The first time Jungkook saw her up close, it wasn't under stage lights.
It was under fluorescent rehearsal lighting — harsh, unforgiving, exposing every flaw.
And yet, she didn't have any.
Winter stood across the practice room, hair tied back, oversized hoodie swallowing her small frame. No makeup team. No camera filters. Just her, a water bottle in hand, reading through choreography notes with quiet focus.
Jungkook had worked with dozens of artists before. Collaboration stages weren't new.
But this one felt different.
"Are you nervous?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Winter looked up. Calm. Polite. Professional.
"A little," she admitted. "Sunbaenim?"
He gave a small smile. "Same."
It was a lie.
He wasn't nervous about the stage.
He was nervous about her.
The collaboration had been announced only three days ago. A special year-end performance. Two idols from different worlds. Two fandoms strong enough to start wars over eye contact.
The internet had exploded the moment their names appeared together.
Now they stood in the same room, preparing to create something that would either trend worldwide — or ruin them.
The choreographer clapped once.
"Let's start from the chorus. Partner section."
Partner section.
Jungkook walked to his mark.
Winter stepped into hers.
There was exactly one inch of space between them.
He could feel her breathing.
The music began.
The beat was slow. Controlled. Intimate.
His hand was supposed to land on her waist.
Professional. Neutral. Clean.
But when his palm touched her, something shifted.
Not lust.
Not simple attraction.
Something heavier.
Her body stiffened for half a second — just enough for him to notice.
"Relax," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
Her eyes lifted to his.
There was strength in them. Steady. Composed.
But beneath it?
A flicker.
"I am relaxed," she replied smoothly.
He almost laughed.
She wasn't.
And neither was he.
They ran the choreography again.
And again.
Each time the movements grew more natural.
Each time the space between them felt smaller.
During the bridge, he was supposed to pull her closer — chest almost touching, eyes locked, breath shared for three seconds before she turned away.
Three seconds.
On paper, it was nothing.
In reality, it felt endless.
The first time they hit that mark, the room went quiet.
Even the choreographer didn't speak.
Jungkook held her gaze.
She didn't look away this time.
Professional.
Controlled.
Strong.
But he saw it again — that softness trying to hide.
And for a dangerous second, he wanted to protect it.
From the cameras.
From the comments.
From the world that would tear her apart for something as small as chemistry.
The music stopped.
"Good," the choreographer said slowly. "That tension — keep that."
Tension.
If only they knew.
Break time.
Winter stepped aside, scrolling through her phone.
Notifications were already pouring in.
Fan edits.
Speculation threads.
"Look at how close they're standing."
"He smiled differently."
"Are they flirting?"
She locked her screen.
Idol life meant control.
Control your expression.
Control your movements.
Control your heart.
Jungkook walked over, holding two bottles of water.
He handed one to her without a word.
"Thank you."
"You saw it too, didn't you?"
She hesitated. "Saw what?"
"The way they're going to react."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Yes."
No denial. No pretending.
He respected that.
"They'll calm down," he said.
She didn't answer.
Because they both knew that wasn't true.
Later, when rehearsal ended, staff began packing equipment.
Winter bowed politely to everyone before heading toward the exit.
Jungkook watched her go.
He didn't know why.
He shouldn't care.
This was one stage.
One performance.
Temporary.
But something about her composure — the way she carried herself like nothing could shake her — made him wonder what she looked like when she finally let herself feel everything.
He caught up to her near the hallway.
"Winter."
She turned.
"Yes?"
"For the stage… if you're uncomfortable at any point, tell me."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"I can handle it."
"I know," he said softly. "But you don't have to handle it alone."
There it was again.
That flicker in her eyes.
Surprise.
Maybe even relief.
But she masked it quickly.
"I'll be fine."
He nodded.
Professional distance restored.
But as she walked away, he realized something unsettling.
He wasn't worried about the stage anymore.
He was worried about what would happen after.
Because the way she looked at him during that three-second hold…
It didn't feel like acting.
And if he wasn't careful—
He might start wanting it to be real.
That night, Jungkook lay in bed, phone in hand.
The rehearsal clip had already leaked.
Not the full choreography.
Just a three-second snippet.
The bridge.
The almost embrace.
The eye contact.
It had millions of views.
Comments moving too fast to read.
He replayed it once.
Twice.
Three times.
It wasn't the choreography that bothered him.
It was the way his expression softened.
Too soft.
Too genuine.
He locked his phone and stared at the ceiling.
This was dangerous.
Not because of the scandal.
Not because of the fans.
But because for the first time in a long time—
He felt something that wasn't scripted.
And on the other side of the city, Winter sat alone in her dorm room, replaying the same clip.
Her expression had remained composed.
Strong.
Unshaken.
But her heart had not.
She pressed her phone to her chest and closed her eyes.
It was just a stage.
Just a performance.
Just three seconds.
So why did it feel like the beginning of something that could destroy everything?
End of Chapter 1