Wrong number? || BTS

52. Jungkook

Y/N’s POV

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The door clicked shut behind us, soft but final.

We were the last ones back. The dorm had gone unusually quiet — no distant Taehyung humming, no Jimin yelling over a game, no Jin scolding anyone about skincare. Just… stillness.

My legs ached a little from walking around the studio, trying on outfit after outfit under blinding lights and endless opinions. I tossed my bag onto the chair and exhaled as I flopped onto the bed, the comforter cool and inviting against my skin.

Across the room, Jungkook was still fiddling with his hoodie, grumbling something under his breath about how Taehyung nearly broke the zipper on his pants earlier.

I smiled faintly. Some things never changed.

After a quick shower, I stepped out of the bathroom, face freshly washed, hair wrapped up in a towel, and wearing one of the oversized BTS shirts I’d shamelessly borrowed from the laundry pile — Jungkook’s, judging by the size and the faint, oddly comforting detergent smell.

He was already on the bed, scrolling through his phone with one leg bent up and the blanket thrown lazily across his waist. The light from his screen cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brows.

Namjoon’s words echoed in my head from just before we left the studio

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> “We’re heading out early tomorrow — around eight. You’ll stay back for a bit, then someone from styling will come pick you up after lunch. You’ll get ready at the studio, then meet us at the venue.”<

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That gave me a few extra hours. Not bad.

“You done?” Jungkook asked from across the room.

“Yeah,” I replied, padding over to my side of the bed and collapsing onto it with a soft sigh. “Finally.”

Jungkook tapped his phone off and tossed it aside. Silence settled between us for a moment — not awkward, but… weighted.

I was just about to pull the blanket up when his voice broke the stillness.

“Y/N.”

I blinked and turned my head slightly. “Hm?”

“Do you… think about him a lot?”

I blinked. “Who?”

“The guy who’s been sending you stuff.”

Ah.

I shifted, staring up at the ceiling now. “You mean the one I don’t even know for sure exists?”

There was a quiet scoff from his side. “You kept the bracelet. You still have the note. Feels like more than just curiosity.”

I swallowed. I had kept it. Tucked it into my hoodie pocket without even thinking.

“I don’t know what it means,” I said quietly. “I’m not obsessing. It’s just… confusing.”

He didn’t reply at first. I could feel the tension though — in the way his body stayed stiff under the covers, the way his fingers fidgeted against the sheets.

“It’s not just confusing,” he finally said. “You looked like someone punched you in the chest earlier.”

I turned slightly toward him, brows furrowing. “You’re reading too much into it.”