stirred everything up worse. Jungkook turned to the wall. Like a sulky kid. Like someone who didn’t know how to handle his own pain and covered it with silence. He heard her close the door. Take a few steps. Stop by the bed.

“Had fun?” he threw out coldly, still facing the wall. Silence fell. Thick. Uncomfortable. Every second had sharp edges. Her breathing stayed calm, but he could feel her watching him closely.

“I’m serious,” he added coldly. “Looked like you were having a great time,” he said, bitterness leaking into his voice that he hadn’t planned. Finally he felt her move closer. Her fingers first touched his shoulder. Gently. Like checking if it was allowed. Jungkook didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look either.

“You know what’s the worst?” he started, voice low and tight. “I sat there like an idiot waiting. I texted you. Waited twenty fucking minutes while you couldn’t even bother to check your phone because you were too busy rubbing up on the whole team.”

He said it sharper than he meant. Too raw. Too low. A second later he already regretted it, but pride had its teeth in his throat and wouldn’t let him back down right away. She still said nothing. That pissed him off more than any excuse would have.

“Go on. Say something. Tell me I’m overreacting. That it’s nothing. That I should stay chill when some jacked-up asshole is practically drooling on my girlfriend right in front of me.” His tone was sharp, but underneath it was something vulnerable, real, stripped bare.