Chapter 1: Makguksu
Chapter Text
“I’m here, I’m here!” The bustling of the kitchen greeted Jungkook as soon as he rushed through the back door of the restaurant, his backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Classes ran over, eh kid?” The owner of the shop, Namjoon, called out from the front, head poking into the kitchen as soon as he heard Jungkook.
“Yeah, you know how it is, hyung,” Jungkook groaned, making a face as he yanked his apron off the hook, already moving into autopilot. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of the kitchen, especially after a day of sitting in lectures. There was something more satisfying about being here—hands-on, working, contributing.
A few dishes were piled up in the sink, and something that looked like jajangmyeon bubbled on the stove. Yoongi, the ever-serious head chef, was busy plating the latest order with his usual quiet focus, though he gave Jungkook a brief nod in greeting.
“How’s the rush?” Jungkook asked as he rolled up his sleeves, already moving toward the dishes.
"There's no rush for now. The evening crowd will come in around half an hour, so don't worry," Namjoon reassured him, stepping a foot into the kitchen unconsciously.
Instantly, Yoongi's stare zeroed in on Namjoon like a heat-seeking missile. Words weren't needed. Namjoon froze where he was, his face paling.
“Sorry, babe," he muttered, darting out of there with a little sheepish grin.
Jungkook could not help but stifle a grin while taking the sponge in hand, beginning to scrub plates. This cat-and-mouse game was a daily routine. Kim Namjoon, the well-meaning but hopeless owner of Min and Kim’s, was, to put it mildly, a walking disaster in the kitchen. After his third accidental fire—yes, third—his husband, Min Yoongi, had issued a lifetime ban. Since then, Namjoon had been relegated to managing the front of house, under the strict, watchful eyes of Yoongi whenever he so much as glanced toward the kitchen.
The bell on the entrance tinkled throughout the shop, it was a small shop afterall, letting Jungkook know that he had to go in front and check on the customer. Normally, Jimin would’ve handled it, but he was out of town for an assignment, leaving them a bit short-staffed. Jungkook could hear Namjoon already chatting with the customer as he hesitated for a moment.
“Go, kid,” Yoongi’s deep voice rumbled from behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I’ll take over.”
Jungkook sighed. Between him and Jimin, Jimin was definitely the extroverted one. Jungkook much preferred being in the back, cooking away from the spotlight. But since Jimin wasn’t there, the responsibility naturally fell on him.
Fixing a customer-service-smile on his face, he made his way to the front of the shop where the seats were. The customer-a man-was already seated by the window. Beige bucket hat covered almost all of his face.
"Welcome to Min and Kim's! Here's your menu. What can I get for you?" Jungkook asked, handing the man a menu that he picked up on the way, his voice as pleasant as he could manage. No matter how small their shop was, there would never be a complaint about their customer service.
“I’d like the chef’s special please,” the man said, glancing up at Jungkook from beneath the brim of the hat and—
Oh.
Jungkook froze. The man was, in short, ethereal. He was like one of those old gods who walked right out of a myth so forgotten no one even bothered to write it anymore. Every feature of his face was flawless- sharp eyes, nose almost too perfect, and those lips. Jungkook had never really given much thought to lips before, but these... these made him want to kiss a customer’s lips for the first time.
Jungkook quickly shook himself mentally. Thoughts like those wouldn’t serve him well.
“The chef’s special?” Jungkook repeated, forcing himself back to the present. The man—ethereal, and utterly distracting—blinked. It took a beat before he nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on Jungkook for a beat longer.
“Yes,” he nodded once, his voice soft and smooth. “The chef’s special.”
Jungkook scribbled the order down, willing his fingers to stop trembling. He cleared his throat, offering a polite smile before making a beeline for the kitchen.
“The customer wants the chef’s special, hyung,” he relayed to Yoongi, who was still scrubbing at the pans.
“But we don’t have a chef’s special.” Yoongi turned to him, confused.
Oh. Right.
In the midst of admiring the man, Jungkook had completely forgotten that small but important detail. His stomach dropped. What was he supposed to do now? Go back to that god-like man and admit he messed up? The man would surely think he was an idiot.
“What do I do now?” Jungkook’s face fell in panic.
Yoongi shrugged. “Figure it out. You’re the chef for now,” he said, turning back to the dishes as if he did not just drop the most casual bombshell ever.
“Me?” Jungkook’s voice shot up an octave before he forced it back down. “Hyung, are you insane?” he whisper-screamed.
“Nope. You told him he’d get the chef’s special. So, make him the chef’s special, chef.” Yoongi’s tone was flat, but Jungkook could practically hear his eyes rolling even though he wasn’t facing him.
Jungkook huffed in frustration. He’d really brought this on himself.
If the man wanted a chef’s special, then that’s what he would get. He rolled up his sleeves and scanned the kitchen. His mind raced as he considered his options. What could he make? Something that was simple... something that meant a lot to him.
Makguksu. His special recipe. His comfort food.
On nights when everything felt overwhelming, makguksu was his go-to.
It had always hit the spot when he needed comfort. And now, he would be serving it to a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
Well, no pressure.
He moved swiftly, hands steady despite the rush of nerves. He pulled out the buckwheat noodles, rinsing them with cold water before tossing them into a pot. While they cooked, he quickly prepped the vegetables—thin slices of cucumber, radish, and pear. The broth was easy: just the right amount of tang, spice, and sweetness from the perilla oil, cham sauce, Buldak sauce and Buldak mayo. Familiar motions calmed him as he poured it all together, arranging everything in the bowl like he always did.
Finally, he perfectly placed an egg yolk on top. He stared at the bowl for a moment, taking a deep breath.
This better be good enough for the god-like man.
“Here’s your chef’s special,” Jungkook said quietly as he placed the bowl in front of Yoongi. “Makguksu, my way.”
Yoongi glanced down at the dish and gave an approving nod. “Not bad, chef,” he muttered, handing it back.
And with that, Jungkook headed back to the front, nerves still buzzing, bowl in hand. He just hoped the god-like customer liked comfort food as much as he did. His grip on the bowl tightened as he approached the customer’s table, his nerves a tangled mess. He had cooked for plenty of people before, but something about this man—this ridiculously handsome man with perfect hair and unfairly plush lips—made him feel like he was about to serve food to a king.
The man was scrolling through his phone when Jungkook placed the bowl down with a quiet, “Here’s your chef’s special.”
He blinked, setting his phone aside. His gaze dropped to the dish, eyes widening slightly. “Makguksu?” His voice held a note of surprise.
Jungkook shifted on his feet. “Uh, yeah. My version.”
The man picked up his chopsticks, giving the noodles a quick lift before taking a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, he stilled. Jungkook swallowed nervously, watching every microexpression like his life depended on it.
Then, the man let out a deep, satisfied sigh. His eyes fluttered shut. “Oh.”
Jungkook nearly collapsed.
Another bite, then another, followed by a low hum of approval. “This is good,” the man said, glancing up at Jungkook like he had just been blessed. “Like, really good. What did you put in the sauce?”
Jungkook coughed, suddenly feeling warm under the praise. “Uh, just… my own mix. A little extra perilla oil, some secret ingredients.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Secret ingredients?”
Jungkook smirked despite himself. “Trade secret.”
The man huffed but took another bite, nodding approvingly. “Fine. But I will figure it out.”
Jungkook had no doubt.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨🍜୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Jungkook forced himself to walk away before he did something stupid—like stand there gawking while the man ate.
Back in the kitchen, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders to shake off the weird energy buzzing under his skin. Get it together, Jeon. It’s just a customer.
A customer who looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.
A customer who ate his food like it was the best thing he’d tasted in years.
Jungkook groaned under his breath and yanked open the fridge, pretending to look for something just to give himself a second to breathe. This was ridiculous. He had a job to do. He couldn’t stand around thinking about the way the man’s lips had wrapped around the chopsticks— God, stop.
“You good?” Yoongi’s voice snapped him back to reality.
Jungkook turned to find his boss watching him with mild amusement, arms crossed.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Yoongi just raised an eyebrow. “No reason. Except that you walked out of here looking like you were marching to your doom, and now you’re standing in front of the fridge like you forgot what food is.”
Jungkook scowled. “I was just—” He shut the fridge a little too hard. “Never mind. Order up?”
Yoongi didn’t push. “Two doenjang jjigae, one kimchi fried rice.”
“On it.”
Jungkook threw himself into work, determined to shake off the strange spell the customer had put him under. He moved quickly, hands sure and practiced, muscle memory taking over as he prepped ingredients and tended to the stove. This was familiar. Safe. He wasn’t thinking about him.
…Except he kind of was.
Every now and then, he caught himself glancing toward the front, trying to steal a peek without being obvious. The man was still there, eating at a pace that suggested he was actually savoring the meal instead of inhaling it like most customers. At one point, he even leaned back with a pleased sigh, looking devastatingly satisfied.
Jungkook nearly burned the rice.
“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he plated the food. This was getting embarrassing. He didn’t even know the guy’s name, and yet here he was, acting like some lovestruck idiot.
He needed to get a grip.
But then, just as he turned back toward the kitchen window, he caught the man looking at him.
Jungkook froze.
The man wasn’t staring, exactly—more like observing, head tilted slightly, chopsticks still in hand. Their eyes met for just a second before Jungkook panicked and looked away, busying himself with wiping down the counter like his life depended on it.
What the hell was that?
He clenched his jaw, willing his heartbeat to slow.
This was fine. Totally fine. He’d get through the shift, forget about the god-like stranger, and move on with his life.
Simple.
…Right?
Chapter 2: A Chef, A Critic, and a Meddlesome Server
Summary:
Jimin has a hand in every havoc that happens at Min & Kim's.
Chapter Text
By now, Jungkook should have been used to the rush. The past few days had been insane—reservations booked out for weeks, people lining up outside, even their regulars looking vaguely alarmed at how popular Min & Kim’s had suddenly become.
Not that Jungkook was complaining.
Well. Maybe a little.
The kitchen had turned into a warzone, Yoongi barking out orders like they were running a three-star Michelin restaurant instead of the cozy, quietly respectable place it had been just last week. Namjoon was juggling phone calls and customers with the air of a man both thrilled and terrified at his own success. Jimin, their official server, had taken it upon himself to both welcome and terrorize their new wave of customers with his signature charm.
And Jungkook—Jungkook was just trying to keep up.
“Order up!” he called, setting a fresh plate of bulgogi down on the counter.
Jimin swept by, grabbing the plate with practiced ease. “You’re in a good mood today,” he noted, eyeing Jungkook up and down.
Jungkook frowned. “Am I?”
Jimin smirked. “Almost like you’re expecting someone.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Jimin didn’t answer, just gave him a knowing look before striding off to deliver the food.
Shaking his head, Jungkook turned back to the stove, trying not to overthink things. But he could still feel it—the warmth lingering in his chest from the past few days, from the knowledge that his dish had been the one to get mentioned in that anonymous review.
Jungkook had seen it himself after Yoongi shoved his phone in his face.
"Min & Kim’s is an understated gem with a surprisingly warm approach to modern comfort food. While everything on the menu is worth a try, one unexpected dish stood out: the chef’s special, a take on makguksu that managed to be both bold and nostalgic. Whoever made it understands that great food is about more than just flavor—it’s about feeling. And for the first time in a while, I felt at home."
Jungkook had nearly choked. That was his dish. His food. Someone had written about his cooking.
He should’ve been able to move on, to take the win and keep his head down. He wasn’t naïve. He knew food critics had the power to make or break a restaurant, and whoever had written that piece had just changed Min & Kim’s fate for the better.
Jungkook didn’t need to know who it was. It was enough to be grateful.
…So why did he keep thinking about that one customer?
He wasn’t even sure it was him—he had no proof—but something in his gut told him it had to be. That ridiculously handsome man, the one who had eaten his makguksu like it was everything, had to be the one behind the review.
Jungkook shook his head, as if that would knock the thought loose. Focus. He had a job to do.
Just as he was about to dive into the next order, Jimin practically danced back into the kitchen, an unholy grin plastered across his face.
Jungkook sighed. “What now?”
Jimin rested an elbow on the counter, propping his chin in his palm. “Guess who’s back?”
Jungkook frowned. “Huh?”
“Your favorite customer.”
Jungkook blinked. “What?”
Jimin grinned wider. “Table six.”
Jungkook barely stopped himself from snapping his head toward the dining area. He swallowed hard. “And?”
“And—” Jimin dragged out the word like he was savoring the moment, “—he asked about you."
Jungkook’s stomach flipped. “No, he didn’t.”
Jimin gasped, mock-offended. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Yes.”
Jimin snickered. “Well, too bad, because he totally did. And I quote—‘Is the chef who made the makguksu here today?’”
Jungkook exhaled through his nose, willing himself not to react, not to look at Jimin, not to give him the satisfaction of a visible response.
But he failed.
Jimin cackled. “Oh my god, you’re blushing.”
“I’m not —”
“You are.”
Jungkook groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Can you be normal for five minutes? ”
Jimin tapped his chin, pretending to consider. “Nope.”
Jungkook knew there was no escaping this, so he did the only thing he could do—he turned back to the stove, pretending he was suddenly very invested in flipping the pan-fried tofu.
Jimin, of course, refused to be ignored. “Sooo… are you gonna go say hi?”
Jungkook stiffened. “Why would I do that?”
“Because he asked about you,” Jimin sing-songed. “Because he’s clearly interested.”
Jungkook shot him a flat look. “He asked about the chef, not me. ”
Jimin’s smirk didn’t budge. “But you are the chef. And you made his dish. Which means—”
“Jimin.”
“—he’s interested in you.”
Jungkook pointed at the door. “Go back to work.”
Jimin cackled but finally, finally left him alone.
Jungkook exhaled, shoulders sagging.
He should’ve been relieved. But he wasn’t. Because now, despite his best efforts, all he could think about was him.
Table six. The god-like man. Back again. Asking about him.
Jungkook swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure what any of this meant, but he had a feeling—deep in his gut, the same way he just knew that man was the one who wrote the review—that whatever this was, it wasn’t over yet.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨🍜୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Jungkook tried— really tried—not to peek into the dining area.
But the thing about trying not to do something? It only made the urge worse.
So, despite himself, his eyes darted toward Table Six.
And there he was.
The man sat comfortably, looking just as unfairly gorgeous as Jungkook remembered. Broad shoulders relaxed, fingers curled around a glass of water, eyes scanning the menu.
Jungkook swallowed. His heart shouldn’t be hammering. This was just a customer.
Jimin, because he was a menace, caught him looking and grinned.
Jungkook immediately turned back to the stove.
Focus, he told himself. He had dishes to make, orders to fill, and absolutely no time to be getting caught up in this nonsense.
And yet.
“Hey, chef,” Jimin sing-songed, practically materializing beside him.
Jungkook flinched. “Jesus, do you float?”
Jimin ignored him. “You’ll never guess what Mr. Table Six just ordered.”
Jungkook flipped the pan-fried tofu, his movements steady. Unbothered. Cool. Collected. “Hmm.”
Jimin leaned in, far too pleased with himself. “Makguksu.”
Jungkook’s hands froze.
Jimin gasped, delighted. “Ohoho, now you care.”
Jungkook quickly resumed stirring, feigning indifference. “It’s a good dish.”
Jimin hummed, pretending to believe him. “Sure, sure.”
Jungkook ignored him. He ignored the way his pulse kicked up, the way his brain replayed the memory of the first time he served that dish to the man now sitting just a few feet away. He ignored everything except the stove in front of him, because he was a professional, damn it.
And professionals did not let stupidly handsome customers take up this much mental space.
Jimin, unfortunately, was not bound by professionalism.
“So,” Jimin drawled, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Are you gonna take this one out yourself?”
Jungkook’s head snapped up. “What? No.”
Jimin pouted. “Why not?”
“Because you are the server,” Jungkook shot back. “It’s your job.”
Jimin smirked. “It’s also my job to make our customers happy.”
Jungkook gave him a deadpan look. “You torment our customers.”
“Potato, potahto.” Jimin waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, I think Mr. Table Six would be very happy if the chef brought out his food himself.”
Jungkook turned back to his station, rolling up his sleeves. “Not happening.”
Jimin shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to tell him you’re too shy.”
Jungkook shot him a look. “Don’t.”
Jimin beamed. “Or maybe I’ll say you don’t like him —”
“Jimin.”
“—which would be so rude, considering how much he seems to like you.”
Jungkook groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine.”
Jimin gasped. “Really?”
Jungkook shot him a glare. “If it means you’ll shut up, yes. I’ll bring the damn food.”
Jimin grinned, looking far too triumphant for someone who had simply bullied a man into doing his job. “Perfect.”
Jungkook shook his head, already regretting this. But it was fine. He was just delivering a bowl of noodles. Simple. No big deal.
Then why was his heart pounding like he was about to defuse a bomb?
⋅˚₊‧ ୨🍜୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
By the time the makguksu was ready, Jungkook had almost managed to get a grip.
Almost.
Then he had to actually bring the dish out.
He took a steadying breath, ignored Jimin’s knowing smirk, and walked over to Table Six.
The man looked up as he approached, eyes dark and warm.
Jungkook did not trip. (Barely.)
“Here’s your makguksu,” he murmured, placing the bowl down.
The man smiled—slow, deliberate. “The chef himself, again.”
Jungkook cleared his throat. “It’s, uh… my special.”
“I know.” The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s why I ordered it.”
Jungkook’s stomach flipped.
The man picked up his chopsticks, took a bite, and let out a pleased hum. “Still perfect.”
Jungkook exhaled. “I’m glad you like it.”
The man studied him for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, he offered a small smile.
“I never got your name.”
Jungkook blinked.
Jimin, watching from the counter, vibrated.
“…Jungkook,” he finally said, shifting awkwardly.
The man’s smile widened. “Jungkook,” he repeated, like he was testing the weight of it. Then, after a pause—“Seokjin.”
Jungkook froze.
His name.
Jungkook had his name.
Something about that felt big.
Seokjin took another bite of his noodles, seemingly unaffected. But when he glanced up again, there was something undeniably teasing in his eyes.
Jungkook swallowed.
Jimin, across the restaurant, gave a silent I told you so.
And Jungkook?
Jungkook was so screwed.
Chapter 3: A gift for the flustered chef
Summary:
Kim Seokjin is a ✨smooth operator✨
Notes:
Yakbap (약밥) is a Korean dessert made from steamed glutinous rice, nuts, and jujubes. It's also known as yaksik (약식) or yakban (藥飯). The name yaksik means "good for health" because it's made from healthy ingredients.
{taken from Google}
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jungkook wasn’t nervous.
Really, he wasn’t.
So what if Seokjin was back for the third time? So what if his presence alone was making Jungkook hyper-aware of everything—the way his apron suddenly felt too tight, the way his hands refused to stay still, the way his name— Seokjin —kept looping in his head like a damn mantra?
It wasn’t a big deal.
Except it was.
Because this time, Seokjin had brought something.
And Jungkook had no idea what to do with that.
“Chef,” Jimin sing-songed, waltzing into the kitchen with a grin. “You have a delivery.”
Jungkook frowned, setting down his knife. “What?”
Jimin dramatically held up a box —sleek, black, and tied with a neat ribbon. “From your admirer.”
Jungkook’s stomach dropped.
“Whoa, whoa,” Yoongi’s voice cut in, amused as he joined them. “What’s going on here?”
Jimin threw an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, grinning up at their head chef. “Our little Jungkookie has a fan.”
Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “A fan?”
Jimin nodded, looking far too smug. “Table Six.”
Yoongi glanced toward the dining area. His eyes landed on him—on the tall, striking man currently scrolling through his phone, looking perfectly at ease.
Then, slowly, Yoongi turned back to Jungkook, unimpressed.
“You’re freaking out over that guy?”
Jungkook bristled. “I am not freaking out.”
Yoongi hummed, unconvinced. “Sure.”
“Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook groaned. “Not you, too.”
Yoongi smirked. “Look, kid, if you’ve got an admirer, that’s your business. Just don’t burn my kitchen down.”
Jungkook scowled. “I wouldn’t.”
Namjoon appeared then, flipping through the latest inventory list. “What are we talking about?”
Jimin beamed. “Jungkook’s boyfriend.”
Jungkook choked.
Yoongi sighed. “Jimin.”
Jimin held up his hands. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
Namjoon blinked, glancing at Jungkook. “You have a boyfriend?”
“No,” Jungkook gritted out.
Jimin, the devil that he was, grinned. “Not yet.”
Jungkook groaned. “I hate all of you.”
Jimin shoved the box into his hands. “Shut up and open it.”
Jungkook hesitated. Then, with everyone (everyone —because of course Yoongi and Namjoon refused to pretend they weren’t invested) watching, he tugged the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.
Inside was a small, carefully wrapped container.
With a note.
Jungkook swallowed, unfolding it with slightly shaking fingers.
Chef Jungkook,
You always make something for me, so I thought I’d return the favor. It’s nothing fancy, but I hope you like it.
—Seokjin
Yoongi snorted. “Adorable.”
Namjoon hummed. “He’s courting you.”
Jungkook snapped his head up, glaring at the man. “He is not—”
Jimin gasped. “OH MY GOD, YOU LIKE IT.”
Jungkook threw the box lid at him. “Shut up.”
Jimin dodged, cackling. “Admit it, you’re touched—”
“I am not —”
“Eat it,” Yoongi interrupted, amused.
Jungkook scowled. “I don’t even know what it is—”
Jimin grabbed the container, pried it open, and gasped theatrically again.
“Oh, Jungkookie,” he cooed. “He made you yakbap.”
Jungkook’s brain short-circuited.
Yakbap.
Sweet, sticky rice with jujubes, chestnuts, and pine nuts. Comforting. Nostalgic. Made with care.
Jungkook stared at the neatly packed portion, at the perfect balance of ingredients.
Seokjin had made this.
For him.
Jimin smirked, nudging him. “Lover boy is good.”
Jungkook had never wanted to evaporate more. He stared at the yakbap like it was a bomb about to go off. The neatly packed, glossy squares sat in the small box, rich with the scent of soy sauce, honey, and chestnuts.
It was one thing for Seokjin to return—it was another for him to bring something. And not just anything. Yakbap. A dish that wasn’t flashy but took time and effort. A dish that carried warmth. A dish that, if Jungkook let himself think too hard about it, might make him feel things he had no business feeling for a man who should've been just a customer.
His fingers twitched as he picked up a small piece between them, hesitating for a second before popping it into his mouth. The moment it hit his tongue, sweetness bloomed—the sticky chew of glutinous rice, the caramel-like richness of jujubes, the slight crunch of pine nuts. It was good. Really good. And it made his stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
Jungkook swallowed thickly, rubbing his palm against the front of his Ironman apron. He should say something. A gift—store-bought or not—deserved at least a ‘thank you.’ But saying it meant approaching Seokjin. It meant standing before him, speaking to him, looking into his face while his brain scrambled to function. It meant willingly putting himself in a position where Jimin might witness his suffering and make it so much worse.
With a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, rolled them back, and marched out of the kitchen. His steps only faltered slightly when his eyes landed on Seokjin, sitting comfortably at his usual table, scanning the menu with the casual air of someone who wasn’t at all aware of the way he was making Jungkook’s heart race.
Jungkook stopped at the edge of the table, hands gripping the edge of his apron as he willed his voice to work. Seokjin looked up then, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his lips curled into an easy smile. "Ah, Chef Jungkook. To what do I owe this honor?"
Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I just—" He gestured vaguely at the small box sitting next to Seokjin’s glass of water. "The yakbap. Thanks."
Seokjin’s head tilted slightly, his gaze warm with amusement. "Did you like it?"
Jungkook hesitated. He wasn’t sure why the question made his stomach tighten, but it did. He nodded. "Yeah. It was… good."
Seokjin hummed, fingers drumming lightly against the tabletop. "Only good?"
Jungkook felt his ears heat. "I—It was really good. Great. Amazing." He winced internally at his own lack of control.
Seokjin’s lips twitched, clearly entertained. "Glad to hear it."
Before Jungkook could come up with a way to extract himself from the situation with his dignity intact, the kitchen doors swung open behind him.
“Hyung, do you want your regular—?”
Jimin’s voice rang out, only to pause dramatically mid-sentence.
Jungkook stiffened. He could feel the shift in energy behind him.
Jimin’s sharp intake of breath was followed by a grin Jungkook could hear. "Oop—" A deliberate pause. "Never mind. The chef is here himself, so you can tell him."
Jungkook was going to hit Jimin.
There was Seokjin, still watching him with an infuriatingly unreadable expression, his head tilting just slightly, his lips quirking in amusement.
Jungkook will hit Jimin right on his pretty mouth for embarrassing him in front of his cru- Stop.
“I—”
Seokjin raised a brow. "You?"
Jungkook suddenly forgot how to speak.
Jimin beamed and said with all the amusement of a fucking Cheshire Cat. "Chef Jungkook was just enjoying his gift in the kitchen."
Seokjin’s lips curled. "Oh?"
Jungkook made a strangled noise. This was his worst nightmare. This was his worst nightmare in HD . He could not—would not—be having this conversation with the actual god of a man.
Seokjin hummed, resting his chin on his hand. "You liked it, right?"
Jungkook could feel Jimin vibrating with delight beside him.
It was too much.
He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. It was… good."
A pause.
Then—
“I’ll bring something better next time.”
Jungkook’s head snapped up.
Next time?
Jimin gasped dramatically. “Hyung, are you wooing our chef?”
Jungkook wanted to melt into the ground.
Seokjin only smirked.
“Maybe.”
And then, as if he hadn’t just set Jungkook’s soul on fire, he turned back to his menu like nothing had happened.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Jimin giggled. “Oh, this is fun.”
Jungkook knew he wouldn’t survive this man. He stood there, gripping the edges of his apron like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. His brain was lagging, his heart was betraying him, and worst of all—
Jimin was loving it.
“Chef,” Jimin sing-songed, elbowing him. “Should I bring out the nice plates? You know, since it’s a date?”
Jungkook made a strangled noise.
Seokjin chuckled. “No need. I’ll take his recommendation, though.” He peered up at Jungkook, eyes glinting. “What’s good today?”
You.
Jungkook barely stopped himself from saying it out loud.
He cleared his throat, scrambling for composure. “Uh—the, um—braised short ribs are, uh, solid.”
Seokjin tilted his head, amused. “Solid?”
Please take Jungkook away from this entire situation.
Jimin snorted. “Translation: they’re the best thing you’ll ever eat.”
Seokjin hummed, drumming his fingers against the table. “Then I’ll trust my chef.”
Jungkook’s heart leaped into his throat.
My chef.
Nope. Nope, absolutely not. He was not reading into that. He was not going to dissect the way it made his stomach flutter or how warm his face suddenly felt.
He was fine. Everything was fine.
“Great,” he croaked. “I’ll—uh—get that started.”
Seokjin smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”
Jungkook turned on his heel and bolted for the kitchen.
Jimin cackled behind him. “Hyung, be gentle! He’s fragile! ”
⋅˚₊‧ ୨🍜୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Jungkook stormed back into the kitchen, heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon.
He wasn’t nervous.
Really, he wasn’t.
So what if Seokjin had all but confirmed that he was flirting with him? So what if his voice was still echoing in Jungkook’s head like a siren’s call? So what if the warmth of his gaze lingered, settled into Jungkook’s skin like an imprint he couldn’t shake?
It didn’t matter.
Jungkook had a job to do.
He grabbed his towel, clenched his jaw, and got to work.
For the next twenty minutes, he tried—he really did—to focus on the orders in front of him, to ignore the very distracting man sitting just outside. But it was impossible. Every time he moved, every time he looked up, there was some small reminder of him. The yakbap container on the counter. Jimin’s knowing glances. The occasional laughter from Table Six that sent a shiver down his spine because fuck, that man had a nice laugh.
It was awful.
Jimin, of course, made it worse.
“You know,” he mused, leaning against the counter as Jungkook plated the short ribs, “this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”
Jungkook ignored him.
Jimin grinned. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jungkook scowled and shoved the plate into his hands. “Take this to your source of entertaintment, then.”
Jimin beamed. “Gladly.”
Jungkook regretted everything.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Jimin practically skip out of the kitchen, approach Table Six with the kind of energy that promised chaos, and set the dish down with an exaggerated flourish.
Jungkook braced himself.
“Here you go, hyung,” Jimin said, voice practically dripping with mischief. “A very special order, made with extra love.”
Jungkook was going to strangle him.
Seokjin hummed, eyeing the dish before glancing toward the kitchen—toward him.
Jungkook immediately looked away.
“So you’re saying this was made with care?” Seokjin asked, clearly entertained.
Jimin nodded solemnly. “Oh, so much care.”
Jungkook nearly dropped his knife.
“I see,” Seokjin mused. “Then I’ll have to make sure to savor it.”
Jungkook really, really needed to leave the premises.
Jimin, the menace, had the audacity to wink before strolling back to the kitchen, humming like he hadn’t just ruined Jungkook’s entire life.
Jungkook glared.
Jimin smirked.
“He likes you,” he sing-songed.
Jungkook groaned, shoving his face into his hands. “I hate you.”
Jimin patted his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”
Yoongi, who had been silently watching the entire exchange, finally sighed. “Are you two done?”
Jimin grinned. “Not even close.”
Jungkook muttered a prayer for patience.
For the next thirty minutes, he avoided looking at Seokjin.
Which was hard, considering Seokjin made zero effort to be subtle about his interest.
Every time Jimin walked by, there was some new comment, some new smirk thrown Jungkook’s way.
“Hyung says it’s delicious.”
“Hyung thinks your seasoning is perfect.”
“Hyung thinks your hands must be magic.”
At that, Jungkook had dropped a spoon.
Yoongi had simply patted his shoulder and said, “You’re in trouble, kid.”
Jungkook had felt that in his soul.
By the time Seokjin was done eating, Jungkook was a wreck.
And then—then, just as Jungkook thought he might survive the night—Jimin waltzed in with the final blow.
“Chef,” he called, grin wide and dangerous, “your regular wants to see you.”
Yoongi snorted. “Good luck.”
Jimin beamed. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”
Jungkook hated them.
But he wiped his hands, took a deep breath, and stepped out.
Seokjin was waiting, arms folded, an easy smile playing on his lips.
“You liked it,” Jungkook blurted before he could stop himself.
Seokjin blinked, then chuckled. “Very much.”
Jungkook wanted to say something smooth. Something effortless. Instead, he fumbled.
“That’s—uh—good.”
Seokjin tilted his head, amused. “You’re cute.”
Jungkook’s brain short-circuited.
Seokjin only laughed. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”
Jungkook forgot how to breathe.
Seokjin, apparently, did not feel the need to elaborate. He just watched, waiting, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Jungkook, meanwhile, was imploding.
“What?” he squeaked.
Seokjin grinned. “I asked you out. You know, like a date.”
Jungkook knew what a date was. He just… hadn’t expected it to happen like this.
Jimin had warned Seokjin. Hyung, be gentle! he’d said.
Seokjin had not been gentle.
He had steamrolled Jungkook’s entire existence.
“I—uh—” Jungkook stammered, feeling wildly out of his depth. “I—”
Seokjin’s gaze softened. “Relax,” he murmured, voice dipping into something quieter. “You don’t have to say yes.”
Jungkook did want to say yes. He just… didn’t know how.
Seokjin was so confident, so bold, so completely different from anyone Jungkook had ever met. And he was interested. In Jungkook.
It was overwhelming.
But not bad.
“Think about it,” Seokjin said, watching him carefully. “I’ll be back.”
Oh god.
He was coming back.
Jungkook barely managed a nod.
Seokjin smirked. “See you soon, Chef.” he said, standing up and pulling a pen from his pocket and grabbed a napkin from the table. With smooth, practiced ease, he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.
Jungkook blinked at it. His name. A number.
“Text me,” Seokjin said, tone casual but eyes warm. “When you’ve thought about it.”
Jungkook swallowed. His fingers twitched at his sides.
Seokjin smiled, gave him one last lingering look, then turned and walked out the door like he hadn’t just turned Jungkook’s world upside down.
For a moment, Jungkook just stood there, staring at the napkin in disbelief.
Jimin popped up behind him.
“Sooo,” he drawled, grinning. “How’s it feel to be wooed?”
Jungkook threw his towel at him.
Jimin cackled.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨🍜୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Jungkook did not recover.
Not when Seokjin walked out with that damn smile. Not when Jimin wouldn’t stop laughing. Not even when he buried himself in the kitchen, throwing himself into work as if chopping vegetables with unnecessary aggression would somehow make him forget the absolute chaos of the past ten minutes.
It didn’t.
Jimin made sure of that.
“So,” Jimin said later, lounging against the counter with a very annoying grin. “When are you gonna say yes?”
Jungkook glared at the carrot he was cutting. “I never said I would.”
Jimin gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “You’re rejecting him? Cold. I hope you know you just broke a handsome man’s heart.”
Jungkook groaned. “I didn’t reject him! He said to think about it.”
“And?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you?”
Jungkook had. He hadn’t been able to think about anything else. But admitting that felt like giving Jimin even more ammunition, so he stubbornly kept his mouth shut.
Jimin snickered. “You totally have.”
Jungkook scowled. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Jimin grinned. “You hate that I’m right.”
Jungkook threw a piece of carrot at him.
Jimin dodged effortlessly, cackling. “Oh, Kook. You’re so easy to read.”
Jungkook sighed, finally putting the knife down. “How are you even this close to him already?”
Jimin shrugged. “We just clicked.”
Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Clicked? You’ve known him for, what, two weeks?”
“Some people have rizz, Jungkookie.” Jimin smirked. “Not all of us need to awkwardly panic our way into someone’s heart.”
Jungkook groaned, dropping his head onto the counter. “I hate you.”
“Again, no you don’t.”
Jungkook groaned louder.
Jimin patted his back. “Don’t worry, Kook. You’ll figure it out.”
Jungkook wasn’t so sure.
Because the problem wasn’t that he didn’t want to say yes.
The problem was that he really, really did .
And that was terrifying.
Seokjin was confident. Charming. He had walked into Jungkook’s life with his devastating smile and his easy charm, and now Jungkook couldn't think about anything else.
He spent the rest of the night distracted, nearly overcooked a steak, and had to redo a whole dish because he put sugar instead of salt. Jimin definitely noticed and did not let it slide.
"You've got it bad, huh?" he teased, leaning against the counter as Jungkook sighed at his own stupidity.
Jungkook groaned. "Shut up."
Jimin only grinned wider. "You know, you could just say yes and end this suffering."
Jungkook glared at him, but Jimin was right.
And so, against his better judgment, Jungkook grabbed his phone and opened the text conversation with the unknown number Seokjin had scribbled on a napkin before he left.
Jungkook stared at it.
Then stared some more.
Then took a deep breath and, before he could overthink it, typed:
Jungkook: Yes.
It took three seconds for the read receipt to appear.
Then—
Seokjin-ssi: Yes?
Jungkook's face burned. He quickly typed again before Seokjin could get the wrong idea.
Jungkook: I mean yes to dinner.
Seokjin-ssi: Good. I was hoping you'd say that.
Jungkook pressed his lips together, trying (and failing) not to smile.
Seokjin-ssi: Are you free this weekend?
Jungkook blinked. That was fast.
Jungkook: Uh, yeah.
Seokjin-ssi: Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something comfortable.
Jungkook stared at his phone, heart thudding wildly.
Wear something comfortable.
Oh god.
Jimin, who had been sneakily reading over his shoulder, let out a delighted squeal. “You’re being wooed,” he cackled.
Jungkook, suddenly overwhelmed, threw his phone onto the counter like it had personally wronged him and buried his face in his hands. His entire body tensed, heat creeping up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. His brain felt like it had short-circuited, caught somewhere between holy shit and this isn’t real while his heart hammered like he’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs.
What the hell had just happened?
Seokjin had asked him out. Seokjin. The man who waltzed into his restaurant like he owned the place, who smirked like he knew all of Jungkook’s weak spots already, who flirted so effortlessly it made Jungkook’s brain leak out of his ears. That Seokjin wanted to take him out to dinner.
Jungkook groaned, tilting forward until his forehead hit the counter with a dull thud. Maybe if he stayed like this long enough, he’d sink through the floor and escape whatever emotional crisis was currently trying to strangle him.
“Oh my god,” Jimin wheezed from beside him. “I think you just died.”
Jungkook flailed a hand at him weakly. “Don’t talk to me.”
Jimin ignored him completely, giggling like a menace. “Oh, this is so good. Our baby chef has a suitor.”
Jungkook groaned louder. “Jimin. Leave.”
Jimin just grinned, entirely unfazed. “You’re so flustered. It’s adorable.”
Jungkook made a distressed noise, because unfortunately, his entire face was on fire, his heart still hadn’t calmed down, and worst of all?
Jimin had been right.
He was so being wooed.
And he liked it.
Notes:
I hope you liked the fic till now!! It'll be the last update for a while (cuz of end sems ╯︿╰)
Do let me know what you think of the ch! It gives me the motivation<3
See you soon! ♡
Chapter 4: You're perfect
Summary:
DATE DATE DATE DATE
Notes:
I’m not super happy with how this chapter came out, but I’d love to hear what you think! Sorry it took a while—hope you like it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jungkook had never been so aware of time before. Or of his own heartbeat. Or of how many times he could redo his hair before it started actively rebelling.
He stood in front of the mirror, hands twitching at his sleeves as he stared at his reflection like it might betray him. Which—frankly—was rude, considering how long he’d spent getting ready. His button-up was clean and slightly oversized, tucked loosely into dark jeans. His hair was soft, still curling faintly at the edges from his shower, and he’d actually used the cologne Jimin once told him to “save for someone who makes your stomach flip.”
His stomach hadn’t stopped flipping since that day.
That was when Jin had asked him out. The man had said it so easily, like asking Jungkook out was the most natural thing in the world, and meanwhile, Jungkook had been left sitting at the counter of Yoongi and Namjoon’s shop with the emotional range of someone who had just been hit by a truck made of heart-shaped confetti.
He’d short-circuited for a full five minutes. Jimin had witnessed it live and was still teasing him about it.
And now… now the day was here. The date. At seven. No location, no details. Just “Wear something comfortable.” Which could mean literally anything and made Jungkook spiral so badly he ended up buying a backup shirt on the way home from class, just in case.
He hadn’t even known people actually went on dates like this. Like— pick-you-up-at-seven, surprise-location, wear-something-cute dates. That was something from a movie. Not his life.
And yet, here he was, pacing by the door of his apartment like an over-caffeinated cat, checking his phone every thirty seconds. 6:44.
A car horn outside made him freeze.
He peeked through the blinds.
Oh, god.
There he was.
Seokjin stood by the passenger side of a sleek black car parked along the curb, looking exactly like every romantic lead Jungkook had ever secretly swooned over. His long wool coat billowed slightly in the winter breeze, collar turned up against the chill, hair parted just enough to reveal the slope of his brow and the delicate curve of one ear.
And in his hand—like some unfair plot twist in a drama—was a small bouquet. Not the kind you grabbed last-minute at a convenience store, either. No. These were wrapped in soft parchment and tied with a ribbon, white lisianthus and pale pink freesia peeking out from between velvety eucalyptus leaves.
Jungkook let out a strangled noise and spun in a full circle in his living room. His bag. Where was his bag? Had he brushed his teeth twice or three times? Did he look sweaty? He probably looked sweaty. He definitely felt sweaty.
He found the bag by the couch, paused, ran to the mirror for one last glance, then sprinted for the door.
Halfway down the stairs, his brain screamed YOU DIDN’T LOCK THE DOOR, and he wheeled around so fast he nearly tripped. Back up. Lock. Deep breath. Try again.
This time, he made it to the sidewalk with all his limbs intact and at least 30% of his dignity.
Seokjin looked up as he approached, and that smile—bright and edged with something soft—hit Jungkook like a physical thing. His knees felt like they belonged to someone else.
“Hey, you,” Jin greeted, voice warm and fond like they'd done this a hundred times before.
Jungkook blinked. “Uh. Hi.”
Very smooth. Great start.
“I got these for you,” Jin said, stepping forward and holding out the bouquet. “I didn’t know your favorite flower, so I went with ones that reminded me of you.”
Jungkook stared at them like they might explode in his hands.
“They’re—um. Wow. They're really pretty. Like... really, really—pretty.” His voice cracked halfway through. He wanted to crawl under the car and live there.
Jin’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Then I guess I chose right.”
Jungkook hesitated, then reached out with both hands, cradling the bouquet like it might shatter. “Thank you. I’ve never gotten flowers before.”
Jin raised a brow. “Never?”
He shook his head mutely.
“Well,” Jin said gently, brushing his fingers lightly over Jungkook’s as he handed them off, “there’s a first time for everything.”
Jungkook was 80% sure his heart just climbed out of his chest and ran screaming into traffic.
“I, um—I’ll put them in water when we get back,” he said, clutching them like a lifeline. “I think I have a vase. Or—like, a big cup. I’ll figure it out.”
Jin laughed, the sound low and golden, and reached to open the car door.
“You look great, by the way,” he added, glancing at him from beneath his lashes.
Jungkook looked down at himself, full panic activated. “Is it too much? I can change. I have a backup inside. Or like, a hoodie—”
“No,” Jin said smoothly, cutting in before the spiral could deepen. He leaned closer, smile softening. “It’s perfect.”
Then—so quietly Jungkook almost missed it—he added:
“You’re perfect.”
Jungkook made a tiny, involuntary sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp, and all but flung himself into the passenger seat just to escape the intensity of it.
Jin chuckled as he gently shut the door behind him, walking around to the driver’s side with the confident ease of someone who had definitely just turned Jungkook’s entire internal universe into mush.
Inside the car, Jungkook sat perfectly still, flowers in his lap, coat bunched awkwardly under his arms, heart trying to beat its way through the buttons of his shirt.
You’re perfect , Jin had said.
He stared straight ahead, whispering to himself.
“I’m gonna die. This is how I die.”
⋅˚₊‧ ୨🍜୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The drive over was quiet—not awkward, but something softer. Dense with everything neither of them had found the words for yet. Jin tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, humming along to a playlist that swung between velvety soul and the kind of warm, nostalgic pop songs Jungkook had grown up hearing from his mother’s kitchen radio. The heater purred softly, filling the cabin with just enough warmth to make the world outside feel distant, tucked safely behind fogged windows and gentle melodies.
Jungkook sat in the passenger seat, bouquet still resting on his lap like a fragile animal. He hadn’t let go of it the entire ride. His fingers fidgeted with the ribbon, retying it, untying it, smoothing it flat again. Every time he snuck a glance at Jin’s profile—clean jawline, lashes dark and pretty against the warm dashboard lights—his thoughts scattered like startled birds.
In through the nose, he told himself. Out through the panic.
He wanted to say something—anything—clever or charming or even just coherent, but all he could manage was a looping monologue of this is real this is happening don’t say something stupid you’ll ruin it.
So he breathed instead. And tried not to stare. And failed.
When the car pulled into a quiet, tree-lined street, Jungkook blinked back into the present. The soft glow of street lamps lit the pavement in lazy pools of gold, and just ahead stood a familiar silhouette of a domed building, lit from the inside by a faint blue glow that shimmered like a secret.
“…Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing. “This is the planetarium.”
Jin shot him a sideways look, lips twitching. “Very good. I knew you were smart.”
Jungkook turned toward him, mouth already parting in disbelief. “Are we—are we going in?”
“Well, I wasn’t planning to just park and stare at it,” Jin said dryly. “Although, now that you mention it, it is very stare-worthy. But no. Come on.”
Has this man always been this sarcastic?
Before Jungkook could summon a response, Jin was already out of the car, coming around to open the door for him. The flowers were gently retrieved from Jungkook’s lap and tucked in the back seat as he extended a hand to help him out, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jungkook took it on instinct, and maybe also because his legs didn’t quite trust themselves not to collapse.
They walked together along a side path, gravel crunching underfoot. A side door opened as they approached, and a smiling staff member greeted them with a badge and a small remote.
“The dome’s all yours for the hour,” she said, handing the remote to Jin.
“All ours?” Jungkook echoed, confused.
Jin turned to him, eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “You didn’t think I’d share the stars with anyone else, did you?”
Jungkook opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Failed. His brain had apparently decided to put up an Out of Service sign for the rest of the night.
The inside of the dome was softly lit, the ceiling speckled with the faint shimmer of placeholder stars. The air was cool and still, the hush of the room wrapping around them like a blanket as they stepped inside.
Jin led him toward the two reclining seats placed perfectly at the center, their angle designed for stargazing. Jungkook lowered himself into one, heart still thudding unhelpfully against his ribs. He hadn’t even fully settled in when Jin pressed a button on the remote.
The lights dimmed until they disappeared entirely.
And then—like magic—the sky bloomed.
A thousand stars unfurled above them in slow motion, tiny bursts of gold and white painting across the dome’s curved ceiling. Constellations blinked into view like old friends. The Milky Way stretched from one end of the galaxy to the other, a breathtaking ribbon of light and movement. A comet streaked across the dome, trailing behind it a luminous tail that shimmered as it passed.
Jungkook forgot how to breathe.
“Oh,” he whispered, the word slipping from him before he could catch it. His hand moved to grip the armrest instinctively—but in doing so, his fingers brushed Jin’s.
He flinched back immediately. “S-Sorry, I—”
But Jin didn’t move away. He turned his hand over, palm open.
“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft enough to match the stars. “You can hold it if you want.”
Jungkook hesitated, heart stuttering in his chest. Then—quietly, carefully—he slipped his hand into Jin’s.
It was warm. Solid. A quiet anchor.
The silence that followed was the kind that didn’t need filling. Only the soft hum of ambient orchestral music drifted through the space, like the universe had its own lullaby. The stars wheeled slowly above them, casting silvery light over Jin’s face, over the soft curve of his smile.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly to look at him. Not full-on—he wasn’t brave enough for that—but just enough to catch the shape of him under starlight. Something caught in his throat.
“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, barely above a breath.
Jin didn’t look away from the sky when he said, “So are you.”
Jungkook made a sound—something between a squeak and a gasp—and immediately covered his face with both hands.
“Oh my god.”
Jin chuckled. Not the teasing kind. The pleased kind. Like he’d just unwrapped a gift.
“I’m going to explode,” Jungkook muttered behind his fingers.
“Please don’t,” Jin said lightly. “I’ve already planned at least three more dates.”
That made Jungkook freeze.
He slowly peeked at Jin through the gaps in his fingers. “You did?”
“Of course,” Jin said, glancing over at him. The stars above caught in his eyes. “One for every time you make that face.”
“What face?”
“That one,” Jin said, shifting slightly toward him. “The one where you look like the world is too much, and you love it anyway.”
Jungkook’s breath caught in his chest.
For a long moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even think. His body was still here in the reclining chair, hand in Jin’s, eyes fixed on the simulated galaxy—but his heart? It was somewhere else entirely. Caught in the gravity of a boy who’d looked at the sky and decided to share it with him.
Is this real? he wondered. A dream? A fever dream? Some alternate reality where he got to be wanted like this— chosen like this?
He’d ask Jimin to pinch him later. Maybe twice.
For now, Jungkook leaned back into the seat, fingers brushing over Jin’s again. He didn’t say anything more. Didn’t need to. He just breathed in the quiet awe of it all—the stars overhead, the gentle music, the warmth beside him—and let himself feel it.
Even the scary, fluttering parts.
Especially those.
The stars moved slowly overhead—more imagined than real, but still so breathtaking that Jungkook had to blink a few times just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. He’d never seen anything like it. Lights dancing across the dome in slow, deliberate arcs. Galaxies blooming in time with the orchestral music humming low through the speakers.
And beside him—Seokjin, unfairly handsome, who’d arranged all this like it was nothing. Like he did this kind of thing all the time.
Jungkook wasn’t sure what to do with that thought.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, their hands close but not quite touching now. Jungkook could still feel the ghost of Jin’s fingers from earlier, warm from when they had held hands, and it made his heart stutter in his chest every time he thought about it.
But slowly, under the soft hum of space and stars, something in him started to loosen. His shoulders dropped a fraction. His breaths came a little easier.
Maybe it was the dark, or the music, or the fact that Jin wasn’t trying to fill the space with endless small talk. Whatever it was, it worked.
“Are you into astronomy?” Jin asked, voice low like he didn’t want to break the spell.
Jungkook glanced at him. “Kind of. I used to watch the sky with my grandmother when I was little. She had this old telescope that barely worked, but we’d take it out anyway.”
“That’s sweet,” Jin said, smiling. “Let me guess—you gave the stars your own names.”
Jungkook’s ears warmed. “…Maybe.”
Jin let out a soft laugh. “What did you call them?”
Jungkook hesitated, then mumbled, “One of them was ‘noodle star.’”
A beat. Then Jin barked a laugh so sudden it startled a laugh out of Jungkook, too.
“Noodle star,” Jin repeated, clearly delighted. “I love that. Is it still up there?”
Jungkook was smiling now, even if he tried to hide it behind his hand. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“Well, I’m calling dibs. That’s my new favorite. The Noodle.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m deeply touched,” Jin said, pressing a hand to his chest. “To think I’ve lived this long without knowing about the great Noodle Star. A tragedy.”
Jungkook laughed again, this time without any nerves clinging to the sound. Something in his chest cracked open a little wider.
Jin turned in his seat slightly, still smiling. “Okay, standard first date question—what’s your comfort food? Like, the meal you’d crawl home to after a bad day.”
Jungkook blinked. “That’s actually a good one.”
“I’m known for my excellent taste.”
Jungkook hummed, pretending to think. “Makguksu.” The one he made him the very first time.
Jin nodded, solemn. “A man of culture.”
“You?”
“Naengmyeon,” Jin said immediately. “Cold, chewy, painful, kind of an acquired taste. Like me.”
Jungkook laughed again, more freely now. “You are not painful.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” Jin said, looking mock offended. “Give it time.”
Jungkook shook his head, still smiling, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re kind of weird.”
Jin raised his eyebrows. “Is that a complaint?”
“…No,” Jungkook admitted, and when he looked at Jin again, the other man’s face was soft and open under the starlight, lit in shades of gold and silver from the artificial sky above.
The quiet that followed wasn’t tense. It was the kind of silence that felt like it belonged.
And just when Jungkook was ready to say something else—to ask another soft, getting-to-know-you kind of question, maybe something about Jin’s favorite color or the song that always made him cry—the lights above them dimmed, and the music slowly faded to a close.
A voice came through the speakers: “Your session will end in two minutes. Please begin making your way to the exit.”
Jungkook blinked, startled. “Already?”
Jin stood with a soft sigh. “Told you time would fly.”
Jungkook sat still for a second, reluctant to move. His chest ached, just a little, at the idea of the night being over already. “I thought we had more time.”
Jin glanced down at him, then offered a hand. “We do.”
Jungkook looked up.
“This isn’t the end,” Jin said, fingers warm when Jungkook finally took them. “I was thinking we could take a walk by the Han River. It’s quiet this time of night. Good place to keep talking.”
Jungkook’s heart did something soft and stupid in his chest. He stood, still holding Jin’s hand, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
Jin smiled, not letting go. “Great. But only if you promise to tell me more star names.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, but his smile was real now—loose and shy and all his. “Fine. But only if you promise not to laugh.”
“I would never,” Jin said, entirely unconvincing.
The soft glow of stars faded behind them as they stepped out of the planetarium’s cool darkness and into the crisp night air. The city welcomed them back with its own kind of light—a patchwork of amber street lamps, distant neon signs, and the quiet hum of life that never quite stopped. Jungkook blinked against the sudden brightness but didn’t pull away from Jin’s hand. The warmth there was steady, grounding him in a way that made the sprawling cityscape feel less overwhelming.
Jin’s smile was easy as he slid into the driver’s seat of his sleek black car, the door closing with a quiet click that seemed to seal this moment away from the rest of the world. Jungkook settled into the passenger seat, heart still a little fluttery, fingers still tingling where they’d brushed together under the dome.
The engine hummed softly as Jin pulled onto the street, and the city rolled by in a blur of streetlights and shadows. The radio played quietly and Jungkook let himself sink into the rhythm, the steady thrum of the car blending with the quiet between them.
When they arrived, Jin parked the car near a quiet path that wound along the riverbank. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle glow over the water’s surface, where soft ripples caught the light and danced like liquid stars.
Jin opened the door for Jungkook, their hands brushing again as they stepped out into the night. The air was cool but not cold, carrying the faint scent of the river mixed with the distant warmth of the city.
They began to walk side by side, the sounds of the river mingling with the quiet hum of the city behind them. The path was mostly empty, lit by softly glowing lamps that lined the way like sentinels watching over their steps.
Jungkook stole a glance at Jin, who was looking out over the water with a gentle smile. “It’s beautiful,” Jungkook said, voice low, a little awed.
Jin turned to him, eyes catching the moonlight. “Not as beautiful as you,” he teased softly, and Jungkook felt heat rise to his cheeks.
They walked a little further, the night stretching out comfortably before them. Jungkook’s heart felt lighter now, the tension of earlier replaced by something quiet and hopeful. Jin’s presence was a steady anchor, the way he moved beside him easy and natural.
Finally, Jin stopped and pointed up toward the sky. “Look,” he said softly, “there it is. The Noodle Star.”
Jungkook laughed—a bright, genuine sound that echoed over the water—and bumped Jin’s shoulder playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Jin grinned, “but can I be your ridiculous?”
Jungkook faltered mid-step.
The question hung in the air like mist above the river—light, playful, but threaded with something warmer underneath. His breath caught. The wind tugged at his hair and carried the faint scent of grilled food from the food trucks parked in the distance, but none of it registered. All he could think of was the way Jin’s voice dipped on the word your , like he was offering something precious.
“Can I be your ridiculous?”
Jungkook turned, eyes wide, unsure if Jin was still teasing or if—God—he meant it. But then he saw the way Jin was watching him, not smirking but smiling, gently, like he didn’t need an answer right away. Like it was okay if Jungkook wasn’t ready to joke back, as long as he knew.
Jungkook ducked his head with a shy grin and mumbled, “Maybe.”
“‘Maybe,’” Jin repeated, delighted. “Progress!”
Jungkook laughed again, softer this time, the kind of laugh that came from somewhere deeper. “You’re impossible.”
“But charming,” Jin added, holding out his hand.
This time, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. Their fingers laced back together easily, like they hadn’t let go at all.
They strolled along the path with no real direction, walking just for the sake of it, each step slow and unhurried. The river shimmered beside them, occasionally catching the flicker of passing headlights from the bridge above, but the rest of the world felt distant.
Jin asked him little things—about his course, about what dishes he liked cooking most, about who taught him to use a knife without cutting his fingers off.
“My grandmother,” Jungkook said, smiling at the memory. “She used to make this kimchi stew every Sunday. She wasn’t... delicate about it. Just threw everything in the pot like she was scolding it.”
“Sounds terrifying and delicious.”
“It was both,” Jungkook admitted. “She used to say I’d better learn to make it myself if I wanted to eat it the right way.”
“And you did?”
“Eventually. She still says I’m doing it wrong.”
Jin laughed, a soft, melodic sound that sent warmth curling into Jungkook’s ribs. “She sounds like a queen. I’d love to meet her.”
Jungkook looked up at him, a little surprised. Most people didn’t say things like that. Jin said it so casually, like of course he wanted to know more. Like it mattered to him.
“She’d like you,” Jungkook murmured before he could stop himself.
Jin looked touched. “I hope so.”
The food trucks came into view just up ahead, a blur of colors and sizzling sounds, steam curling into the air above their bright windows. The scent hit them like a wave—spicy tteokbokki, fried squid, sweet pancakes—and Jungkook’s stomach gave an audible grumble.
Jin looked over, eyebrows raised in mock scandal. “Was that your stomach just now?”
Jungkook flushed. “I didn’t eat much before we left.”
“You wound me. You went on a date with me hungry ? That’s—unforgivable.”
Jungkook groaned. “Please don’t say unforgivable.”
“I must . It’s a matter of honor.”
Jungkook was laughing again before he could stop himself, head tipped back, cheeks aching. He felt lighter than he had in weeks.
Jin tugged gently at his hand. “Come on. Let’s fix this.”
They stopped at a tteokbokki stall first, and Jin insisted on ordering for both of them, throwing in extra odeng skewers and a cup of hot barley tea while Jungkook stood off to the side, hands jammed into his coat pockets, watching him with quiet fondness.
They ate, perched on a low bench by the water, dipping their skewers into the spicy broth, sipping tea in between bites. Jin made dramatic noises about the heat level and fanned his mouth theatrically while Jungkook shook with silent laughter, handing him a napkin like a peace offering.
“You’re just trying to impress me,” Jungkook accused playfully.
“Is it working?” Jin asked, eyes twinkling over the rim of his cup.
Jungkook’s answering smile was shy and sure all at once. “Maybe.”
When they were done, Jin pointed toward a small, half-hidden photo booth wedged between two snack stalls. “Wanna take a picture?”
Jungkook froze mid-step. “Now?”
“It’s tradition,” Jin said solemnly. “You can’t go on a Han River date without a photobooth picture. I don’t make the rules.”
Jungkook glanced at the booth. “Isn’t it kind of…”
“Perfect?” Jin supplied.
“I was going to say embarrassing.”
“Same thing,” Jin said cheerfully, tugging him toward it. “Come on. I need at least one photo of you tonight, or how will I know it wasn’t all a dream?”
That sentence shouldn’t have made Jungkook’s heart clench. But it did.
Inside the booth, the light was soft and warm, the kind that washed out every imperfection. Jin reached up to muss Jungkook’s hair slightly, fixing a stray piece with a gentle touch. Jungkook stared at him, helpless.
“You ready?”
“I guess.”
The first flash caught them both mid-laugh, shoulders bumped together. The second was softer—Jin looking at Jungkook, Jungkook trying not to look back. The third… Jin turned his head slightly and pressed a light kiss to Jungkook’s cheek just as the shutter clicked.
The fourth frame caught Jungkook’s expression: wide-eyed, stunned, smile blooming like spring.
When they stepped back into the night, Jin handed Jungkook one of the photo strips and kept the other for himself.
“So,” he said lightly, “was it a good first date?”
Jungkook looked down at the photo in his hand, then back up at the man beside him. He didn’t have the words for it yet. For the way this night had carved something warm into him.
“It was,” he said quietly. “Really good.”
Jin bumped their shoulders again, soft. “Then let’s make sure it’s not the last.”
And under the glow of the moon and city lights, Jungkook could only nod, hope blooming quiet and full in his chest.
They didn’t rush back to the car. Instead, they walked the rest of the path in comfortable silence, the crisp night air brushing their cheeks, the city glittering on the far bank like a held breath. Jin’s hand stayed wrapped around Jungkook’s the whole time, a silent promise that the night wasn’t something fleeting.
When they reached the car, Jin opened the passenger door for him again with a small bow, grinning. “Your chariot awaits.”
Jungkook slipped in with a soft laugh—his heart still fluttering from the kiss in the photo booth, the comet overhead, and Jin’s easy laughter by the water.
He had forgotten about the bouquet that had been carefully nestled into the backseat, away from the cold. Jin didn’t say anything as Jungkook reached for it, just watched with that same quiet fondness that had followed Jungkook all night long.
“Thank you,” Jungkook said quietly, brushing a thumb over the paper wrap as they pulled onto the road.
“For the flowers? Or the whole night?” Jin teased gently.
“All of it,” Jungkook murmured.
The drive back was quiet—comfortably so. The city sped by in a blur of neon and windows lit warm from within. Jin didn’t rush. He took the slower streets, the scenic ones, like he didn’t want to hand the night back to reality just yet.
When they finally reached Jungkook’s building, Jin parked, cut the engine, and got out first, circling around to open the door for him again. Jungkook stepped out, bouquet in one hand, the other adjusting his bag on his shoulder. Jin didn’t say anything about walking him to the entrance—he just did it, like it was natural, like he’d done it a hundred times.
They stopped at the foot of the stairs, the quiet of the neighborhood folding in around them.
Jungkook turned to him, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. “Thank you for dropping me off.”
“Of course,” Jin said, smiling. “Thank you for saying yes.”
Jungkook ducked his head. “You make it really hard to say no.”
Jin raised a playful eyebrow. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s really not,” Jungkook said quickly. “I’m very—uh…persuadable.”
Jin laughed. It was soft this time, like he didn’t want to scare Jungkook off with it.
And then the silence settled again, gentle and open-ended.
Jungkook stared at Jin, his face aglow under the faint orange streetlight, coat collar flipped up slightly from the breeze, hair a little messy now from the wind off the river.
Something in Jungkook’s chest flipped.
And before he could second-guess it—before the nerves could catch up—he surged forward and pressed a kiss to Jin’s cheek.
It was quick. Barely even a second. But it was real. Warm.
And it left Jin blinking at him, a little stunned, his lips parting like he hadn’t quite processed it yet.
Jungkook, meanwhile, made a tiny squeaking noise, turned on his heel, and half-ran up the steps.
“Okaybye!” he called over his shoulder, bouquet clutched to his chest like armor. “ThankyouIhadagreattime!”
And then he was gone, the building door clicking shut behind him.
Jin stood frozen for a second, processing.
And then—
A slow smile spread across his face. He touched his cheek gently, almost like he was checking it had really happened. Then he laughed—quiet, delighted.
Inside, Jungkook all but threw himself against the door once it was shut behind him. He didn’t even turn on the lights. Just stood there, heart pounding, flowers still in his arms, a grin spreading helplessly across his face.
He pressed a hand to his chest and laughed—quiet, disbelieving, full of that nervous joy that only came from doing something terrifying and being glad you did.
Because maybe his shirt had been wrinkled by the end of it, and maybe he’d nearly dropped his skewer trying to act cool. But Seokjin had kissed his cheek in a photo booth and called him beautiful under the stars.
And Jungkook—awkward, overthinking, too-easily-flustered Jungkook—had said yes to it all.
Not just to the date.
But to more.
To the beginning of something that made his heart race in the best way.
And somewhere inside him, that quiet bloom of hope unfurled fully, gentle and soft and golden.
Not loud.
Not overwhelming.
Just... right.
Like it had always been waiting for someone like Jin to wake it up.
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it.
Please do comment!!! They're my lifeblood.
See you again soon (hopefully) <333
aand_wyb85 on Chapter 2 Mon 21 Apr 2025 12:02AM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 2 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:06AM UTC
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SeaGr33n on Chapter 3 Thu 03 Apr 2025 12:55PM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 3 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:25AM UTC
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estellecarstairs on Chapter 3 Sat 05 Apr 2025 09:06PM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 3 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:35AM UTC
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taegihoba on Chapter 3 Tue 08 Apr 2025 12:00PM UTC
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aand_wyb85 on Chapter 3 Mon 21 Apr 2025 12:05AM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 3 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:49AM UTC
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Musing_Masterfully on Chapter 3 Sat 26 Apr 2025 08:29PM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 3 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:41AM UTC
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floweringash on Chapter 3 Mon 16 Jun 2025 03:47PM UTC
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InLoveWithAFallenAngel on Chapter 4 Wed 18 Jun 2025 12:35PM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 4 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:39AM UTC
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estellecarstairs on Chapter 4 Thu 19 Jun 2025 12:37PM UTC
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itssmeraldo on Chapter 4 Fri 20 Jun 2025 04:36AM UTC
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