🥀 Love is pain 🥀 ' Junoon ❣️ ' ( ✓ )

45.

Jimin’s screams echoed through the mansion, chilling the halls as he crumbled to the floor of his room, his body shaking with sobs. His fists clenched, he felt his anger bubbling over, erupting in a fury he had long suppressed. With a surge of rage, he grabbed the nearest object—a framed photo of his friends—and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered, spraying shards across the floor like the pieces of his heart that had already been broken beyond repair.

He was suffocating. The weight of everything—the lies, the pressure, the helplessness—it all came crashing down on him, pulling him under. His chest ached as he pounded his fist into the mirror. The sharp crack reverberated in the room as the glass splintered beneath his knuckles. Blood trickled from his hand, but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel the pain. It was nothing compared to the storm raging inside him.

Jungkook and Taehyung stood frozen just outside Jimin’s door, their hearts pounding as they heard the destruction and the heartbreaking sobs that followed. For the first time, the icy anger that Jungkook had carried toward Jimin wavered. The sound of Jimin’s agony pierced through the wall of resentment he had built. Taehyung’s hand reached out, gripping Jungkook’s arm, his eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

“Should we…?” Taehyung whispered, his voice trembling. But neither of them moved. They were scared—not just of Jimin’s rage but of the pain they knew they would find behind that door. Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay where he was.

“No,” Jungkook muttered, though the word came out weaker than he intended. “He made his choice. This is what he wanted.”

But as the screams grew quieter and eventually faded into soft, broken sobs, the guilt gnawed at both of them. They stood in silence, hearts heavy, knowing they were letting their friend suffer alone. But neither had the strength to face Jimin, not after all that had happened.

Inside the room, Jimin was falling apart. He slid down to the floor, his back against the cold wall, tears streaming down his face. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. His hand throbbed from the shattered mirror, but the ache in his chest was far worse. He wrapped his arms around himself, as though he could somehow hold together the pieces of his shattered soul.

“I don’t want this,” he whispered through his sobs, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. “I never wanted this…”

The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating him in his loneliness and despair. His tears soaked into the carpet as he lay down, curling into himself like a child seeking comfort. But there was no comfort to be found. No one was coming to save him.

Outside, the mansion was filled with guests preparing for tomorrow’s festivities. Laughter and music drifted through the halls, but it felt like a sick mockery of the torment inside Jimin’s room. No one knew what he was going through. No one cared to look behind the façade he had carefully constructed.

Meanwhile, across town, Yoongi sat alone at the bar, nursing his fifth drink of the night. His eyes were red, not just from the alcohol but from the tears he had been fighting back. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry, that he would be strong. But as he stared into the amber liquid swirling in his glass, he felt the tears slip free, falling into his drink.

He didn’t want to go home. Home reminded him too much of Jimin, of what they once had, of the future they had planned. And now that future was gone. Yoongi slammed his fist against the counter, the force rattling the empty glasses beside him. He couldn’t understand it—why Jimin had chosen Jack, why he had left him. And now, tomorrow, Jimin would be married, and Yoongi’s world would be empty.

As the night wore on, Yoongi drifted into a fitful sleep at the bar, his heart as heavy as the bottle beside him. The bartender, familiar with Yoongi’s sorrowful visits, didn’t bother to wake him. He knew that tomorrow would be a hard day for many people.

Back in the mansion, Jimin’s room was a mess. Broken glass and torn fabric lay scattered across the floor, remnants of his anger and grief. His body was slumped on the ground, exhaustion having finally overtaken him. His cheeks were stained with dried tears, and his hand was still bleeding, though the pain had dulled.

No one came to check on him. No one knocked on his door. Jimin had made sure no one would. He didn’t want to be saved. He didn’t want to explain his pain. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it—alone.

The house grew quiet as the night deepened. Outside, the city slept, unaware of the heartbreak that lay within its walls. But for Jimin and Yoongi, sleep brought no peace. Their dreams were filled with the ghosts of what could have been and the unbearable weight of what was to come.

Tomorrow was the wedding. Tomorrow, everything would change.

Many people would wake up happy, ready to celebrate the union of two souls. But for Jimin, Yoongi, and the few who knew the truth, it would be a day filled with pain, loss, and the bitter taste of what-ifs.

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