Chapter Text
Mira pressed her cheek against the soft leather of her couch cushions, squinting at the glowing screen of the laptop resting on her lap, watching the numbers change on the tiny time annotations on the bottom of the screen.
The apartment was quiet save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the sounds of purring from her sleeping cat, Rue. The numbers in the corner of her screen blinked from 7:56 to 7:57 pm, which meant Jungkook would buzz into her apartment anytime in the next three minutes.
He was always early. He didn’t make it obvious, but Mira knew.
Over the past few months of recording, he’d come around the same time. With tea if she was on her period, with beer if it was a Friday night, or with takeout if they had to work after recording that night.
Tonight, if she had to guess, he’d come with beer. It was a Friday night after all.
This podcast of theirs… it had started as a joke. A dare, really. One of their colleagues made a throwaway comment about how they were narrating gossip from the office instead of working. And they made it sound good too. Play-by-play messages after weird encounters in the break room, who was sleeping around, and the ketchup stuck on Mr. Graham’s white collar that made its way throughout the whole budget meeting with the board.
“Two Interns Walk Into HR” was born somewhere between a pile of fries and several stories they absolutely could not post on LinkedIn without losing their jobs.
Now, it was routine. They recorded every week, switching apartments, untangling headphones, setting up the mic between snacks and coffee mugs. Jungkook never commented when she had one sock on, and she never talked about how distracting his lip ring was. Sometimes, she’d throw a leg on his lap and sometimes, he’d be rubbing her feet mid-gossip.
They’d been best friends since week two of orientation– the kind of friendship that formed as a result of side-eyes during meetings, misplaced sarcasm in the break room and exactly one shared hotel room during a conference in Berlin.
And tonight, like always, the door clicked open at 8:00pm, and Jungkook mosied his way through the doorway with takeout in his hands.
Mira groaned. Takeout meant working overtime.
“We’re working today?” she asked, setting the laptop aside to get up and help him with the food. Jungkook huffed, handing her the bags and hauling his overnight bag onto the couch. She spotted the cans of beer in the plastic and smiled to herself. Thank goodness for Jeon Jungkook.
“We better get cracking on tallying those numbers,” he said, pulling his laptop out of his bag and setting it on the table. “Jenna called me when I left work, said they didn’t match.”
Mira dumped the bags on the table, sighing. Jenna loved Jungkook. Thought he was the solution to all their problems. Little did she know, Mira also contributed. It was a 50-50 thing between the two of them. She'd tell him what numbers went where, he'd surf through excel like a pro. But at the end of the day, Jenna only had heart eyes for muscle bunny Jeon.
“She’s not giving me enough credit.” Mira muttered, sliding back into her couch, right next to where Jungkook was shifting the mics on the coffee table, clicking her laptop open.
Jungkook winked at her, lip ring catching the light. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Recording: 8:37 pm
The microphone crackled softly as the recording began. A quiet click, a low cough from Mira.
Across the sofa, Jungkook shifted in his place, arms stretching behind him. His sleeve rolled up, ink swirling through his forearm.
Mira noticed, as she always did. Then raised an eyebrow at him.
“Okay,” she said, nudging her foot into his thigh. “Tell the people what you just did.”
Jungkook barely reacted. “No.”
“Dude.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes tracing her movement, already sounding resigned. “I politely declined to use your cursed mug,” he said, “and you reacted like I committed high treason in the court of a king. And if you guys didn't know,” he switched to a stage-whisper and moved the mic to his mouth, "we're a democratic country."
“That’s because it’s a perfectly normal mug.”
His lips twitched and he scrunched his nose up in slight disapproval. “It says ‘I survived Q3’ and has a cartoon Grim Reaper on it.”
“You did survive Q3,” she said, like she was awarding him a medal and posing for some non-existent camera. “I’m celebrating you. You deserve all the wins that come your way.”
Jungkook leaned towards the mic again, pushing his hair back with one hand. One hand rested across the back of the sofa. He looked relaxed. She loved when he looked like this. Eyes wide, smile free, and a small part of her tingling heart twitched in recognition.
He reached over to flick her forehead. “I blacked out in my bedroom closet during Q3.” he deadpanned.
“And you lived to tell the tale!” she clapped her hands twice. Then threw a thumb behind her shoulder. “Drink from the mug.”
“No.”
Mira reached behind her to grab it from the counter anyway, setting it on the table in front of them with a soft ceramic clink. She nudged it an inch toward him with her fingernail. “Just in case you change your mind.”
Jungkook looked at the mug and back at her with a frown that made him look like a kid that was offered a plate full of broccolis, just in case.
“You’re going bonkers.”
Mira ignored him, leaning towards the mic, voice settling into their usual rhythm as she let the intro jingle play in the background.
“There you have it, folks. Welcome to Two Interns Walk Into HR, the only podcast hosted by two employees who definitely don’t meet after hours to roast our coworkers and spill tea with company coupons.”
Jungkook cleared his throat, leaned slightly into the mic. “We’re still anonymous,” he added.
“Allegedly.” she muttered, taking her mug of coffee from the table to take a sip.
“I’m JK.”
“I’m MJ.”
“And today’s agenda includes,” he continued, reading out of the tiny lines of notes on your laptop, “fridge problems, suspicious boardroom behavior and a theory about who keeps stealing all the spoons.”
“It’s not a theory,” Mira said, kicking off her slipper and tucking one leg under herself. “It’s Sarah from Computing. Her purse clinks when she walks.”
“You can’t accuse people of spoon crimes without evidence.”
Mira shrugged, hands coming to cross across her chest. “I can, and I will.”
Jungkook squinted at her, “You accused three people of ‘good’ stapler theft last week.”
“And was I wrong? It was my good stapler. I spent so long at the store comparing agility.”
Jungkook snorted. Cracked open a can of soda. The hiss cut through the room, bubbles metaphorically spilling the space between them.
“Anyway,” he said, settling more comfortably into the couch. “If we’re accusing people…”
“Go on.”
“Can we seriously talk about whoever keeps stealing my oat milk?”
Mira froze, slowly. “…Define stealing.” she said, sheepish.
“…Mira.”
She lifted both hands in defense. “You leave it in the break room refrigerator!”
“It has my name on it.” he simpered, lips pursed, then taking a huge gulp from his can.
“In Sharpie,” she said, like that gave her reason to drink from it.
He swiped the back of his palm over his mouth. “Sweetheart, that’s how labeling works.”
“Look,” she said quickly, “sometimes a girl just needs a splash of oat milk in her morning coffee, okay?”
“A splash?”
“Yes.”
“You finished the carton.”
She shrugged, putting her mug down. “You can’t prove that.”
Jungkook stared at her for a moment, eyes tracing over her face and she felt herself tense up. Then, he laughed quietly into the mic.
“There you have it, folks.”
She grinned, holding the mic and speaking into it all sing-songy, “Breaking news.”
“My co-host,” he said gesturing lazily at her with his tattooed hand, “is an oat milk criminal.”
She kicked his leg lightly. “Alleged.”
A small purr from below them was heard and Rue jumped onto Jungkook like she owned that place– which to be fair, she did– and landed squarely in Jungkook’s lap. He blinked down at her in mild surprise before his hand came up to automatically steady her, tattooed fingers curling gently around her tiny ribcage as she climbed higher onto him.
Within seconds, she’d burrowed against his chest, nose pressed to the nook between his neck and shoulder like she’d been waiting all week just for this moment. Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh, shifting back into the couch as his inked hand spread over her back, thumb absentmindedly coming to stroke her back while she purred.
The contrast was stupidly soft and Mira felt something– possibly her ovaries– combust inside her. She forced her face to stay neutral and leaned back into her side of the couch like she wasn’t witnessing the cutest thing she’d ever seen.
“Y’know,” she said dryly, picking up her mug again to cradle the warmth against her cheek, “she loves you more than me.”
Jungkook glanced up at her and something shifted in his features. Then, he broke out in a soft smile, adjusting Rue against him. “Doesn’t everyone?” he murmured, voice smug enough that she kicked his leg under the blanket without missing a beat.
Mira shifted again, shuffling both feet into his lap without asking.
Jungkook sighed quietly, but didn’t move them away. At that point, personal space between them had been more of a theoretical concept for months.
“Leg up,” she muttered. “My foot’s asleep.”
“It’s fine,” he said absently, adjusting the blanket tangled across both their knees. “You always do this.”
“I’m comfy. That’s how podcasting works.”
“Listeners are gonna think we’re tangled in an IKEA blanket right now.”
She raised an eyebrow, pointedly glancing down. “…We are tangled in an IKEA blanket.”
“Fair.”
"That reminds me," she said, tapping on the mic. "IKEA… we need a sponsor!"
Jungkook laughed, eyeing the rest of her living room. "Yeah guys, help us out here. Mira's whole living room is straight out of an IKEA catalogue. Comment down!"
She set down her mug, bringing her laptop towards themselves. She tapped it, scrolling. “Let’s read comments from last week’s episode.”
A few clicks echoed through the room and she leaned closer to the screen, shoulder bumping his slightly as she read. “Okay. First one: ‘How contaminated do you think the break room microwave is?’”
Jungkook lifted one finger up. “Very. Considering the fact that someone accidentally microwaved spoiled chicken yesterday. 10/10 will not recommend using.
She giggled, remembering the almost explosion in the break room. “It’s running on chicken fumes and hope.”
Another few taps. “Next one: ‘Are MJ and JK dating IRL or is this just sexual tension and post-production magic?’”
“Delete,” Jungkook said immediately.
She snorted. These kinda comments were the ones that started appearing two months into their podcast. It was always the same– Is Mira single? Have you guys secretly hooked up? Can we get a tape?
Mira scrolled up a few more times, ignoring the weird pit in her stomach. “‘Y’all sound like you make each other coffee without asking how you take it.’”
Jungkook shrugged lazily. “Accurate. You think this friendship runs on vibes only?”
Mira kicked him. “Hey! Coffee shouldn’t be the base of our friendship.”
“Yeah? Well I’m not bringing you coffee anymore.”
“Jungkook!”
He laughed, head thrown back, adam’s apple moving and her eyes tracked the movement of his neck like a hawk. She looked away. Not doing this again.
Mira scrolled again, and this time he stopped the mouse, reading a comment. “‘MJ sighs like she looks at JK when he’s not looking.’”
Mira let out a soft laugh, at how the commentors caught her just in time, and Jungkook tilted his head towards her, eyes narrowing with interest.
“Do you?”
Mira didn’t look up from the screen. “No comment.”
“That’s a comment.”
She scrolled again quickly. “Oh here’s a good one.” She read aloud. “‘If you guys ever stop podcasting, can you at least start a bar or get married or something?’”
Jungkook considered it for a moment, lips pursing. Then he nodded. “We should open a bar.”
“Not married?” Mira teased, eyes flicking to him.
He rolled his eyes, moving Rue from his chest to cradle her in his arms. Mira’s heart pounded at the simple action, watching Rue purr. “I’m trying to manage expectations here.”
They both laughed. But it sounded different now– softer, a little quieter, like something else was slowly settling into the space between them.
Mira cleared her throat first, dragging the laptop back toward herself.
“Okay,” she said briskly, like she was steering a car away from a cliff. “Next segment before we get carried away.”
Jungkook hummed in agreement, watching as Rue extracted herself from his hands to settle behind him across his shoulders. Her head came to rest under his ear and he sat against the couch to give her more leverage.
Mira's feet were still draped across his lap, half tucked beneath the blanket. Somewhere during their last bit of back-and-forth, his hand had come to rest around her ankle.
He didn’t move it away. Instead, his thumb started tracing the curve of her ankle, absent mindedly against the side of her sock.
Mira noticed, but chose not to acknowledge. Even then, every trace sent a tingle up her spine and warmth pooled around his grip. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
“Right,” she continued, clicking around on the laptop. “Office conspiracies. We’ve covered the spoon thief, the microwave fumes, which is obviously a crime against humanity.”
“Obviously.” Jungkook murmured.
“But we haven’t talked about Mr. Gupta’s shelf situation.”
“Ah,” he said quietly.
“The yogurt incident.”
Mira leaned toward the mic, immediately animated, forgetting about all her dilemmas like this was the thesis she would be defending.
“Okay, so here’s the thing,” she said. “If you leave yogurt on your table for two weeks while you’re out of office, that is no longer yogurt. That is a science experiment.”
Jungkook nodded slowly. But his eyes were no longer on the laptop.
They were on her.
Mira was talking with her hands now, hair slipping loose from the claw clip at the back of her head. A few strands had fallen forward near her temples and she kept blowing them out of her face between sentences without even noticing.
When did Jungkook start noticing so much about her? Even he wasn't sure. All he knew was Berlin happened, and after that, all he could think of was Mira Mira Mira.
“–and the lid was bulging,” she was saying. “Like physically expanding.”
His hands pulled her ankle closer to his lap and she shifted, eyes meeting his. But she continued, undeterred, yapping about the sciences and nuances of shelf etiquette at the workplace.
This continued for a while. He’d input with snarky remarks and she’d accuse. He’d push the Q3 mug farther away from him moment after moment and she’d grab it and put it back into place each time. They'd read more comments, delete the racy ones, rinse and repeat.
Somewhere in between he got up to put Rue back into her cat bed and got back to the couch with a roller to remove cat hair. She watched him move, systematic, doing it because somebody had to. (And maybe also because the last time he forgot, she gave him an earful.)
Soon enough, they were bone-tired and happy with the episode.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s probably enough workplace slander for one episode.”
Jungkook reached forward and clicked the stop button. The small red light on the laptop blinked off.
Mira stretched her arms overhead with a soft groan, hoodie riding up slightly. His eyes flicked down, then he looked away. He scolded himself, get a hold of yourself.
Reaching for the chipped handle of her Q3 mug, he shifted it in his hands, trying to distract himself. Technically, this was his gift to her last Christmas after that nightmare of a quarter they both endured. FY2025 Q3, nightmare of a quarter. It was a frame on their shared meeting room, courtesy of their team head.
She was so happy about the gift, so happy that they had a shared memory, she drank coffee from it throughout the next quarter. Gave herself a few caffeine spikes and had to sleep at home while he worked on her kitchen countertop. He told her she'd cursed the mug and since then, the charade continued.
He doesn’t look at her when he says it.
“You didn’t deny the staring.”
She shrugged, getting up to walk into her kitchen, not wanting him to see her expression when she inevitably acts none the wiser. “Must I lie?” she said over her shoulder, aiming straight for the takeout bag on the counter and taking it to the kitchen on her way.
Jungkook didn’t answer.
He just grabbed the other takeout bags and followed her into the kitchen like he always did. Mira was already unpacking containers when he stepped beside her, leaning his hip against the counter. The implication of her words lingered, but he chose not to dig any further.
“Did you get noodles?” she asked, peering into one of the boxes.
“Noodles.” he placed another box in front of her, unwrapped.
“Good.” she nodded once, looking up at him to wrinkle her nose. “Rice would’ve been disappointing.
“You eat anything.” he rolled his eyes, opening the microwave and shoving the chicken inside.
“False,” she said immediately. “I have standards.”
He snorted, pressing the button to heat the chicken again, though she couldn’t understand why he was heating it twice and reached past him to grab forks from the drawer, bumping his shoulder in the process without even looking.
“Laptop,” she said, pointing at him with the fork. They had to get work done, no matter what. Being in finance meant selling her soul to the ungodly amount of times you tweak a balance sheet.
Jungkook went to grab it from the living room and set it down on the counter beside the takeout. “We still have to tally Jenna’s numbers,” he said, opening the spreadsheet. He tap-tapped the screen before turning the laptop towards her.
Mira groaned softly, rolling her neck. “If she emails me another budget sheet after eight p.m. I’m quitting.”
“You say that every week.” he said, pulling the two chairs out for them to sit on.
Mira sat on one of the chairs, mumbling to herself. “And one day I’ll mean it.”
The microwave beeped.
She got up, pulled the container out, popped the lid, and immediately stole a bite before even plating it, hasjhasjhasj-ing through the hot food.
"Mira– you already know it's hot."
She shrugged, "I'm hungry, man. Here," she blew on a bite, then brought it in front of his mouth, waiting for him to take a bite. He blew on it again, nose wrinkling at her when she rolled her eyes, and took the bite, nodding at the taste, head thrown back in a groan. "Mr. Wong never misses."
She pumped her fist in the air, and went back to devouring the box, subconsciously looking at the open spreadsheet with a lazy focus in her expression.
Jungkook was watching her. Not obviously. Just… watching. Like he was trying to memorise something he already knew like the back of his palm. And Mira felt it before she saw it– that quiet, steady weight of someone’s attention.
She looked up.
Jungkook blinked, like he’d been caught.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m not.” he shrugged, going back to the laptop.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. Nobody could fool Mira.
She nodded at the takeout in her hands. “You reheated the chicken noodle twice.”
Jungkook glanced at the microwave like he’d forgotten it existed.
“…Oh.”
Mira huffed out a laugh and tapped at the side of his head with her knuckles.
“Focus. Spreadsheet boy.”
He shook his head faintly, but leaned closer to the counter and started typing.
For a while, they worked quietly.
Mira read out numbers. Jungkook typed them in. They shared the takeout container between them without bothering with plates. Chicken was passed into his mouth while he typed and noodles was stuffed into hers while she read out lines.
Routine. Normal.
Jungkook was halfway through entering the next column when Mira looked up from the screen.
He was concentrating now, eyes on the laptop, brows drawn together slightly, surfing through the excel sheet to look for mistakes in digits, murmuring the values under his breath. The kitchen light caught the edge of his lip ring when he shifted, the metal glinting briefly as he leaned closer to the screen.
Mira watched him for a second.
His profile was stupidly familiar– the line of his nose, the way his hair kept falling forward no matter how often he pushed it back. His lip ring that he kept disturbing with his tongue. His inked fingers kept tap-tapping on the keyboard while shifting columns.
The way he’d been looking at her earlier flickered through her mind.
She stared at him a little longer. Then Mira shook her head faintly to herself, like she was clearing a thought away.
You’re being ridiculous.
“Next number,” Jungkook said, still looking at the screen.
Mira blinked and glanced back down at the spreadsheet.
“Right,” she muttered.
She read the next line out loud, but a small part of her was still thinking about it. And until the next time they recorded, she’d have to keep her feelings all to herself.
…