Note: Guys watch me use my GCSE chemistry skills 😌

We met the vote goal for a first chapter so fast I was surprised!!

Love you all though ❤️❤️

Show some love;; comment and vote! :: ★
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┏━°⌜ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⌟°━┓
🎭
┗━°⌜ 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠_       ⌟°━┛

دو

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Collision theory suggests that chemical reactions happen when reactant molecules collide with enough energy to overcome the activation energy barrier and with the correct orientation.

The frequency and effectiveness of these collisions determine the rate of the reaction.

The probability of these very two people colliding and falling in love with enough energy, and in the correct orientation is 1/800, 000, 000

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.
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　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.
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　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,
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Jungkook's PoV

The gravel crunched under a set of four, thick and heavy wheels as a sleek, black Audi A7 rolled up to wrought iron gates, as heavy as tombstones. They swung open with a silent hiss, revealing a driveway paved with polished black pebbles. Towering hedges of emerald green sculpted into fantastical shapes– dragons, tigers, and other mythical Korean beasts– lined the path, their shadows dancing in the muted sunlight filtering through the dense foliage.

The house itself was a masterpiece of modern architecture, a stark contrast to the rich tradition, culture and history dotting the surrounding hills. Glass, steel and concrete formed a breathtaking symphony, the structure summering like jewell against the bustling backdrop of the metropolis. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered panoramic views of the Han river, its surface a shimmering expanse of silver under the midday sun.

This was no mere dwelling; it was a testament to wealth, power, and an uncompromising pursuit of the finer things in life. A sanctuary for the elite, a haven of exclusivity, where the ordinary faded away and only the extraordinary.

Jungkook scoffed as his car came to a halt in the centre of the driveway, his eyes scanning the luxurious building with a mix of disdain and something close to disgust. Outside, a doorman hurriedly ran down the large marble steps, immediately bowing on the other side of the driver's seat.

"Young sir, your family has been awaiting you. They began breakfast twenty minutes ago."

"It's fine, Minju," Jungkook sighed as he stepped out of his car, hands moving to straighten the lapels of his suit jacket. He opened the backseat, retrieving a large bouquet of pink carnations, and a velvety blue box. Their blush pink petals, silken and cool to the touch, unfurled like shy maidens, each one a whisper of sweet perfume. The scent, a delicate blend of spice and clove, filled the air around Jungkook, a fragrant invitation to linger. "I won't be here long anyways."

The tension in the dining room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. A shroud silence filled the place, as Jungkook stepped in, as if suffocating the life from the room. The only sounds were the steady ticking of a grandfather clock, punctuated by the occasional clinking of silverware against plates.

Jungkook sucked his teeth, instantly disliking the air in the room. It was far too silent.

His dark eyes flicked across the cold room, taking note of the mixture of textures and tones, where marble, mirrors, gold accents and chic seating coalesced a setting that transcended the ordinary. And yet, the only warmth in the room came from the flickering candle flames and his dear old grandma, a beacon of hope in his sea of despair.

"Jungkook, you're late." Jeongho, Jungkook's father, began, his voice trailing off in a discouraged mumble. "Again." He sat at the head of the table, a stoic figure against the lifeless backdrop, yet a man who seemed perpetually weary. Time had taken its toll, leaving him enervated and worn. It was a strange indifference towards him, a mixture of apathy and muted resentment. Jeongho's presence was always a constant in Jungkook's life, yet at some point, it became distant.

"I had some work to do in the morning." Jungkook stated flatly, his voice devoid of inflection, though a flicker of sadness, perhaps pity, stirred inside him, a fleeting emotion quickly replaced by a familiar sense of detachment.

"Jungkook the least you can–"

"Leave him," Jeongho's wife, Seyeon quickly interjected, standing up. The chair screeched as she pushed it back, hand reaching for Jungkook's shoulder. "Darling, those flowers are gorgeous, how did you know I love—"

"No." Her hand froze. Jungkook continued. "I'm not here for breakfast, where's grandma?"

"Jungkook, dear—?" Seyeon's voice trembled, cracking slightly, "it's been so long since I've seen you, you're not gonna sit with your mother?"

"I've a conference later so I need to begin preparing. Where is grandma?"

"Oh..." she bit her lip, eyes coating in a glossy sheen. Clearing her throat, Seyeon returned to her seat, and smiled at her son. "Grandma is in the conservatory."

Jungkook pushed open the glass door to the sunlit conservatory, the faint creak of its hinges blending with the soft hum of the heater and the rustle of leaves. The scent of earth and blooming flowers greeted him, a delicate, living perfume that immediately softened the tightness in his chest. It was a familiar sanctuary—his grandmother's pride and joy, a space bursting with vibrant life and color, even in the middle of winter.

"Grandma," he called softly, his voice almost swallowed by the expanse of the room.

She was there, as he knew she would be, seated in her wheelchair near the large bay window. The golden sunlight bathed her silver hair, lending her a halo-like glow as if the conservatory itself celebrated her presence. Her frail hands rested lightly on her lap, her fingers tapping a rhythm against the fabric of her blanket as if conducting the symphony of nature around her.

She turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes lighting up like they always did when she saw him. "Jungkook," she exclaimed, her voice tremulous but warm, brimming with delight. Her smile widened, and the lines on her face deepened with the kind of joy only age and love could etch. "I was wondering if you'd forgotten about me."

Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer with measured care, as though the room's serenity might shatter underfoot. In his hands, he held a carefully arranged bouquet of pink carnations, their delicate petals catching the light like soft blushes of dawn.

"How could I forget you, Grandma?" he replied, kneeling beside her chair. "I missed your birthday yesterday because of work, but I brought you these." He extended the flowers toward her, watching her eyes widen with delight.

"Oh, Jungkook," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she took the bouquet from him. She lifted it to her face, inhaling deeply. "Carnations. My favorite. You always remember."

"Of course, I do," he said, smiling softly. "I thought pink would suit you best this year. They symbolize gratitude and love—perfect for someone who's been both a mother and a grandmother to me."

Her lips quivered, and for a moment, Jungkook worried he might have overstepped, but then her laughter filled the room—a light, tinkling sound that reminded him of wind chimes in the spring.

"Always the charmer," she teased, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You'll make a fine husband someday if you ever decide to settle down."

Jungkook sighed dramatically, earning another laugh from her. "Let's not start matchmaking today, okay? I brought you something else too."

Her eyebrows arched in curiosity as he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small blue velvet box. He held it out to her with both hands, the gesture reverent, as though the gift carried all the unspoken words he couldn't quite say aloud.

"What's this?" she asked, her fingers brushing against the soft velvet before gently taking it from him.

"Open it and see," he urged, watching her face intently.

With deliberate slowness, she flipped open the lid, her breath catching as she saw the delicate gold locket nestled inside. It was intricately designed, with tiny floral engravings that mirrored the blooms surrounding them. A single diamond sparkled at its center, small but radiant, catching the sunlight like a drop of morning dew.

"Oh, Jungkook," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She looked up at him, her eyes misty. "It's beautiful. Too beautiful. You shouldn't have."

"You deserve it," he said firmly, his tone gentle but resolute. "I know how much you miss wearing jewelry these days, so I thought something light like this might be perfect. And," he added, reaching over to show her the clasp, "I already put a picture inside."

Her trembling fingers worked the locket open, revealing a tiny photograph of the two of them—a candid moment from years ago. In the picture, a younger Jungkook sat beside her in this very conservatory, both of them laughing at something lost to time.

Tears spilled down her cheeks now, but she was smiling, her thumb brushing over the photo. "You've always been so thoughtful," she whispered. "This... this means so much to me."

Jungkook reached out, his hand covering hers. "I'm sorry I wasn't here yesterday. I know how important your birthday is, but I'll always make it up to you. You're too special to me, Grandma."

She reached up to cup his cheek, her touch light but full of warmth. "You're here now. That's what matters. And you've brought more than enough happiness with you, my darling boy."

For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the sun painting the room in golden hues. His grandmother, with the locket now clasped around her neck and the carnations resting in her lap, looked radiant. The conservatory, alive with blooming flowers, seemed to echo the unspoken love between them—a quiet, enduring bond that needed no words.

Jungkook lingered in the conservatory for a few more minutes, enjoying the rare peace that came from being with his grandmother. She had dozed off, the bouquet of carnations resting on her lap, her head tilted slightly to one side. He adjusted the blanket draped over her legs, making sure she was comfortable before quietly standing to leave.

As he stepped out into the hallway, the tranquil atmosphere was interrupted by the sharp vibration of his phone in his pocket. He sighed, already suspecting who it might be. Pulling the phone out, he glanced at the screen: Dr. Seo, one of the event organizers for his conference later that evening.

Bracing himself, Jungkook answered the call. "Hello, Dr. Seo."

"Ah, Professor Jeon," came the cheerful yet slightly rushed voice on the other end. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"

"Not at all," Jungkook replied, his tone measured but polite. "I just stepped out of a family visit. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," Dr. Seo assured him. "I just wanted to confirm a few last-minute details for tonight's conference. The turnout is expected to be even larger than we initially thought—about 300 attendees, including some notable figures in psychology and the press."

Jungkook suppressed a groan. He had anticipated a sizable audience, but the added presence of journalists always made him wary. "Noted," he said, his voice calm despite the slight irritation brewing within. "What time should I arrive?"

"We'd like you to be there by 6:30 for a soundcheck and some prep with the panelists," Dr. Seo explained. "Your session starts promptly at 7. And don't forget, the theme of the Q&A has shifted slightly—we're emphasizing relationships and behavioral patterns. The organizers think it'll be more engaging for the audience."

"Relationships," Jungkook repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching into a dry smile. "That's bound to stir some discussion."

"Exactly!" Dr. Seo laughed. "You're always a hit with these topics. People love your perspective—it's relatable, yet rooted in solid research. Anyway, I'll see you tonight. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime."

"Thank you. I'll be there," Jungkook replied before ending the call.

He pocketed his phone and leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. The shift in theme wasn't a surprise; his work often intersected with topics like emotional connections and human behavior. Still, the idea of fielding personal or overly simplistic questions about relationships didn't exactly thrill him.

With a sigh, he pushed off the wall and made his way to the kitchen. If he had to tackle a room full of eager listeners later, he might as well recharge with a strong cup of coffee first.

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Mirae's PoV

The fluorescent lights in the newsroom buzzed faintly, a sound Mirae had learned to tune out over the years. Rows of desks were cluttered with coffee-stained notebooks, half-empty water bottles, and stacks of papers that threatened to topple over at any moment. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and ink, mingling with the faint metallic tang of worn-out machinery.

Mirae sat at her desk, her head propped up on her hand as she stared at the glowing screen in front of her. The cursor blinked tauntingly on an empty document, a silent reminder of the article she was supposed to finish by the afternoon. Instead of typing, her gaze drifted toward the framed photograph tucked in the corner of her desk—a picture of her and her university friends on graduation day, their faces bright with unbridled hope.

Hope that, for her, felt like a distant memory.

"Earth to Mirae."

She jolted upright at the sound of a familiar voice, her heart racing. Turning, she found Hyejin, her coworker and occasional partner in crime, standing beside her desk with a cup of coffee in hand.

"You were dozing off again," Hyejin said, placing the cup on Mirae's desk. "Late night?"

Mirae sighed, running a hand through her slightly tangled hair. "You could say that. I was up writing until 3 a.m., trying to salvage an interview that barely gave me anything to work with."

Hyejin leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. "Why do you do this to yourself? You know most of these assignments aren't worth losing sleep over."

"Tell that to Mr. Kang," Mirae muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the glass-walled office at the far end of the room. Their editor-in-chief, Mr. Kang, was a towering figure of relentless perfectionism. His sharp eyes had a way of finding flaws in even the most polished articles, and his reputation for being demanding was almost as infamous as the long hours he expected from his staff.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the glass door to the office swung open, and Mr. Kang stepped out, his expression as unreadable as ever. Mirae stiffened instinctively, willing herself to look busy. But it was too late—his gaze had already landed on her.

"Mirae," he called, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the newsroom. "In my office. Now."

Hyejin shot her a sympathetic look, but Mirae only sighed again and rose from her chair, smoothing the wrinkles in her blazer as she walked toward him.

The office was cold, as always, the air-conditioning blasting even in the middle of winter. Mr. Kang gestured for her to sit, and she did, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"I've got a new assignment for you," he began without preamble, sliding a thin folder across the desk toward her.

Mirae hesitated before picking it up, flipping it open to reveal a name she hadn't expected to see: Jeon Jungkook.

Her stomach dropped.

"Jeon Jungkook?" she echoed, her tone laced with disbelief.

Mr. Kang leaned back in his chair, studying her reaction. "You've heard of him, I assume."

"Of course I have," Mirae said, forcing her voice to remain neutral. "He's practically a celebrity in behavioral psychology. But... Why me?"

"You studied psychology at university, didn't you?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "That gives you a better angle than most of the team. Plus, you've got a knack for tackling profiles with depth."

Mirae suppressed the urge to groan. "With all due respect, Mr. Kang, I don't think I'm the right person for this. Jeon Jungkook doesn't need another puff piece stroking his ego."

"This isn't a puff piece," he said sharply. "It's an analysis of his theories and their relevance to everyday relationships. People love that sort of thing. And besides, you don't have a choice. The conference he's speaking at is tonight, and you'll be covering it."

Mirae clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the folder. "Tonight? That doesn't leave me much time to prepare."

"Then I suggest you get started," Mr. Kang said, already turning his attention to the papers on his desk.

Realizing the conversation was over, Mirae stood, her mind racing as she left the office and returned to her desk.

Hyejin was waiting for her, curiosity written all over her face. "What did he want?"

Mirae dropped the folder onto her desk with a little more force than necessary. "I'm writing about Jeon Jungkook."

Hyejin's eyes widened. "The psychologist? Isn't he the one who always pops up in those self-help articles?"

"That's the one," Mirae muttered, already regretting the inevitable deep dive she'd have to do into his work.

"Hey, maybe it won't be so bad," Hyejin offered, though her tone wasn't entirely convincing. "At least he's easy on the eyes."

Mirae rolled her eyes, though a faint blush crept up her neck. "That's not the point."

"Then what is?" Hyejin pressed.

Mirae hesitated, her gaze falling on the open folder. She hated this assignment—not because it was difficult, but because it forced her to confront a part of herself she'd rather leave buried. She knew Jungkook's work well, far too well, thanks to her university days and her own failed attempts to live up to the ideals his theories often highlighted.

"It's just... complicated," she said finally. "But I'll deal with it."

Hyejin didn't push further, and Mirae turned back to her computer, already dreading the deep dive into Jeon Jungkook's career and theories that lay ahead. She opened a new tab, her fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before she typed his name into the search bar.

The results were immediate and overwhelming—article after article, interviews, video clips of him speaking at conferences, glowing reviews of his books. His face, annoyingly photogenic, seemed to dominate every thumbnail and header image.

Mirae scowled as she clicked on one of the articles. The headline alone made her want to close the tab immediately: "The Mind Whisperer: Jeon Jungkook on Why We Do What We Do."

"Mind whisperer," she muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Give me a break."

She skimmed the article, rolling her eyes at the journalist's gushing tone. Phrases like "visionary thinker" and "a master at unraveling human behavior" made her stomach churn. It wasn't that she didn't respect his work—she knew it was solid, even groundbreaking in some areas—but the cult of personality surrounding him grated on her nerves.

Jungkook had become more than a scholar; he was a brand. And Mirae couldn't stand it.

It wasn't just his fame or the constant media attention that annoyed her. It was the way he packaged complex psychological theories into easily digestible soundbites, selling them to the masses as if every human issue could be solved with a clever metaphor or a three-step plan. To Mirae, it felt disingenuous—simplifying the nuances of human behavior for the sake of accessibility and, worse, popularity.

And then there was his image. Clean-cut, polished, always in tailored suits that fit him like a second skin. He exuded confidence, charm, and just enough vulnerability to make him seem relatable. The perfect package. It irritated Mirae to no end.

She clicked on another article, her lips pressing into a thin line as she read a quote from one of his interviews: "The way we form relationships isn't random. It's rooted in patterns we can observe, understand, and, ultimately, change."

"Rooted in patterns," she scoffed. "As if he's cracked the code to every relationship ever."

Her disdain wasn't purely professional, though she would never admit it out loud. Back in her university days, Jungkook's work required reading in several of her classes. She remembered sitting through lectures where professors waxed poetic about his theories, their enthusiasm infectious but, to her, frustrating.

Even then, she had questioned the practicality of his ideas. Relationships weren't equations to be solved or puzzles to be neatly pieced together. They were messy, unpredictable, often painful. Jungkook's theories, no matter how well-researched, felt detached from that reality—like they were written by someone who had studied human behavior from a safe distance but never truly lived through its chaos.

Her feelings were further complicated by her personal life, though she tried not to think about that too much. There had been a time when she believed in the kind of insights Jungkook offered, back when she was younger, more idealistic. But life had a way of humbling you, of showing you that no amount of behavioral analysis could protect you from heartbreak.

A knock on her desk pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Still brooding?" Hyejin asked, leaning over to glance at her screen.

"I'm not brooding," Mirae said defensively, though the tightness in her voice betrayed her.

Hyejin smirked. "Sure, you're not. So, what's the verdict? Genius or overrated pretty boy?"

"Both," Mirae muttered, earning a laugh from Hyejin.

"Well, try not to let your disdain show too much when you write the article," Hyejin teased. "Kang will have your head if you let your personal opinions slip in."

Mirae sighed, closing the article she had been reading. "I know. I'll be professional about it."

But even as she said the words, a part of her bristled at the thought of having to sit through Jungkook's conference that evening, pretending to be an objective observer while he spouted his theories about relationships and human behavior.

She leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. "This is going to be a long day," she muttered.

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The grand hall buzzed with anticipation as hundreds of attendees filtered in, their voices a low hum against the polished backdrop of the conference venue. The space was elegant but understated—neutral tones, sleek lines, and soft lighting that illuminated the stage at the front of the room. A large screen displayed the event's title: "The Psychology of Connection: Understanding Behavioral Patterns in Modern Relationships."

Mirae sat toward the back, her notepad resting on her lap, her pen tapping rhythmically against the page. The tickets had cost her and her friend a steep £40, a fact that Mirae had yet to forgive. She glanced around, taking in the audience—a mix of academics, psychology enthusiasts, and, to her dismay, what she could only describe as Jungkook's personal fan club.

"He's late," she muttered under her breath, earning a chuckle from her friend and roommate, Yuna, who had tagged along for moral support.

"Relax," Yuna whispered back. "Maybe he's nervous. You know, being in the presence of a tough critic like you."

Mirae shot her a glare but said nothing, her eyes drifting toward the stage just as the lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the room as the event coordinator stepped onto the stage, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. After a brief introduction, she gestured toward the side of the stage. "And now, please welcome tonight's keynote speaker, Professor Jeon Jungkook!"

The applause was deafening, and Mirae felt her jaw tighten as Jungkook appeared, striding confidently to the center of the stage. He was dressed impeccably, of course—charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, no tie, the epitome of approachable professionalism. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as though he had stepped out of a photo shoot moments before.

"Thank you," he began, his voice smooth and resonant, cutting through the applause with ease. "It's an honor to be here tonight to discuss something that affects all of us—our relationships, our connections, and the behaviors that drive them."

Mirae groaned internally. The charisma was palpable, almost calculated, as if he knew exactly how to draw people in.

For the next thirty minutes, Jungkook spoke with ease, pacing the stage as he outlined key concepts from his research. He used anecdotes, humor, and carefully crafted metaphors to simplify complex theories, drawing laughter and nods of agreement from the audience.

"Humans are like mirrors," he said at one point, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. "The way we perceive others often reflects the way we see ourselves. By understanding our patterns, we can break cycles of miscommunication and build healthier connections."

The crowd erupted in applause, but Mirae sat stone-faced, scribbling notes with increasing ferocity. Simplistic, she wrote. Oversells theory. Ignores real-world variables.

Finally, the floor opened for the Q&A session. A few attendees asked predictable questions—how to apply his theories to dating apps, managing conflict at work, and so on. Jungkook answered each one with a practiced charm that grated on Mirae's nerves.

And then, she raised her hand.

When the microphone reached her, Mirae stood, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands as hundreds of eyes turned toward her.

"Professor Jeon," she began, her voice steady but laced with a sharp edge, "your theories about behavioral patterns are certainly compelling, but don't you think they oversimplify the complexities of human relationships? You talk about breaking cycles, but isn't it a bit naive to assume that patterns alone determine outcomes? What about external factors—trauma, socioeconomic pressures, cultural differences? These aren't just patterns; they're realities."

The room fell silent. Yuna whispered a quiet "Oh, no" under her breath, but Mirae didn't flinch. She kept her gaze locked on Jungkook, daring him to respond.

Jungkook's expression didn't falter, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement? Challenge? He stepped closer to the edge of the stage, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.

"You make an excellent point," he said, his tone calm yet deliberate. "Human behavior is undoubtedly influenced by external factors, as you mentioned. But patterns aren't separate from those realities—they're shaped by them. Trauma, culture, and socioeconomic pressures all contribute to the patterns we develop. My argument isn't that patterns are the sole determinant, but rather that recognizing them is the first step toward change. Wouldn't you agree that awareness is a powerful tool?"

Mirae bristled. His response was polished, almost too perfect, as though he'd rehearsed it. "Awareness is important, sure," she countered. "But awareness doesn't always lead to action. It's one thing to recognize a toxic pattern; it's another to break free from it. Your theories make it sound... too easy. What do you say to people who've tried and failed?"

Jungkook's lips curved into a slight smile. "I'd say failure is part of the process. Change isn't linear, and setbacks don't erase progress. The question isn't whether it's easy; it's whether it's worth it."

The room erupted in applause, but Mirae wasn't swayed. She sat down, her pulse racing, her mind a whirl of rebuttals she couldn't voice in that moment.

As the session ended and attendees began to disperse, Yuna turned to her with wide eyes. "Well, that was... intense. Are you okay?"

Mirae nodded, though her jaw was tight. She had challenged Jungkook, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he had managed to turn the confrontation into yet another performance.

From across the room, Jungkook glanced her way, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Mirae felt a spark of irritation—and something else she couldn't quite name.

"This is far from over," she muttered, clutching her notepad tightly as she turned to leave.

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