Jimin's suite was the biggest out of the three. A sleek, modern space with towering windows, an oversized terrace that overlooked the city, and a fridge always stocked with more food than he could ever eat alone. It had become their unofficial HQ in Paris—a place to regroup, eat, and pretend life was simple again.
That afternoon, sunlight spilled lazily over the marble floors. The sliding terrace doors were open, letting in a light breeze.
JungKook lounged on the couch in joggers and a black tee, sipping his coffee—spiked, of course—with a bored expression that didn't fool anyone. Taehyung and Jimin sat at the kitchen table, while Celine picked at her food beside them, hair tied messily, sleeves rolled up, one leg tucked beneath her. She looked half-recovered and halfway to collapsing again.
"Okay, what are you two, exactly?" Taehyung asked suddenly, stabbing his fork into a piece of pear from the charcuterie spread. "You're all lovey-dovey now."
imin and Celine glanced at each other. That look again. The unspoken, messy truth hidden behind sharp smirks and blasé attitudes.
"We're friends," they said in unison.
JungKook snorted from behind his iced Americano. "Yeah, right. And I'm a nun."
"What?" Celine snapped.
"Nothing," JungKook muttered, clearly in a mood. He looked like he hadn't slept right.
"What's his problem?" Celine pointed a fork at the man scowling at the TV as he sipped his spiked coffee. He didn't seem like himself lately—he had that same hurricane calm in his expression she used to catch in the mirror. The kind that says I'm fine when everything inside is breaking down.
Taehyung sighed. "Problem is his ex. She's starting some anti-JK whisper campaign. Company's in panic mode. He's flying back to Seoul tomorrow."
Celine visibly winced. "Well, of course she's going batshit. I mean—look at him." She gestured at him. "You're literally dangerously fun, stupidly handsome—like, God-like levels of unfair. I'd go insane too."
JungKook gave a humorless laugh. "Sounds like you're in love with me."
Celine raised an eyebrow. "Oh, God no. I don't like pretty boys like you. Ranty, moody, overly affectionate—I'd run so fast I'd vanish from the Earth. You give golden retriever energy. It's not for me."
Taehyung cackled. "His girlfriend's the opposite of sunshine. Brain-rot kind of energy. Spawn from hell."
JungKook threw a pillow at him.
Celine looked at JungKook, eyes briefly soft. He just needs to be understood. A light in the storm. A rainbow after a hurricane.
She saw it. Knew it.
And still thought—He's lucky.
Because despite the scars, despite the betrayal, despite the mess... JungKook was still salvageable. Still had light left in him. Still surrounded by people trying to save him.
Her?
She was past saving. A fire too far gone.
AND her and him? Hell to the no. They'd be a super typhoon, a lightning storm, an earthquake wrapped in wildfire. They'd burn the world down just trying to love.
She turned her head to the man beside him, watched as he chewed on a fruit cutely. Caught Jimin watching her.
He didn't look like a storm. He looked like sunshine. Like fire she'd willingly walk into and burn with.
Maybe she already was.
Jimin's voice cut softly through her thoughts. "You okay?"
She glanced at him. That soft-eyed, honey-voiced man who kept treating her like she was worth something—like chaos could be held without being tamed.
"I'm fine," she said, lips quirking. "Just thinking about what a menace JungKook would be if he had a little more darkness in him."
JungKook raised his cup. "I'm working on it."
Taehyung chuckled. "God help us."
The table fell quiet again, only the clinking of silverware filling the silence.
Celine didn't say it out loud, but the thought lingered—
If JungKook was the storm she could recognize, then Jimin... was the calm she didn't think she deserved.
And yet, here he was. Still beside her. Still choosing her.
Even if she could never say it back.
***
The next morning came with gray skies and colder air. JungKook stood outside his hotel, dressed in layered black with a hoodie tugged low and dark glasses hiding the storm in his eyes. Not even Paris could make him glow today.
Manager Hyung arrived first, already anxious, pacing by the car door. Mr. Lee, their ever-intimidating head of security, followed close behind—dressed in tactical wear like he was expecting a brawl or a full-on hostage situation.
"Hyung," JungKook greeted curtly, voice low. Not warm. Not angry. Just... drained.
They didn't need to drag him, after all. The fight in him was gone. He tossed his bag into the trunk, wordlessly slid into the car, and stared out the window like it offended him. Like the city had betrayed him.
He didn't want to leave Paris. That much was obvious.
But he had to.
Sayuri—whatever she was now—was stirring hell back in Korea. And he couldn't ignore it anymore.
Manager Hyung tried to lighten the mood with a quiet joke about croissants and paparazzi. JungKook didn't even blink.
That was when Mr. Lee realized something.
It wasn't just jet lag. Or annoyance.
It was something far deeper.
JungKook hadn't smiled once.
Not since her.
There was a time when his laugh echoed through halls, turned every room into a stage, and made strangers feel like friends. But since she came into his life, it was like watching someone slowly unplug the light in him.
His friends warned him.
"Bro, she's bad for you."
"End it before it ends you."
"She's dragging you down."
He didn't listen.
And that day—the day he chose to stay—was the first day he never smiled again.
Taehyung left two days later.
He had planned to linger in Paris, enjoy some downtime, maybe even crash at Jimin's for a while. But a lock-in taping for a major project in Mexico called. Originally a two-month commitment. Now stretched to six. He didn't even have time to say a proper goodbye to JungKook.
But he did say this to Jimin, the night before leaving:
"If he doesn't come back the same... remind him who he was before her."
Then he was gone.
Jimin stayed.
Fashion Week was long over. The runways dismantled. Flashbulbs dead. The city had quieted back into its usual, romantic rhythm.
But Jimin... stayed.
He told himself it was for the calm. For the food. For the inspiration.
But when he watched Celine laugh at something stupid on his terrace, barefoot in his oversized tee, with espresso in one hand and half-smeared eyeliner from the night before...
He knew.
He stayed for her.
Maybe not entirely.
But partly.
And sometimes, partly is already everything.