°❀⋆Fᴀᴛᴇᴅ Aғᴛᴇʀ Aʟʟ — ᨳଓ . Jungkook

The summer air of your university years had smelled like rainy asphalt and cheap iced coffees. Back then, Jungkook had loved you with a fierce, reckless intensity that consumed everything in its path. You were the couple everyone envied—stealing kisses behind lecture hall doors, making grand promises under the neon lights of late-night convenience stores. When he slipped a simple silver band onto your finger right after graduation, you both believed love alone was enough to build a life on.

You were wrong. Marriage quickly exposed the jagged edges of your youth and unchecked pride.

Within months, your cramped apartment turned into a battleground over the smallest things: leftover coffee cups on the counter, unreturned phone calls during late shifts, or a misinterpreted sigh. Neither of you knew how to bow your heads. Both were too stubborn, too egotistical, convinced that apologizing meant losing. Every argument became a test of endurance, every silence a weapon. The love didn't vanish overnight; it bled out slowly through a thousand tiny cuts until the day you signed the divorce papers, staring at each other with tears in your eyes and bitter defiance in your chests.

Five years had passed since that devastating door slammed shut.

Now, a heavy platinum band rested on your ring finger. You were happily married to Park Joon, a gentleman whose quiet kindness and grounded nature had healed the frantic wounds of your past. You had a peaceful home and a three-year-old daughter waiting for you both with a babysitter tonight. You had convinced yourself that your chapter with Jungkook was entirely closed.

Until Joon led you through the grand ballroom of the charity gala, his hand resting comfortably on the small of your back.

"I want you to meet my new business partner," Joon murmured softly near your ear. "This is Director Jungkook."

Your heart didn't just drop—it shattered against your ribs.

Standing before you both in an immaculate dark suit was Jungkook. The boyish softness of his early twenties had burned away, replaced by the cold, razor-sharp edge of a hardened CEO. But his eyes—the dark, piercing gaze that once knew every secret inch of your soul—were unmistakably his. Beside him stood Han Chae-young, his elegant wife, radiating effortless grace with a quiet, polite smile as she held the arm of the man who used to hold you.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Park," Jungkook said, his voice a low, raspy velvet that sent a tremor straight down your spine.

He extended a hand. When your fingers brushed against his, the contact felt like a live wire. His skin was warm, his grip firm, and he held your hand for a fraction of a second too long—just enough for the phantom memory of his touch to flush through your blood.

Joon and Jungkook were now bound by a multi-million dollar contract. You would have to see him every week. Perhaps every day. And neither of your spouses had any idea that the strangers shaking hands across the polished table were the ones who held all of each other's "firsts."

Later that night, escaping the suffocating heat of the ballroom, you stepped out onto the secluded balcony. The cool night air hit your skin, but it offered no relief.

You kept your back to him, staring out at the blurred city lights, but your body remembered every curve of his shadow. You didn’t have to look to know he was stepping closer; the faint sound of his leather shoes against the balcony tile was enough to make your chest ache.

You stayed completely still, silent, afraid that if you breathed too loudly, you would break into pieces.

Jungkook closed the distance between you until the heat radiating from his chest warmed the cool night air against your spine. He didn't touch you yet, but his proximity was suffocating.

"The only thing that supported me after you... was alcohol," he whispered, his raspy voice thick with an exhaustion he never showed the world. He took a slow sip, the ice clinking against the glass. "I drown myself in this just to forget the world. But you know what? I forget everything... but never you."

A single tear escaped your eye, slipping hot down your cheek. You kept your gaze fixed on the dark horizon, refusing to turn around.

"You married another woman," you murmured, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. "Do you... do you have any kids?"

Silence stretched between you both, heavy and fragile, before he finally spoke. "A three-year-old son."

You squeezed your eyes shut as a fresh wave of grief washed over you. The pain was sudden, sharp, and entirely unbearable.

"Jungkook... after seeing you tonight, looking so happy with another woman... my heart is burning," you breathed, the confession tearing out of you. "You definitely touch her... the same way you used to touch me."

Behind you, the sharp, sudden strain of glass echoed under immense pressure as his grip tightened around his drink until his knuckles turned white.

"Then think about me," he growled, stepping so close his chest pressed flush against your back, trapping you against the marble railing. His breath hit the shell of your ear, rough and desperate. "Think about how I feel, seeing you with another man. Knowing he touches you... the way only I was supposed to touch you."

Before you could move, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, resting his heavy head against your shoulder. The fierce CEO vanished, leaving behind only the broken man who used to love you.

"Tell me how I’m supposed to bear seeing you with someone else," he choked out, his chest heaving against yours. "Tell me... because I'm dying inside. We were young, we were stupid, and we didn't understand what we had. But now..."

His hand came up, hovering near your waist, trembling, fighting every urge not to wrap around you entirely. A harsh gasp tore from your throat as his body heat enveloped you, every muscle in your frame locking in sheer terror and overwhelming longing. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands gripping the cold marble railing so tightly your nails dug into the stone, silently fighting the terrifying urge to lean back into his chest.

"Now, if you told me to fall to my knees at your feet, I would obey," he whispered desperately into your skin. "If you told me to lick the very floor you walked on just to have you back... I would do it."

Your breath caught completely, a silent sob wracking your shoulders. Hearing the arrogant, unyielding Jungkook reduce himself to this sent a sharp, agonizing stab straight through your heart. The tears overflowed, pooling on your chin and dripping onto his hand.

"Don't you dare think this is about lust," he rasped, his warm breath burning against the sensitive skin of your neck. "I want you back because you are mine. Because I love you in a way I have never loved anything else in this life—not even my own self."

His trembling fingers finally made contact, grazing your waist with a ghost of a touch before gripping you tighter, pulling you back into the solid frame of his body. Every nerve ending in your body flared to life; the familiar, dangerous spark of his touch sent a shiver straight down your spine. For a terrifying second, your head tilted back, almost giving in to the intoxicating memory of his hold, your soul begging you to turn around and press your lips to his.

"Just say the word," he begged, his voice cracking down the middle. "Say it, and I will tear down everything I built. I’ll leave it all behind—my wife, my child, my name. Just say you want me back."

The words hung in the night air like a heavy blade. Tears slipped down your cheeks, cold against the hot flush of your skin.

My daughter.

The thought struck you like a physical blow. Park Joon was a gentle man, but he was a powerful one, and he adored his little girl. If you destroyed your marriage for the ghost of your past, Joon would fight with everything he had. He would never let you keep your daughter. You couldn't trade your child's smile for a second chance at a love that had already once burned you both to ashes.

You pulled back sharply, breaking the oppressive warmth of his body. The sudden distance felt like a physical tear, leaving you both breathless in the moonlight. You stared at him, your throat tight with unspoken grief, unable to give him the answer he was begging for.

Before you could force a single word past your lips, a polite voice echoed from the doorway of the balcony.

"Darling? There you are." Joon stepped out, his warm smile instantly faltering into confusion as his eyes landed on the two of you standing in the dim light. "Director Jungkook... I was looking for you both to introduce the board members."

You swallowed hard, wiping your cheek with a quick, practiced motion before turning to your husband. "I just needed some fresh air," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You took Joon’s offered arm, anchoring yourself to the safe, stable life you had chosen, even as your soul screamed.

You didn't look back at Jungkook, but you didn't need to.

For the rest of the evening, he became a specter hovering at the edges of the grand ballroom. While the affluent crowd laughed under crystal chandeliers, Jungkook stood alone near the glass patio doors, refusing all offers of conversation. Glass after glass of neat scotch disappeared down his throat, the dark, burning liquid doing nothing to dull the torment in his eyes.

Every time you chanced a glance in his direction, you saw him lighting another cigarette, the small ember glowing red in the dark shadows of the terrace. He blew rings of smoke into the night air, staring fixedly at you through the glass—a man trapped in a prison of his own making, slowly burning himself alive because he couldn't have the one thing he ruined.