One-shots (Jensoo)

Arranged (2)

The morning after felt less like the dawn of a new intimacy and more like the aftermath of a catastrophic emotional storm.

Jennie woke up first. The sunlight felt harsh, exposing the wreckage of her composure. Last night had been a blur of raw, unedited desire. A primal, desperate release that defied everything her family, her legacy, and her own conditioned self-control had ever taught her.

She was still curled lightly against Jisoo, whose breathing was soft and rhythmic. Jennie's arm lay loosely across Jisoo's middle. This simple, intimate position was what broke her. The vulnerability was suffocating. She felt exposed, stripped bare, and worst of all, out of control.

Emotional outbursts were for the weak. Passion was a liability.

The sudden, searing humiliation of her own actions made her muscles seize. She slipped out of bed with practiced silence, gathering her clothes. Every nerve ending screamed at her to flee. She didn't look back at Jisoo, afraid that one glance would shatter the fragile wall she was desperately trying to re-erect.

By the time Jisoo stirred, Jennie was already dressed in a sharp, intimidating suit, standing by the French doors with a cup of coffee that was too hot and bitter.

Jisoo blinked groggily, her hand reaching automatically for the empty space beside her before she registered Jennie's rigid posture. A shy, soft smile touched her lips, a smile earned by the incredible, shocking intimacy they had shared.

"Morning," Jisoo whispered, her voice husky.

Jennie flinched internally. She needed distance, professionalism, the safe shield of their old routine.

"The driver will be ready in forty-five minutes," Jennie stated, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. She did not meet Jisoo's eyes, focusing instead on the manicured lawn outside. "I expect you to be ready."

The smile instantly evaporated from Jisoo's face. Confusion clouded her features, quickly followed by a sharp sting of hurt.

"Jennie?"

"I have an early meeting. We should try to keep the schedule tight," Jennie continued, walking toward the door. "I'll see you at the office."

She left before Jisoo could process the cold dismissal.

Jennie pressed her forehead against the cool wall, battling a tidal wave of guilt. She knew she was hurting Jisoo. She knew she was acting horribly. But talking about last night, naming the desire, acknowledging the depth of feeling she'd stumbled into, felt like signing a death warrant for her control. So, she clamped down, resorting to the only defense mechanism she knew, silence and professional distance.

Jisoo, left alone in the vast bedroom, felt the beautiful, fragile memories of the night before crumble into dust. Jennie's immediate withdrawal was staggering.

She was just drunk, Jisoo thought, twisting the sheets in her hands. It meant nothing. It was liquor and late-night confusing emotions. The pain was immediate and absolute, compounded by her own deep-seated insecurity that Jennie saw her merely as a convenient arrangement, not a person.

—

The silence that settled over the house in the next few days was heavier than before their kiss. Before, it had been the silence of unfamiliarity; now, it was the silence of avoidance and misunderstanding.

Jennie submerged herself in work, using the office as an escape route. She stayed late, sometimes not getting home until midnight, burying herself in quarterly reports and mergers. Every single late night was a conscious choice to avoid the bedroom, to avoid the possibility of Jisoo looking at her with that expectant, wounded gaze.