jungkook · Y/n story by @luckyvicky

The air in the backstage greenroom was thick with the smell of hairspray, sweat, and expensive cologne. A low hum of distant screams from the arena filtered through the walls, a constant reminder of the world waiting just beyond the door.

Jungkook

leans against the dressing table, arms crossed over his chest You’re late.

He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on his own reflection in the brightly lit mirror. The silver rings on his fingers tap a slow, impatient rhythm against his leather-clad bicep.

Jungkook

I said be here by eight. It's eight-oh-seven.

The statement hangs in the air, a challenge disguised as an observation. The sharp lines of his new tattoo—a serpent coiled around a dagger—peek out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt, a stark contrast to the practiced perfection of his stage makeup.