"You give me the kind of feelings people write novels about," Taehyung whispers, sealing the promise with a soft kiss on Jungkook's lips.
In a world where love feels more like a curse than a blessing, Taehyung finds himself healing something he neve...
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꒰ 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐎 ꒱
—𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 ๋࣭⭑
Author’s Note:
Sorry for the late update! Not sure if anyone’s actually been waiting, but there is this one reader who asked me to update—so, honestly, this one’s just for her! Anyway, enjoy the chapter <3 I really love this fanfic, and it’s been so fun to write!
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AUTHOR'S POV
Jungkook lay lifelessly on his bed, his body curled up on top of the sheets as he stared blankly at the ceiling fan above him. The blades spun in a hypnotic, steady rhythm, but his mind was anything but calm.
He hadn’t moved since he returned home; he hadn’t eaten, hadn’t spoken a word—just lying there, feeling numb yet overwhelmed by a torrent of thoughts he couldn’t seem to silence.
“Sleeping is hard when you can’t stop thinking,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the empty room.
His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as he tried to steady himself, but the sadness was relentless.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes falling on a small photo frame beside his bed. His family photo.
Jungkook reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against the glass as if hoping to feel their warmth through the cold frame.
He picked up the picture, a faint, broken smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he traced the outlines of their faces.
“Eomma… Appa…” he whispered softly, cradling the picture close to his heart as if it could fill the aching void inside him.
He hugged it tightly, closing his eyes as he tried to imagine their presence, as though they might reach back and hold him, telling him everything would be okay.
“I forgive you guys for leaving me behind… but please forgive me for not living the life I wanted,” he said quietly, his voice thick with unshed tears. He bit his lip, a tear slipping down his cheek as he hugged the frame even closer, clinging to it like a lifeline.
He took a shuddering breath and continued, his voice cracking. “You know, Eomma, I hate getting flashbacks of things I don’t want to remember. It’s like I can’t escape it—no matter how hard I try.” Another tear fell, trailing down his cheek before dropping onto the glass, the memory of his mother’s gentle face blurred by his tears.
