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Her: A woman made of quiet storms, breaking herself into pieces just to fit into a world that will never embrace her. A heart longing for love, yet forced to survive on silence.
Him: A man locked in the prison of his own indifference...
The world outside had begun to melt into hues of orange and violet, but the colors did nothing to soothe the storm inside him. Jungkook stepped into the house, his body weighed down by an exhaustion that had nothing to do with work. His mind, his heart, his soul-they were all fraying at the edges, unraveling into something he couldn't quite grasp.
Something was eating away at him. A hollow ache that refused to be named.
His hand hovered over the doorbell, fingers trembling slightly before he forced them into a fist. He exhaled sharply. Why was he hesitating? Why did this house, the one he shared with her, suddenly feel like a battlefield he wasn't ready to step into?
The door creaked open. His breath hitched.
But it wasn't her.
Relief and disappointment twisted inside him like a cruel joke. His chest ached, though he didn't know if it was from the relief or the absence.
"Welcome home, Jungkookie."
The saccharine tone of his cousin's voice grated against his skin. Leena's smile was bright, too bright, as if she had been waiting for this moment. He forced a nod, whispering, "Thank you, Leena."
His feet moved before his mind could dwell on it, slipping past her without another glance. Something about her presence irritated him-why? He had never noticed before, but tonight, it was suffocating.
His gaze swept across the dimly lit house. The air was thick with silence.
She wasn't here.
She didn't come to greet him.
She hadn't even joined them for dinner.
Jungkook felt his jaw tighten. Avoiding him. Again.
His own appetite had vanished long before dinner was served, but knowing she hadn't eaten either made something burn beneath his ribs. Annoyance? Guilt?
He wasn't sure.
Later that night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands clenched into the sheets. The weight of the day-of everything-pressed into his chest like an unbearable force. His mind was a whirlwind, his emotions a tangled mess, suffocating him from the inside out.
And then, the words spilled before he could stop them.
"I hate you, Y/N... I hate you so much."
A sharp inhale. A barely-there gasp.
Jungkook's tired eyes fluttered shut, missing the figure at the doorway-her silhouette trembling, her hands clasped over her mouth as if to hold in the broken sob threatening to escape.
She ran before the walls around her heart could shatter completely.
"For making me feel like this."
His final whisper drowned in the silence, as the night swallowed them whole.
---
Y/N's POV
The night was quiet. Too quiet.
Sitting alone in the dining area, Y/N clutched her phone like a lifeline, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Eomma... you're still working, aren't you?"
A soft chuckle from the other end. "And you're still worrying about me, aren't you?"
The warmth in the older woman's voice made Y/N's throat tighten. She blinked rapidly, forcing back the burning in her eyes. Not now. Not now.
She didn't have her own family. But the Jeons had never let her feel like an orphan.
Or at least, one of them hadn't.
"Y/N, sweetheart, are you okay? You sound..." A pause. A mother's intuition. "Did Jungkook say something to you?"
Her grip on the phone tightened. She pressed her lips together, willing her voice not to shake.
"No, eomma. I'm fine. The network's just bad tonight."
Lies.
But how could she possibly explain the weight crushing her chest? How could she put into words the heartbreak she had no right to feel?
If she spoke it aloud, would it make it real?
If she admitted the pain, would it consume her whole?
"Y/N..." The older woman's voice softened. "If anything is bothering you, you can tell me. You are my daughter too, remember?"
The kindness unraveled something deep inside her, threatening to break her resolve. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing out a weak smile.
"I know, eomma. Thank you."
She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell her everything.
But what good would it do?
"Eat something before you sleep, alright?"
She hummed in response, ending the call with a whispered, "Good night."
Silence filled the air again. A suffocating, heavy kind of silence.
She should eat. She had to.
She couldn't let herself fall apart.
She washed her plate methodically, her movements mechanical. Everything felt robotic-breathe, move, function. If she kept moving, maybe she wouldn't drown in the pain.
Maybe she could pretend.
Maybe, just for tonight, she could believe she was fine.
But then-
She opened the bedroom door.
And his voice shattered everything.
"I hate you, Y/N... I hate you so much."
Her world tilted.
Her breath hitched.
The walls around her heart cracked, and for a moment, she swore she felt it-her soul fracturing under the weight of his words.
Her fingers curled into the doorframe, knuckles turning white. A sob clawed at her throat, but she refused to let it escape.
The worst part wasn't the words.
It was the way he said them.
Like he meant them.
Like she was the reason for his pain.
Like she had ruined him, when all this time, she had been the one crumbling beneath the weight of his indifference.
She turned before the tears could betray her, before her shaking limbs gave out.
She ran.
And this time, she didn't stop.
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