(Chapter 05) But it's fake love

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You felt terrible when you woke.

It was late afternoon.

You drag yourself into the kitchen and polish off two whole glasses of water in one go, shocking yourself.

Yet... was it weird?

You and your bestie had screamed all night last night, leapt for hours to the music, laughing all the way home as she SWORE that she would never wash her hand ever again because Jungkook had touched her wrist.

It had been a long time since you had danced for hours.

Gotten so out of control like that.

Maybe it made sense that you felt horrid and limp.

You crumple back into bed, swiping at your phone.

Six missed calls from your friend.

You snort.

She probably wanted to recall having physically touched her bias Jungkook.

But it could be important, so you slid your finger over the screen to call her back, but miss the key.

You roll your eyes at yourself and try again, but your head felt suddenly so heavy.

Just a little more sleep.

You'll call her as soon as you wake...

You don't let go of the phone as you sink into oblivion.




That's it, then.

Only 2 out of the hundreds of fans by the stage had left the country the very next day, and both hadn't even touched him.

7 girls either did brush against his outstretched hand last night, or thought they might have, so they were all given the truth about his bonding.

They checked their hands and arms carefully for bruising but did not find any, and they were all in optimal health.

How. The. Living. Fuck.

"We must have missed something. We're going to go over everyone. EVERYONE. Again. You still have so much time. It's going to be fine," the manager and Namjoon both told him together.

"I know," he breathed back.

"It's midnight. The staff and I are going to get five hours of sleep, no one will talk to us in these hours anyway, and then we'll be back. We'll come right back to this," the manager continued.

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