From Reluctance to Desire: A Mafia Story [JJK]

✨WHISKEY CONFESSIONS✨

The next morning, the mansion was eerily quiet. Not the usual morning stillness, but something heavier—like the house itself was holding its breath.

I woke with last night lingering on my skin. The warmth of Jungkook's hand on my waist, the unspoken words in his eyes, the way he held me as if afraid to let go. I tossed and turned for hours, trying to convince myself it was nothing. A momentary lapse. A trick of the music and the atmosphere. But deep down, I knew it was more. Something had shifted. And I didn't know how to undo it.

For the first time, I hesitated before stepping out of my room.

Downstairs, the world carried on as if nothing had changed. The staff moved with their usual efficiency, the scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen, yet a strange tension pulsed through the air. As if everyone could feel the shift but no one dared acknowledge it.

Jungkook was already in the dining room, a cup of coffee in hand, a newspaper in front of him. But he wasn't reading. His grip on the porcelain handle was too tight, his shoulders rigid, his eyes fixed on the same line of text.

I sat across from him, forcing normalcy into my movements. The clink of my cup against the saucer felt deafening in the silence. Jungkook didn't look up.

For minutes, neither of us spoke. But the quiet wasn't comfortable—it was suffocating. He was shutting me out. The same man who had looked at me like I was the only person in the room last night was now pretending I didn't exist.

He exhaled sharply and folded the newspaper with calculated precision. "About last night..." His voice was even, but something in it wavered.

I held my breath.

He hesitated. I saw it in the way his fingers flexed against the table, in the flicker of doubt in his dark eyes. For a second, I thought he might admit something real. Something raw. But then, his expression hardened.

"Don't read too much into it," he said coolly. "It was just a dance."

Just a dance.

The words sliced through me, cold and final. I swallowed the sting of disappointment and nodded. "Of course. Just a dance."

His jaw clenched. As if he was trying to convince himself more than me.

Breakfast passed in a blur of empty conversation. Then, as quickly as he came, Jungkook left. Off to business, off to bury himself in something that wasn't this. And I was left in the silence, staring at the ghost of something that could have been.

---

The house was wrapped in darkness when I heard the front door open. Then—uneven footsteps.

Jungkook.

I sat up, my heartbeat quickening. He had come home late many times before. He had come home drunk many times before. But never like this. Never this unsteady, never this... wrecked.

I found him in the living room, his tie undone, his hair a disheveled mess. The scent of alcohol clung to him, stronger than usual. He was leaning against the wall, his head bowed, one hand gripping his temple as if trying to keep himself together.

"Jungkook?" I called softly.

His head lifted at the sound of my voice. He blinked, his gaze unfocused before it locked onto me.

"You..." he slurred, his voice rough. "Why are you here?"

I frowned. "I live here."

He took an unsteady step forward, and I instinctively reached out, steadying him with a hand on his arm. The moment I touched him, he froze. His eyes, dark and stormy, flickered down to where my fingers pressed against his sleeve.