BRUISED HEARTS ✫ jeon jungkook
CONTAINS: boxer!Jungkook x reader, fighting turned bonding, emotional vulnerability, healing together, SOULMATES AU, mention of violence, past trauma, shared pain, fluff & angst, unexpected connection, fighting against fate....
NOTE: thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it!! this work hasn’t been revised, and english isn’t my first language, so please bear with me!!!! your feedback means a lot to me! 😊THIS IS A ONE PART STORY.
From the moment you’re born, your soulmate exists somewhere out there—a thread tying two lives together, invisible but unbreakable. Yet, the connection remains asleep until your eighteenth birthday. That’s the moment everything changes.
The moment the clock strikes midnight, your body becomes linked to theirs. Every ache, every wound, every sharp sting of pain—they feel it, and so do you. A scraped knee burns against your skin. A broken bone sends you crumbling under the same pain.
It’s an unspoken law of the universe: soulmates share pain, but bleeding wounds always belong to the one who truly endured them.
For some, it’s proof of an unshakable bond, a guiding force leading them to their other half. For others, it’s a cruel twist of fate—linkedto a stranger’s suffering with no way to stop it.
And for you? It starts with a split lip the day after turning eighteen, stealing the breath from your lungs.
A sharp sting on your lip, the dull ache blooming across your face. You scramble out of bed, stumbling to the mirror, fingertips ghosting over the swollen skin. There’s no explanation. No accident from the night before. No memory of falling. And yet, the pain lingers deep in your bones.
And that’s when it hits you.
Your soulmate is hurt. And you have no idea who they are.
At first, the pain was relentless. It happened again two nights later—an ache in your ribs, enough to make you suffer with every breath. Then a bruise on your knuckles a week after that. It was slow at first, little reminders that somewhere, someone was fighting battles you couldn’t see.
You tried not to think about it too much. Tried to convince yourself it wasn’t your problem. But then the injuries worsened.
One morning, you woke up with bruises scattered across your face, purple and aching. Your mother screamed when she saw you.
"What happened to you?" she demanded, rushing over with wide, frantic eyes. You blinked at her, still groggy from sleep.
"Don’t lie to me!" Her voice cracked as she cupped your face, fingers trembling. "Who did this to you? Did someone—did someone hurt you?"
Tears burned at the back of your throat. "No one hurt me, Mom. I swear. It just… happened."
"That’s not possible," she whispered, her hands falling to her sides. "This isn’t normal."
You swallowed hard, heart pounding. "It’s the soulmate bond."
Your mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Oh, sweetheart..." She pulled you into a hug, holding you tighter than she ever had before. "You need to start covering them. People will ask questions."
From that day forward, you mastered the art of makeup. Layers of it over bruises, carefully chosen clothes to hide what foundation couldn’t. Some days, the pain was just a dull ache. Other days, it felt like your body was breaking under the weight of wounds you couldn’t see.
Now, the pain is back. It comes in waves, occasional bruises appearing on your skin like echoes of a fight happening miles away. You thought it was over, that maybe your soulmate had finally found peace.
But the fresh aches tell you otherwise.
Jungkook’s life has always been a battlefield.
He grew up fighting, not just in the ring, but for survival. There was no softness in his world—no warm hugs, no soothing words, no gentle hands to catch him when he fell. His parents were there in surname only, too preoccupied with their own lives to notice the boy slipping through the cracks.
So he learned early: no one was coming to save him.
Pain was temporary. Weakness was unacceptable. And anger? Anger was the only thing that was his.
He was fifteen the first time he stumbled into an underground fight. It happened by accident—one of the older kids at school had mentioned a place, a ring hidden near a park on the outskirts of the city. No rules, no questions, just fists and money exchanged under flickering lights.
Jungkook hadn’t gone looking for a fight that night. But when he saw it—the raw brutality, the way blood stained the concrete floor, the way the crowd roared with every brutal hit—something inside him clicked.
For the first time, he felt something real.
The next time he went... he wasn’t just a spectator. Now, years later, fighting is the only thing that keeps him steady.
“Why do you keep doing this?” his coach, Seokjin, asks one evening after a particularly brutal match. Jungkook sits on the locker room bench, wrapping his bruised knuckles with practiced ease. His jaw is swollen, a cut on his cheekbone still fresh, but he barely flinches.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at his hands, flexing his fingers. “Because I need to.”
Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not an answer. You have talent, Jungkook. Real talent. You could go pro. Make something of this. But instead, you’re out there throwing punches in illegal rings for what? Money? Bragging rights?”
Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s not about money.”
“Then what is it about?” Seokjin presses, voice softer now. “Why do you need to fight like this?”
For a moment, Jungkook hesitates. Then he exhales, leaning back against the wall. “Because if I stop, I have to feel everything else.”
Seokjin doesn’t push him after that.
Two years ago, Jungkook turned eighteen, expecting something—anything. But no pain came. No sudden ache, no phantom injuries. Nothing. At first, he waited, convinced that maybe his soulmate just hadn’t been hurt yet. But days turned into weeks, then months, and still, he felt nothing.
Soulmates were supposed to share pain. If he felt nothing, then maybe soulmates weren’t real. Maybe he was alone in this world.
One night, during a rare outing with his friends, the topic comes up. They're sitting at a bar, laughter mixing with the low hum of music. Taehyung leans back in his seat, tipping his drink toward Jungkook with a knowing smirk.
"Still no sign of a soulmate?" he asks.
Jungkook scoffs, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You know the answer."
Jimin, ever the romantic, frowns. "That’s... kind of sad, man. Doesn’t it bother you?"
"Not really," Jungkook lies, taking a slow sip. "Means I don’t have to worry about someone else’s pain."
Taehyung hums. "Or maybe it means they don’t exist at all."
Jimin shakes his head. "That’s not how it works. Everyone has a soulmate, Jungkook. You probably just haven’t—"
"I don’t believe in that crap," Jungkook cuts in, sharper than intended. "If I had one, I’d feel something. Anything. But I don’t."
The table falls silent for a moment. Then Taehyung raises his glass in a mock toast. "Well, soulmate or not, at least you can still drink with us."
Jungkook clinks his glass against Taehyung’s, forcing a smirk. But deep down, something unsettles him. A quiet thought he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
If soulmates are real, why hasn’t he felt anything?
The underground fights are ruthless. There are no rules, no referees to step in when things get too rough. It’s just fists, blood, and the roar of a crowd hungry for violence.
Tonight, he moves like a predator in the ring—sharp reflexes, calculated brutality. Every punch he throws is precise, every hit he takes with gritted teeth and unwavering focus. He’s fast and relentless. He doesn’t just fight to win, he fights to feel something. To punish himself for things he won’t say out loud.
And somewhere, you feel every single one.
Your body jerks awake with a sharp gasp, searing pain tearing through your ribs. Your vision swims, the force of a punch nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. You clutch your side, fingers pressing against skin that remains unbroken but throbs as if bruised to the bone.
You barely make it to the bathroom, bracing yourself against the counter as your legs tremble beneath you. Another hit lands, this time to the jaw, and your head snaps to the side as if an invisible fist just struck you. A choked whimper escapes your lips, swallowed by the silence of your empty apartment.
Whoever your soulmate is, they are fighting for their life.
The next morning you tend to your aching body, carefully putting ointment over bruises that aren’t really yours. The motions are familiar, practiced. Once done, you take your dog for a walk, hoping the fresh air will clear your mind.
But the moment you get to the park, he takes off.
“Wait—Soo!” you call, but he doesn’t stop. He runs between trees, disappearing into the distance. Panic rises in your chest as you chase after him, heart pounding.
You finally catch sight of him slipping through a half-open door of an old shed. A strange chill creeps up your spine.
You hesitate before stepping inside, your voice trembling as you call, “Soo?”
The dim light reveals punching bags, weights, and a massive ring in the center of the room. The scent of sweat and metal lingers in the air. A gym—hidden, secure.
And then, a sound. A faint, almost imperceptible.
Your heart jumps. You whip around, breath shallow, eyes scanning the room. The space seems unnervingly still, the only movement coming from the dim, buzzing fluorescent lights above. But there’s nothing else. Nothing... until another sound. This one louder.
A figure steps from the shadows, taller than you expected, broad shoulders cutting through the low light like a figure from a dream. The knot in your stomach tightens, but you can’t look away.
Your heart races, but not from fear—no, it's something else, something far more primal. It’s like your body recognizes him before your mind has a chance to make sense of it. A fleeting sensation of familiarity, as though you've seen him before… in a dream, or maybe in another lifetime.
His eyes catch yours—intense, almost possessive—like he’s been waiting for you too. His lips part, but he doesn't speak. His presence feels like a weight in the room, pulling the space around you taut, making everything feel infinitely closer. You swallow hard, a lump in your throat, unable to find the words, but a strange tug at the back of your mind tells you he knows you.
But how? Why does it feel like this moment was always meant to happen?
He steps closer, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick air in the room. There’s a quiet intensity to his movements, as if he's waiting for something, calculating your reaction. Your breath quickens as your pulse races in your ears, the distance between you shrinking.
"Soo?" you ask again, your voice trembling, unsure whether it's out of fear or something else entirely. You can’t quite place it, but something inside you stirs, a flutter deep in your chest, as though you’ve been waiting for him all along.
Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze holds yours, unreadable, before a small, knowing grin tugs at his lips. His silence speaks volumes. There’s something in the air, a strange recognition, an unspoken connection. It feels inevitable, even if neither of you understands it.
Jungkook stands frozen, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, and something deeper—a recognition he can’t shake. He’s drawn to you, inexplicably, even though every instinct tells him to stay back.
Jungkook thinks this can’t be real.
His mind spins with a whirlwind of confusion and something deeper, a recognition he can't shake. He’s always been cautious. Always kept his walls high. After all, the world had taught him that letting anyone in just leads to pain. But here you are, standing in front of him, and there’s a familiarity in your eyes—something that speaks to him on a level he can’t even begin to understand.
Why now? Who are you?, he thinks.
His eyes follow your every movement. Every part of him wants to know you, to understand why everything about you feels so... right. But the voice in his head urges him to retreat, to protect himself from whatever this connection might bring. He can’t afford to trust anyone again—not after everything he’s lost.
But the pull is too strong.
All of a sudden, a high-pitched bark echoes through the gym, breaking the tension in the air. The sound is so unexpected, so out of place in the heavy silence, that it startles both Jungkook and you.
Jungkook jumps, muscles tensing, eyes wide. The bark throws him off balance, and in his haste to step back, he bumps into something hard. The sound of metal crashing to the ground sends a jolt of adrenaline through him.
He stumbles, trying to regain his footing, but as he does, his shoulder brushes against yours. The unexpected contact makes both of you freeze.
A sudden wave of warmth rushes through you, more intense than any shock you’ve ever felt. It’s like a spark, an undeniable connection surging between the two of you.
You flinch, your breath catching in your throat.
"Auch..." you mutter under your breath, the word slipping out instinctively, and just like that, something shifts in the air. It’s subtle, but you feel it. The pull between you and Jungkook intensifies, and for the first time, the weight of the moment settles around you, overwhelming, undeniable.
Jungkook stands still, eyes wide as he processes the surge of emotion, the inexplicable bond between you. His breath falters for a moment, the realization dawning on him.
This is what it feels like.
You and Jungkook stand there, breathless, a shared understanding passing between you. Neither of you needs to speak because you both know.
That fluffy little dog. The one that had barked, causing the sudden, chaotic moment between you and Jungkook. The dog now stands quietly at your feet, as if it, too, understands the truth, playing its part in this strange, inevitable moment.
Jungkook looks between you and your dog, his confusion turning into something deeper. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes narrow, taking in the shift in your expression. Something clicks in his mind, a strange understanding flashing in his gaze.
His gaze flickers down to the dog again, and then back to you—realizing something that had been hidden in plain sight all along.
You take a deep breath, and the words rush out before you can stop them.
“I—I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice soft but filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to intrude.” Your gaze flickers down to the dog at your feet, still looking up at you with that familiar, innocent expression. “I was just looking for Soo.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately. He looks at you, his eyes softening, taking in your apology. Then, after a long moment, he steps a little closer, the distance between you still feeling palpable.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he says, his voice low but firm, like he’s already decided what he’s going to say. “But don’t get this twisted. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
His words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. You can’t breathe. You thought the connection between you was undeniable, but now, it feels like he’s put up an unscalable wall between you.
“I don’t want this… whatever this is. I don’t need anyone to complete me, and I sure as hell don’t need you or anyone else to make sense of things.”
You open your mouth, but no words come. How do you fight against a rejection like that?
Jungkook turns away, the finality in his movement clear—this conversation is over. He doesn’t look back. The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating, leaving you standing in the aftermath of a connection that never had the chance to bloom.
Jungkook leans back against the cool metal of the bar, the bottle of beer in his hand nearly empty. His friends are scattered around him, the night still young, but the mood feels different tonight. The conversation from earlier keeps replaying in his mind, echoing in his thoughts.
“SO YOU REJECTED HER?” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and teasing, his eyebrow arched as he takes another long sip from his bottle.
The others look between them, all clearly waiting for Jungkook's response. There’s a lightness in the air, but it feels forced, like they can’t tell if this is some sort of joke or if Jungkook is dead serious.
“I didn’t reject her,” Jungkook mutters finally, his voice rough, as if the words don’t sit well in his mouth. "I just told her the truth. She was… looking for something I don’t want."
Jimin leans forward, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “So, Jeon Jungkook doesn’t want a soulmate?” He shakes his head, laughing lightly. “That’s rich, man.”
Jungkook’s eyes flash with irritation, and for a moment, the teasing vibe shifts. It’s not fun anymore. Something darker flickers in his gaze, something that says he’s not in the mood for jokes.
“I never asked for this,” Jungkook snaps, his tone harsher than he meant. “I’m not looking for someone to complete me. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.”
“Yeah, but you could’ve been a little gentler with it,” Namjoon adds, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not the only one with baggage, you know. But she... she didn’t deserve that cold of a response.”
“Did she do something?” Taehyung asks, his tone softer now, more thoughtful. “Remember the ring. When you’re boxing... she feels it.”
“Stop,” Jungkook mutters, the frustration and guilt creeping into his voice. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to deal with it. His jaw tightens, and a frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“She can’t handle me,” he finally says, his voice low, almost like a confession. “No one can handle all of this. I’m not gonna drag her into my mess.”
“She's already in it, man,” Taehyung shoots back, his words cutting through the tension. “You don’t get to decide that for her. She’s already shown she’s not backing away. She’s in this whether you want her to be or not.”
Jungkook falls silent, the weight of his friends' words sinking into him like a stone. He doesn’t know how to respond. The truth stings, but it also feels impossible to ignore.
A few weeks had passed since the encounter, and the tension still lingered in the air. It wasn’t easy to shake off, and you decided it was best to avoid him and that gym altogether. The thought of crossing paths again felt unbearable, especially when everything remained so raw, unresolved.
So, you made a conscious decision to stop walking past the gym—you started taking a different route home after university, deliberately steering as far away from the gym as possible.
Meanwhile, Jungkook had thrown himself into training. The big fight was approaching, the culmination of months of grueling preparation, and he needed to be at his best. But no matter how hard he trained, no matter how many rounds he sparred or how relentlessly he hit the punching bag, his mind kept drifting back to you.
He tried to concentrate on the fight, but all he could think about was the last and the first time he saw you—the pain in your eyes, the way he had pushed you away when he should’ve reached for you.
The night of the fight finally arrived, and the gym was buzzing with energy. The crowd outside had already begun to gather, their anticipation filling the air.
In the locker room, Jungkook stood, sweat dripping from his body as he tightened his gloves. His coach gave him one last pep talk, but Jungkook wasn’t really listening. His thoughts kept wandering back to you—wondering if you were still thinking about him, wondering where you were.
The bell rang, and the fight began.
Sitting on your couch you felt an odd pull deep in your chest, a force was gently tugging at you, calling you back to the gym. You tried to ignore it, to push it aside, but the feeling only grew stronger. Something inside you told you to go to the gym, so, against your better judgment, you followed that pull.
When you arrived, the crowd was already thick with excitement. The atmosphere was electric. You pushed through the sea of bodies, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. And then, you saw him.
Jungkook in the ring. He was a force of nature—each punch landing with precision, his body flowing like a dancer, but there was a raw intensity in his movements. He wasn’t just fighting his opponent; it was as though he was fighting everything inside him—the hurt, the frustration, the things he’d been trying to bury.
The pain. Sudden and sharp, like a knife piercing your chest. You stumbled back, clutching your stomach as the world spun around you. The pressure in your chest was unbearable, each breath harder to take than the last. You wanted to ignore it, push through it, but the pain only worsened.
You gasped for air, your body trembling, and with each punch Jungkook landed in the ring, the agony seemed to ripple through you. You pressed your hand to your stomach, trying to steady yourself, but the pain wouldn’t stop. You accidentally trip over a rock and fall to the ground, hurting your ankle.
And that’s when he felt it, a particular pain in his ankle.
Jungkook’s head snapped to the side, as though something had reached him through the chaos. He searched the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the sea of people, until it landed on you. His heart skipped a beat. There you were, clutching your chest on the floor, barely able to stand. His world tilted.
Ignoring the shouts from his coach and the crowd—he leaped out of the ring, pushing through the crowd as though nothing else mattered. His pulse hammered in his ears, and all he could think about was getting to you.
The crowd around you parted as Jungkook pushed through. You felt him before you saw him, his presence like a magnet pulling you toward him. His hand steadied you, his touch warm and strong as you struggled to stay conscious.
You looked up just as he reached you, kneeling in front of you, his hands hovering around you as if he wasn’t sure what to do. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with panic, and something inside him snapped.
“I knew you were here,” he breathed, his voice rough. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”
“I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, the pain still gripping you. Somehow, being near him made it feel a little less suffocating.
“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice shaking with urgency. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
You couldn’t find the words. The pain still gnawed at you, relentless and all-consuming. You trembled, barely able to stay on your feet, your knees buckling.
“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice tight with panic as he scooped you into his arms. “I’ve got you.”
The crowd murmured, but it was a blur. All you could focus on was Jungkook’s heartbeat, thudding in his chest as he rushed you toward the back exit. His touch was gentle, yet desperate—his focus solely on you.
Once outside, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed open the door and called out to the driver, his voice strained with worry. “Get in the car,” he ordered. “We’re going to my place.”
You wanted to say something, to assure him that you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come. The pain still gripped you, leaving you numb.
“You’re gonna be alright,” Jungkook murmured, glancing over at you before turning his attention back to the road. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll figure this out.”
When you arrived at his place, he didn’t let go of you. He helped you inside, his hands gentle as he guided you to the couch. His eyes never left you as he checked your pulse, your temperature, doing everything he could to make sure you were okay.
“I’m here,” he whispered, sitting beside you. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His words were the only comfort you could feel as the pain started to slowly subside, bit by bit. You didn’t know how long you would stay here, or what would happen next, but there was one thing you were certain of: he wasn’t going anywhere.
The bathroom was small, the smell of antiseptic filling the air, the light flickering overhead. Jungkook stood at the sink, his shirt off, revealing the bruises and cuts from the fight. His movements were sharp, purposeful as he cleaned the cuts on his arms, his jaw clenched against the sting.
You sat on the edge of the tub, your body still sore from the pain that had brought you here. Jungkook had insisted on helping you, leading you to the bathroom, tending to your bruises with a professionalism that made it clear he was used to this kind of care.
You winced as he applied pressure to the bruise on your side. His touch was gentle but distant, his expression unreadable. The quiet movements filled the air, but there was an unspoken tension between you.
You didn’t know what to say, or how to bridge the gap between you. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would go—here you were, two people in silence, tending to each other’s wounds. You remembered how he had carried you, how you’d felt his worry despite the coldness he tried to show.
You said your name softly, breaking the silence. “Sorry for all this… for everything. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
“Jungkook,” he replied shortly, his voice clipped, almost dismissive. “It’s fine. Just… be careful next time.”
You nodded, feeling the sting of his coldness, but understanding. He was protecting himself. The sharpness in his tone hit harder than you expected.
“I should probably go,” you murmured, standing up slowly, mindful of the pain. “You’ve done enough. I—”
Before you could finish, his voice stopped you.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, his tone softer now but still holding that edge of distance. “It’s late. You shouldn’t be out alone.”
You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. You just nodded as he grabbed his jacket and slid it on, movements slow and deliberate. You left the bathroom in silence, walking to the car without another word.
When he pulled up outside your apartment, you hesitated. You didn’t want to make things awkward, but you felt the need to say something.
“Thanks for… helping me tonight,” you said quietly. “I didn’t expect any of this, but… I appreciate it.”
Jungkook didn’t look at you. His eyes remained fixed on the rearview mirror as he nodded. “Get some rest. Stay safe.”
You gave him a small nod, feeling the weight of his words. You hadn’t expected more, but still, something in the air felt unfinished. A moment of hesitation passed before you reached over, picking it up slowly. Jungkook’s eyes flickered to you, his face hardening immediately.
"I should probably have your number, just in case something like this happens again," you said, trying to make it sound casual, though you felt your heart racing. You didn’t want to push him, but you also didn’t want to leave things hanging.
He didn’t immediately respond, and you could feel the conflict inside him. He was clearly reluctant. But after a long pause, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before nodding curtly. "Fine," he muttered, a mix of frustration and resignation in his tone. "But don’t expect much from me."
You held his gaze for a beat, then typed in your contact information. As you handed the phone back to him, you caught a glimpse of the hesitation in his eyes.
He didn’t say anything, just took it from you without looking at your face. His fingers gripped the device a little too tightly, as if holding on to something he didn’t want to let go of.
"Good night," you said softly, opening the door.
"Yeah," Jungkook’s voice was quieter than before, and for a brief second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. "Get some rest."
You closed the door behind you and stood for a moment on the sidewalk, watching his car pull away. The night felt unusually quiet, almost too still, and as you walked to the entrance of your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.
He shook his head, trying to silence the thoughts. He knew he wasn’t supposed to care. He had made that decision a long time ago—no soulmates, no attachments.
But as he drove away, the uncertainty waved at him.
The next morning you sat on the edge of your bed, your phone pressed to your ear as you spoke with your mother. The concern in her voice was unmistakable, but you tried to keep the conversation light, not wanting to worry her too much.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, the words heavy with worry. “I saw the bruises on your arm when we last talked. Have you been getting enough rest? Are you eating?”
You glanced down at the fading bruises on your wrist, the reminder of the hectic few days that had passed. You hadn't told her about Jungkook yet—didn't want to add fuel to the fire of her concern. She’d only worry more if she knew about him.
“I’m fine, Mom,” you said, forcing your voice to sound reassuring. “I’m just a little clumsy, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”
Her sigh on the other end of the line was audible, but she didn’t press further. “Alright. Just take care of yourself, okay? And if you ever need me—”
“I know, Mom. I will. Love you,” you interrupted, hoping to end the conversation before she could say anything more. You needed the distraction, the escape, from everything that was weighing you down.
“Love you too,” she replied, and you could hear the concern still lingering in her tone before she hung up.
Soo followed you, tail wagging, oblivious to the storm of thoughts that were swirling in your head. You smiled weakly at the sight of him, kneeling down to pet him before you prepared to leave. “I’ll be back soon, Soo. Be good while I’m gone,” you murmured, trying to shake off the weight of the night.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. As you reached for the door to leave for your uni classes, a notification caught your eye. . You checked the screen, your stomach tightening as you saw the name that popped up.
i don’t know how to make this easier for you, just stay safe
don’t get too close to me
It was cold, but there was something deeper in it, something that pulled at you despite the detachment. His words were sharp, but the underlying care was unmistakable, even if he couldn’t bring himself to show it fully.
You bit your lip, a mix of emotions washing over you. He wanted to protect you, but at the same time, he was pushing you away, keeping you at a distance. It was always the same—Jungkook’s confusion, his walls, his inability to be vulnerable.
There was no easy answer, no simple way to make sense of him, of what you were supposed to do with all of this. You ran your fingers over the edge of your desk, then typed a short reply.
i’ll be careful, but don’t push me away!!
You hesitated, staring at the screen for a moment, then sent it. What were you even expecting in return?
With a new sense of energy and warmth you turned to leave, Soo’s wagging tail following you out the door. As you stepped into the cool morning air, a sense of possibility filled you. Whatever this was between you and Jungkook, whatever he was trying to say, you felt a spark of hope that it wasn’t over.
The gym was nearly silent, save for the rhythmic hum of the overhead lights and the faint creak of the floorboards beneath Jungkook’s heavy steps. His fists were clenched, shoulders rigid with frustration as he stormed inside. The sting of his loss still burned in his chest, but the anger coursing through him had nothing to do with the fight itself.
Seokjin was already there, arms crossed, watching him with the kind of knowing gaze that made Jungkook’s skin itch. He didn’t need a lecture right now. He needed to hit something, to drown out the mess in his head with exhaustion.
"You lost," Seokjin said, his voice even but edged with something firm, something disappointed. "You weren’t focused. You let your emotions get in the way. You let her get in the way."
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His pulse roared in his ears at the mention of you.
"I told you I don’t need anyone’s help," he bit out, his voice rough with frustration. "I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do. I’m fine on my own."
Seokjin let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. "It’s not about needing help, Jungkook. It’s about what you’re doing to yourself. You’re pushing everything away—everyone away. And for what?"
Jungkook’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. He hated this. Hated feeling like his insides were unraveling. Like no matter how fast he ran, the past—the pain—was always a step behind, waiting to sink its claws into him.
"You don’t get it," he muttered, shaking his head. "You don’t know what it’s like to feel like everything’s slipping through your fingers, no matter what you do."
"Then stop running," Seokjin snapped, stepping forward. "Face it. Face her. Face yourself. Because this? What you’re doing now? It’s not working."
The words hit harder than any punch Jungkook had taken in the ring. His breathing stuttered, his vision blurring at the edges as something sharp lodged itself in his throat. He turned away before Seokjin could see the cracks forming.
"I’m done," he muttered, voice tight. "I don’t need this."
But he was already moving, shoving open the door and stepping out into the cold night air. His pulse pounded in his ears, hands still curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t know where he was going.
All he knew was that if he stayed, if he let himself feel any more than he already did—he wouldn’t be able to stop. And that terrified him more than anything.
You had just finished your last class of the day, your mind still tangled in the mess of notes and half-understood lectures. The weight of exhaustion clung to you, but it wasn’t just from studying—it was from everything. From the lingering thoughts of Jungkook, from the conversation with your mother, from the way your chest felt too tight lately.
Jungkook was walking down the street, head down, shoulders tense, his whole presence brimming with frustration. His eyes—dark and stormy—barely flickered as people passed him, lost in whatever war was raging inside him. But beneath the anger, beneath the cold detachment, you saw it.
He didn’t notice you at first, his mind too consumed by his own turmoil. But as you caught up with him, you called out his name softly, trying not to startle him.
"Jungkook?" Your voice was gentle, but it broke through the fog in his mind. He turned sharply, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and sadness.
"What do you want?" His voice was harsh, sharp, like he was ready to lash out. "I’m not in the mood for any of this."
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down. Instead, you stepped closer, your tone steady, insistent. "You’re not going anywhere like this. You need to calm down."
"I don’t need your help," Jungkook snapped, his fists tightening at his sides. "Just leave me alone."
His jaw clenched, but before he could argue, you grabbed his wrist—not hard, not forcefully, just enough to ground him. His body was tense, radiating frustration, but he didn’t pull away. Maybe because deep down, he was too exhausted to fight anymore.
You shook your head, not willing to let him push you away. "No, Jungkook. You’re not fine. I’m not letting you do this alone. Come with me."
Before he could argue further, you guided him toward your apartment. You didn’t care about his anger, his desire to fight. You cared about the pain behind it, the way he was falling apart, and you weren’t going to let him suffer in silence.
The walk back to your apartment was quiet, thick with unspoken tension. He moved stiffly beside you, every step heavy with something neither of you were ready to name.
Once inside, you guided him to the couch. He sat reluctantly, his eyes still dark with frustration. You disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with two glasses of water. He took his without a word, staring at the liquid like it held answers he’d never find.
"Why do you care?" His voice was quieter now, but the edge was still there. "You don't know me at all."
You sat down next to him, close enough for warmth but not enough to make him retreat. "You’re human, Jungkook. You’re allowed to be angry, to make mistakes. But you don’t have to go through it alone."
Something flickered in his expression—hesitation, doubt, maybe even relief. His fingers curled around the glass, but he didn’t drink. He took a deep breath, as if he was allowing himself to finally feel the weight of everything he had been pushing down.
"I don’t know what to do anymore," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel lost. And it hurts."
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned forward, placing your hand gently on his. The contact was small, but it seemed to ground him, his shoulders slumping just a little as he let the tension leave his body.
"Just be here," you said softly. "Just for tonight. Let yourself feel it. You don’t have to have all the answers."
Jungkook exhaled, his head tilting back as he closed his eyes. It felt like a weight was lifting from him, just a little. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself lean into the moment, let the anger and the frustration subside, replaced by something quieter—something softer.
"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible. "I didn’t think anyone would be here for me like this."
As the silence stretched between you, the weight of the day slowly fading, you glanced at him, feeling a quiet resolve settle in your chest. His shoulders were relaxed now, his eyes softer than you’d seen them before. You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in your heart spreading through you.
You watched him, your resolve settling. His walls were still up, but there was a crack now, a glimpse of the person beneath all the anger and resistance.
"You're not alone, Jungkook," you said, voice soft but certain. "I’m your soulmate, anyway. No matter how much you fight it, I’m here."
His eyes snapped to yours, something shifting between you in the dim light. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t an argument. Just the truth—unshakable, undeniable.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. But then, barely there, the corners of his lips twitched, something small, something real.
And for now, that was enough.
Jungkook was sprawled on your couch, flipping through channels with the kind of bored impatience that made you roll your eyes. His hair was still damp from his shower, a few strands falling into his eyes, but he didn’t bother pushing them back.
You were on the floor, leaning against the coffee table, scrolling through your emails when a notification popped up. Your brows furrowed as you opened the message.
You are invited to the wedding of Kim Namjoon & Seo Yuna…
Your eyes widened. "Jungkook."
"Hm?" He didn’t look away from the TV.
"You got an invitation to Namjoon’s wedding."
That made him pause. He turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Namjoon? Hyung is getting married?"
"Yeah. And it says we’re invited." You lifted your phone, shaking it a little.
Jungkook’s jaw tensed as he sat up properly. "He invited both of us?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. You watched as he processed the information, his fingers tapping against his knee.
"You don’t have to come," he said after a beat, voice a little too casual. "It’s not like anyone expects—"
"I want to," you interrupted, tilting your head at him. "Unless you don’t want me to go."
Jungkook hesitated, eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. A few months ago, he would’ve found a way to push you away, to make it seem like he didn’t care. But now, he was different. Softer in ways he didn’t realize.
Finally, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It’s just… a lot. Weddings, relationships—" He stopped himself, then sighed. "But if you want to go, then we’ll go."
You smiled, setting your phone down. "Then it’s settled."
Jungkook shook his head, mumbling something under his breath, but you caught the way his lips twitched, the way his fingers absentmindedly reached for yours as if it was second nature now.
Neither of you said it out loud, but the truth hung between you like a quiet understanding.
This wasn’t just about a wedding. It was about showing up—for each other.
Jungkook had spent months resisting, convincing himself that fate was something he could outrun. That having a soulmate was a burden, not a gift. But somewhere along the way—between the quiet moments where you stood by him without expecting anything in return, between the nights where you saw the parts of him he kept hidden from the world—something shifted.
He stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting you.
It wasn’t sudden, but gradual, like ice melting under the warmth of the sun. He still wasn’t perfect—still stubborn, still rough around the edges—but the walls he’d built weren’t impenetrable anymore.
Now, when you reached for him, he didn’t pull away. When you said his name, he answered without hesitation. And when he looked at you, really looked at you, he didn’t see a mistake.
A few days later, both of you were seated in the venue. It was breathtaking—golden chandeliers casting a soft glow over the polished floors, tables adorned with white roses, and a string quartet playing something elegant in the background.
Jungkook had been fidgeting with the cuffs of his black suit since the moment you arrived, but he looked effortlessly handsome, the dark fabric hugging his frame in all the right places.
"You clean up well," you murmured, adjusting the slightly crooked tie around his neck.
He huffed, feigning annoyance, but you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched. "Yeah, well, you look—" His gaze flickered over you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Nice."
"Nice?" You raised an eyebrow. "That’s all I get?"
Jungkook rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation behind it. His fingers ghosted over your wrist before he slipped his hand into yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Fine. You look beautiful. Happy now?"
Before you could tease him, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as Namjoon and Yuna made their grand entrance. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Jungkook straightened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.
"Do weddings always feel this… intense?" he muttered, eyeing the scene.
You grinned. "It’s just love, Jungkook. Try not to look so scared."
His jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let you pull him toward your table, where some of his friends were already gathered.
Throughout the night, you caught glimpses of something new in him. The way his shoulders eased when you leaned into him, the way his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on the back of your hand, the way his lips twitched in amusement when you forced him onto the dance floor despite his protests.
And then, somewhere between the speeches and the first dance, he leaned in, his voice quieter, more certain than before.
"I don’t know when it happened," he murmured, eyes locked on yours. "But I stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting us."
Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling between you.
Jungkook wasn’t running anymore.
Instead, he was here—standing beside you, hand in yours, finally accepting that maybe, just maybe, fate had been right all along.
