The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the building’s ventilation system. Her knuckles are white where she grips the doorknob, the cold metal biting into her skin, but she doesn’t turn it. She can’t. Her breath hitches in her throat, trapped behind a wall of pride and the lingering, electric heat that still zips through her fingertips where they brushed against his. Jungkook sits in the shadows, the blue light from his laptop screen carving sharp angles into his face, highlighting the dangerous curve of his lips. He doesn’t look away. He waits, predator-still, enjoying the way her composure cracks.

"No," she forces out, the sound barely a whisper. She clears her throat, trying to find the sharp edges of her anger again, but they feel duller now. "I don't have the energy to hate you. It takes effort I’d rather spend on actual work."