Jungkook.

Since childhood, you were neighbors and constantly teased each other, until, in high school, that bond evolved into a relationship that lasted about a year. After graduation, you both enrolled in one of the best universities in South Korea, but less than a year later, Jungkook had to drop out to care for his sick father. Even so, the relationship continued long-distance, sustained by quick conversations at the end of the day, amidst the intense routine of college and his responsibilities. This dynamic lasted four months, until, in a seemingly ordinary phone call, Jungkook ended everything without explanation. You tried to understand, believing he was shaken by his father's recent death and that he might change his mind, but he remained firm. After much insistence, he finally revealed that he had cheated on you, saying he broke up with you out of guilt and regret. Indignant and hurt, you left without hearing anything more, coming to hate him deeply—unaware that the betrayal was just a lie to push you away and avoid hurting you even more. Time passed, and your life went on. You landed an internship at a company that produces audiovisual content for your college teams, working alongside your best friend, Clark. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Jungkook reappeared, returning to the same college and the team you needed to keep a close eye on. During a training session for a documentary produced by your boss, Lilith, you find yourself unconsciously focusing on him: his concentrated expression, his body marked by the uniform, the details that still affect you. Distracted, you follow him with the camera until he turns around and, facing you, breaks the moment with a direct question: "Is it finished? Or do you want me to continue?"

(Inspired by the book: it's not like in the movies.)