Chapter Text
The moonlight poured through the window of Seokjin's room, casting a pale glow over his workspace. The clock on his desk blinked 2:00 AM, but his fingers continued their relentless tapping against the keyboard. He couldn’t stop—not until the final presentation matched the vision in his mind. Every slide, every detail had to reflect his taste, his effort.
He had been pouring himself into this project for an entire month. Sacrificing sleep, ignoring distractions, and tuning out everything else, he sought nothing short of perfection.
Yet, as his weary eyes skimmed the glowing screen, a flicker of doubt gnawed at him. Was it enough? Would it ever be enough?
He walked into the office with a smile stretched wide across his face, greeting and bowing politely to his coworkers. The buzz of the workplace seemed distant as he headed straight to the restroom. Standing in front of the mirror, he studied his reflection. His smile faltered as he let out a long sigh. You’ve got this, he thought. You’re going to do this.
With a firm nod to himself and a deep, grounding breath, he left the restroom.
When the time came for his presentation, Seokjin felt a tremor of anticipation as he set up the projector. The high-ranking executives watched him with expectant eyes, their stares heavy with judgment. His nerves prickled, spreading like wildfire under his skin. Not now, please, he begged himself, forcing a smile to hide the panic clawing at his chest.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His hands trembled, betraying his facade. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, suffocating.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the tense silence. "Oh, excuse me," Kang Dae said, standing up from his seat with a grin that made Seokjin’s stomach churn. "It looks like Mr. Kim is feeling a bit nervous today. May I present this on his behalf?"
Before Seokjin could fully process what was happening, Kang Dae placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his grin widening as if he had just saved the day.
Seokjin nodded numbly, his legs moving on autopilot as he retreated to his seat. He watched helplessly as Kang Dae began presenting the project he had poured a month of his life into. The polished delivery, the confident charm—it all seemed effortless for Kang Dae.
The high bosses nodded along, visibly impressed. The room filled with murmurs of approval, and Seokjin felt like he was shrinking with each passing second. He clenched his fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms. Why does it have to be this way? he thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in his throat as his hard work was eclipsed before his very eyes.
He left the office early, giving the excuse that he wasn’t feeling well. In truth, he couldn’t stomach the thought of going to the after-party. He was grateful—on the surface. Kang Dae had stepped in when he froze, and for that, he supposed he owed him. But the sting came afterward, when Kang Dae conveniently "forgot" to mention that the entire presentation was Seokjin's work. The high bosses had assumed it was Kang Dae’s brilliance on display, and not once had he corrected them.
Petty? Maybe. But the injustice gnawed at Seokjin, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t sit there, clapping and smiling politely while everyone toasted to Kang Dae’s "success." It felt like a slap in the face, mocking all the late nights and sacrifices Seokjin had endured for this project.
As he trudged home, his chest felt heavy, the weight of unspoken frustration and disappointment pressing down on him.
So he decided to throw himself a "petty party," a small rebellion against the frustration bubbling inside him. He headed to the nearest convenience store and grabbed a rice ball and instant ramen. It wasn’t much, but it felt satisfying to indulge in his own way. He was halfway through slurping his ramen when something caught his eye.
An old woman struggled to push a cart overflowing with empty boxes. She moved slowly, her frail frame trembling under the weight of the task. Suddenly, a group of people rushed past her, careless and impatient. The jostle caused her to stumble, and the boxes spilled across the pavement in a chaotic mess.
Seokjin froze for only a moment before instinct kicked in. He set down his chopsticks, left his half-eaten ramen behind, and hurried outside. The group that had caused the accident glanced back briefly, but with an annoyed huff, they continued on their way, uninterested in helping.
"Ahjumma, are you okay?" Seokjin asked gently, helping her to her feet.
The old woman nodded with a shaky smile, brushing herself off. "Aigo, don't worry about me, dear. It’s just some old boxes. You’ll get your hands dirty if you touch them."
Seokjin crouched down anyway, gathering the scattered boxes into a neat pile. "It’s okay, Ahjumma. A little dirt never hurt anyone."
The woman looked at him, her expression softening. "Such a kind young man," she murmured.
The warmth of the praise lingered in Seokjin's ears, making them flush slightly. Speaking of warmth, his thoughts drifted to the ramen he’d left behind in the store. Without thinking twice, he turned to the old woman with a smile.
"Ahjumma, would you like to eat with me?" he asked, his tone light and inviting.
The old woman hesitated, her expression tinged with embarrassment. "Ah, I don’t have any money with me right now," she admitted softly.
Seokjin’s grin widened as he pulled out his best puppy eyes—the same look that always worked on his parents, even now. "Please, Ahjumma. It’s so lonely to eat alone. Let me treat you, just this once."
The woman chuckled, her resistance melting away. "Alright, alright. Treat this old lady, then."
Feeling an unexpected sense of joy, Seokjin led her back into the convenience store. He picked out a few items—another ramen cup, some rice balls, and even a small carton of milk. The two sat down at his table, the earlier incident forgotten as they shared a quiet meal.
They ate in companionable silence until the old woman finally broke it. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked gently.
Seokjin, mid-bite into his rice ball, smiled. "I already told you, Ahjumma. A little dirt won’t hurt me."
The woman shook her head, her gaze more knowing than he expected. "I’m not talking about dirt, dear. I’m talking about here." She placed a hand over her heart, her voice soft yet piercing.
Seokjin froze, her words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. Slowly, he set his food down and looked at her. There was something about her—something he couldn’t quite place. Despite himself, he answered honestly. "I’m trying."
The old woman nodded as if she understood the weight of that simple answer. "If you had one wish," she asked after a moment, "what would it be?"
Seokjin tilted his head, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "Are you going to make my wish come true?" he teased, trying to keep the mood light.
The woman shrugged, smiling mysteriously. "I’ll try."
Amused, Seokjin leaned back in his seat, thinking for a moment. "Mhm... I wish I could change my life. And myself, I guess."
Her brow arched as she studied him carefully. "You don’t like yourself?"
He faltered, his gaze dropping to his lap. "It’s not that... I just wish I had—I don’t know—charm or something"
The old woman reached across the table and patted his hand gently, pulling his eyes back to hers. "Believe me," she said, her voice steady and full of conviction. "You already have that"
Seokjin had barely started processing the old lady’s kind words when something completely unexpected happened. Out of nowhere, a loud beef! interrupted their moment. Seokjin glanced down at his phone instinctively, but there were no notifications. Confused, he looked up—and froze.
The old lady had pulled out an iPhone 16, her brows furrowed in irritation as she glanced at the screen. "Wrong timing," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head
Seokjin blinked, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. An iPhone 16?
Before he could even begin to question it, she turned to him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, dear, I have to go," she said quickly
That was strange enough, but then she reached into her bag—wait, she has a bag? Seokjin hadn’t noticed it before, but now he realized it was an LV handbag, sleek and expensive-looking, completely at odds with her earlier humble demeanor. She rummaged inside it briefly before pulling out a book and handing it to him
The title, written in elegant gold lettering, caught his eye immediately: A World Between You and Me.
“Here” she said, thrusting the book into his hands. Before Seokjin could stammer out a single question, she stood up abruptly and began heading for the door
“Wait, Ahjumma—!” he called after her, completely lost
She stopped just outside the store, turning back to him with a look that sent a chill down his spine. “Make sure to choose the right path” she said cryptically
And then she walked off, the mystery deepening as she climbed into an unmistakable Ferrari and drove away without another word.
Seokjin sat there, stunned, holding the book like it might burst into flames. "What... just happened?" he muttered to himself, glancing at the book, then back at the door, half-expecting her to walk back in and say it was all a joke.
But she didn’t.
And Seokjin was left to wonder what kind of bizarre whirlwind he had just been swept into.
When Seokjin got home, he changed into his pajamas, still trying to process the surreal events of earlier. It all felt like a fever dream—an old lady with an LV bag, a cryptic message, and a Ferrari? He shook his head in disbelief. Well, rich people have rich hobbies, he thought, trying to brush it off.
His gaze drifted to the book she had given him. It was still sitting on his table, the title A World Between You and Me glinting softly under the light. Curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up.
Settling into bed, Seokjin began to read.
The story followed a boy named Jimin, whose life was far from easy. His mother had abandoned him for another man, leaving him in the care of his aunt. Despite his hardships, Jimin maintained a heart of gold, staying optimistic and holding onto the belief that everything happened for a reason.
Jimin’s anchor in life was his childhood friend, Kim Taehyung, who had been with him through thick and thin. Taehyung was his safe haven, always there to pick him up when life knocked him down.
Seokjin tilted his head, muttering to himself as he turned the page. "It looks like this Kim Taehyung guy is in love with him."
The more he read, the clearer it became. Taehyung’s actions, his words, and the way he looked at Jimin—it all screamed unspoken love. Yet, Jimin seemed blissfully unaware, his focus on navigating his own struggles.
Seokjin paused in disbelief when he read the words. Jimin got a job as a butler for Seokjin.
He chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "Will you look at that" he muttered, raising a brow. "My name’s in here"
But as he continued reading, his amusement began to sour. The "Seokjin" in the book wasn’t just any character—he was the villain. The fictional Seokjin seemed to take joy in making Jimin’s life miserable, constantly belittling him and putting him in impossible situations.
Kim Taehyung, hated Seokjin and frequently urged Jimin to quit. But Jimin, ever resilient, refused. He insisted he needed the money to support himself and his aunt.
Then came the part that made Seokjin grit his teeth. At one of Seokjin’s glamorous parties, Jimin accidentally spilled something, and the fictional Seokjin responded by throwing champagne all over Jimin’s suit.
"What a fucking bastard" Seokjin muttered, his frustration bubbling over. It felt strange cursing out his own name, but the character was so infuriating he couldn’t help it.
Despite his irritation, he couldn’t put the book down. He read on, his jaw tightening as Jimin humbly bowed and apologized, only for Seokjin and his rich friends to laugh at him and cruelly dismiss him.
When Jimin fled to the garden in tears, Seokjin felt a pang in his chest. The boy didn’t deserve any of this.
But then something unexpected happened in the story—a sliver of hope. As Jimin sat on the garden bench, crying into his hands, a handkerchief appeared in his view. Startled, Jimin looked up and saw a young man with doe eyes, dressed in a sharp black suit. His wavy hair framed his calm expression as he gently nudged the handkerchief toward Jimin.
The man’s presence was steady, comforting. Jimin hesitated before accepting the handkerchief, and the two began to talk. Sitting together on the bench.
The man listened quietly, offering few words but an understanding presence. When someone called for him from a distance—calling him Jungkook—he smiled softly, excused himself, and left, leaving Jimin alone with the handkerchief and a renewed sense of strength
Seokjin’s eyes lit up with vindictive satisfaction as he read about Jungkook pulling all his shares out of Seokjin’s company after discovering how horribly he had treated Jimin.
“Ha! Serves you right!” he said aloud, grinning as if he were personally avenging Jimin. Excitement bubbled up as he turned the pages, eager to see the villain’s downfall.
But the next part made him cringe so hard he wanted to hide under his blanket.
When fictional Seokjin learned that Jungkook had taken an interest in Jimin, his hatred for the boy deepened. Not because of business—oh no—but because Seokjin himself had secretly been harboring feelings for Jungkook ever since seeing him at a conference.
Seokjin groaned, burying his face in the book. "Oh, come on!" he muttered, mortified. He could barely stand reading this version of himself. "Supposed to approach Seokjin? What kind of egotistical logic is that?"
Apparently, the fictional Seokjin had been too prideful to make the first move, convinced that Jungkook should have been the one to initiate contact. And now, the thought of Jungkook falling for someone like Jimin sent him into a jealous spiral.
Fueled by his bruised ego and growing resentment, Seokjin’s character began making Jimin’s life even more miserable. The tactics grew crueler, the punishments harsher, all in an attempt to crush Jimin’s spirit.
Seokjin flinched as his phone buzzed loudly with a notification, breaking his immersion. He closed the book and exhaled loudly, muttering, "This guy needs therapy" before grabbing his phone.
Great. A reality check.
His boss had sent him a file to arrange, probably expecting it to be done before the afternoon meeting. Seokjin clicked his tongue in irritation. "Why can’t I just live in a book?" he grumbled, already dreading the task.
But when his eyes darted to the clock, his irritation turned into panic. It was 3 a.m. "What the—have I been reading this book all night?"
He glanced back at the book, the cliffhanger calling to him. He wanted to finish it, but a sinking feeling told him he’d regret it. If he kept going, he’d end up groggy and miserable tomorrow. Still, the curiosity gnawed at him.
After a moment of silent deliberation, he made the ultimate apology to book lovers everywhere. "Sorry" he whispered, wincing at the thought of committing such a literary sin.
He read the back of the book.
The instant regret hit him like a truck. His eyes widened, then narrowed, then widened again as he processed what he was reading.
Jungkook killed Seokjin?
Kim Taehyung died?
And Jimin ended up with Jungkook?
"What in the ever-loving hell is this?" Seokjin muttered, closing the book in frustration. The spoilers didn’t clarify anything—they only raised more questions. Why did Jungkook kill Seokjin? What happened to Taehyung? And how on earth was Jimin okay with all this?
He leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "I’m going to have to actually read the whole thing now, aren’t I?" he muttered.
With a heavy sigh, Seokjin placed the book on his bedside table and made a promise to himself to dive back in tomorrow. For now, though, sleep was calling. And after those bombshell spoilers, he definitely needed it.
Seokjin shot up from the bed in a panic, his heart racing as the sunlight streamed through his face. Shit, He must be late he thought, rubbing his eyes, but something felt... off. He rubbed harder, trying to clear the fog in his mind. No matter how many times he blinked, he was sure that this wasn’t his apartment.
The room around him was elegant, almost too elegant—polished furniture, plush carpets, rich, neutral tones. It looked nothing like the cramped apartment he’d been living in.
Where the hell am I? Seokjin thought, his mind racing. Did I get drunk yesterday? Did I end up in someone else’s place?
He glanced at his reflection in the nearby mirror, trying to calm his spiraling thoughts. He was still in pajamas—thankfully—but these weren’t the cheap ones he usually bought at Walmart. No, these were... expensive. The soft fabric felt more like silk than cotton, and it fit him perfectly, like someone had tailored them just for him.
As he tried to process all of this, a soft knock at the door startled him. He froze for a moment, unsure what to do. Who could it be? What was happening? But he had no choice—he needed answers.
Hesitantly, Seokjin stood and approached the door, his gaze darting around the room once more as if it could somehow explain itself. When he unlocked it, a maid stood there, bowing deeply.
"Young master, your breakfast is ready," she said, her tone respectful and formal.
Seokjin’s eyes widened as he stared at her, then glanced over at the other maid standing just outside the door, also bowing.
What was going on? Where was he? His mind was buzzing with questions, but before he could ask anything, the maids remained silent, waiting patiently for his response.
Seokjin blinked, still processing, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t real, was it?