Heartbeat // JK

34- Center Stage

He held the last note like it mattered.
Then silence.

No applause. No echo. Just the low thrum of monitors and the quiet rustle of crew behind the scrim.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, stepped back from the mic. His hand lifted to adjust the in-ear wire draped over his collarbone. A short nod to the engineer. Something passed between them — a confirmation, maybe. Then he rolled his shoulders once and turned off the riser.

And saw me.
His eyes met mine for a beat too long.

No smile. No question. Just a flicker of something quiet and steady.
Then a small tilt of his head — a gesture for me to follow.

I did.

We moved through the maze of curtain and cables, past the quick-change cart and a lighting tech coiling cords at his feet. Jungkook didn't say anything, but he slowed enough for our arms to brush.

A stagehand called out break times — ten minutes.

Jungkook led us into a side corridor just off the green room hallway. Not far, just enough to breathe. Someone had already set out boxed lunches on a folding table — labels taped to the top in permanent marker. Jimin's was half-eaten on a nearby speaker case. Namjoon's sat untouched.

Jungkook grabbed one marked 'JK', peeled it open with a practiced hand, and offered me the first bite of rice without even asking.

I took it.

And only once we were sitting — backs against a cold concrete wall, knees bumped together — did I finally speak.

"I called Sierra."

He froze for half a second.
Eyes on mine.

"I told her yes," I said.

His expression didn't shift all at once — just softened around the edges, like he was trying not to react too hard.

"You're really doing it?"

I nodded.

"She wasn't thrilled I wasn't in New York."

He huffed out a breath. "She know you're with me?"

"I said I was with family."

He looked at me sideways.

"Ouch."

"What?"

"You just downgraded yourself that hard to avoid saying you're with me?"

I elbowed him.
He smirked.

"Guess that makes me your dirty little secret."

I rolled my eyes, but the laugh broke through anyway. It came out shaky, unplanned — the first real one since last night.

"She gave me forty‑eight hours," I said.

"I'm officially in development. Starting now."

He blinked.

"Already?"

I nodded.

"Already."

For a second, he didn't speak.
Just looked at me like he was trying to commit the whole scene to memory — the badge around my neck, the rice in my lap, the way my knees brushed his like I wasn't planning to run anymore.

"You're not gonna vanish in forty-eight hours, right?" he asked softly.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

That landed.

His eyes searched mine like he needed to see if it was true — and when he found it, something in his chest eased.