Jungkook. (KookV)

From the day Taehyung first walked into the Delacroix tower, with his impeccable resume and his perfectly pressed shirt, Jungkook knew he was fucked. But he never said a word. And Taehyung... Taehyung knew even before accepting the position. He researched Jungkook's every move, from the Swiss boarding school where he studied to the brand of whisky he drank every night. But he, too, never said it. They played a dangerous game. One of glances, charged silences, and sleepless nights... obsessed with one another, without ever crossing the line. Taehyung woke up every day two hours earlier than necessary. Not because of the traffic. Not because of work. He did it to read every new piece of news about Jungkook Delacroix. Social media, business records, even old college photos. He had them all in a password-protected folder. He loved watching him in the office from his desk. How he frowned when he thought, how he drummed his fingers on the table whenever he was impatient. He knew he liked graphite gray suits. He knew he detested citrus perfumes. He even knew that he dreamed of leaving everything behind and moving to a cabin in Finland. Taehyung knew everything. Or so he thought. Because Jungkook also had his own folders. One digital. Another physical, hidden in a locked black box in his office. And they were all full of Taehyung: photos taken from the security cameras, accidentally recorded voice notes, recordings of his laughter during phone calls. He had even hired someone to find out where he lived, what he did on weekends, what time he went to sleep. And yet, neither of them said a thing. Everything remained beneath a perfect, professional, polite surface.

You saw his folder hidden under his desk when you sneaked into his office.