𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 {𝗝𝗶𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗳𝗳}

1

Jimin sat by the window of his cozy, sunlit apartment, watching the city bustle with life below. The soft hum of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog, and the distant laughter of children playing in the park below filled the room. But these familiar sounds of life were mere background noise to Jimin's racing thoughts. He traced the edge of his coffee cup absently, eyes glazed with memories of a time when everything seemed so much simpler-before life splintered into unexpected paths that left him standing on unsteady ground.

Three years had passed since he last saw Jungkook. Three long, aching years since the love that had once burned so brightly between them had been snuffed out by misunderstandings and bitter silences. Jimin could still remember the moments that led to their breaking point the late nights when Jungkook's ambition took precedence over their whispered dreams, the empty space in bed where warmth used to linger, and the feeling of being loved but not enough.

Their last fight played on repeat in Jimin's mind, like a painful song that refused to be forgotten. Words were hurled like weapons, sharp and cutting. Jungkook's jaw set with cold determination, and Jimin's voice cracked with the weight of every unshed tear. The final slam of the door echoed in Jimin's chest, leaving him gasping for air in an empty apartment that now felt haunted.

The worst of it, though, came after. The morning sickness that struck like a thief in the dark, the doctor's hushed words confirming the pregnancy that would change everything. Jimin had been torn between joy and despair, cradling the small secret growing inside him while grappling with the shreds of his broken heart. He reached out to Jungkook once, dialing his number with trembling fingers. The call rang until it went to voicemail, the silence on the other end more deafening than any argument. Pride, anger, and hurt stopped him from trying again. If Jungkook didn't care enough to return the call, what could Jimin say that would matter?

Life had not been kind, but it had given Jimin one undeniable gift: his son, Minjae. Born on a stormy spring night, Minjae entered the world with a loud cry and a shock of dark hair that mirrored Jungkook's. Every day since, Minjae was both a reminder and a balm _a reminder of love lost, and a reason to keep going when it felt like the world had taken everything else.

"Appa!" A small, bright voice broke through the fog of memory, drawing Jimin's gaze to the little whirlwind running toward him. Minjae's cheeks were flushed, his smile wide as he clutched a crayon drawing tightly in his hands. "Look what I made!" he exclaimed, eyes twinkling with excitement.

Jimin's heart softened, the weight in his chest lifting just enough to let him breathe. He reached out and took the drawing, his fingers brushing against Minjae's small, warm hands. The paper was filled with colorful scribbles- a sun, two figures holding hands, and what appeared to be a tree that had more scribbles than shape.

"This is beautiful, Minjae," Jimin said, pulling his son into his lap. The boy's laughter was light, innocent, filling the space with a warmth that Jimin had learned to cherish. He pressed a gentle kiss to Minjae's temple, letting himself feel, just for a moment, that this was enough. He didn't need more than this. He couldn't afford to.

But fate, as it often did, had its own plans.

Halfway across the city, in the heart of a bustling art gallery, Jungkook stood among a sea of admirers. The space was filled with the scents of paint, varnish, and polished wood, the air buzzing with conversations and the soft clinking of glasses. He should have felt proud, triumphant even __this was his gallery, his success, the culmination of years of tireless work. Yet, as the evening dragged on, the applause and praise felt hollow, as though they were echoes in a room that had long been empty.

Jungkook scanned the crowd, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. They swept over familiar faces, strangers, friends__all mingling and admiring his work. Yet his gaze held no warmth, only a restless search for something even he couldn't name. A piece of him had always been missing, and he'd buried it under layers of ambition and distraction.

"Jungkook, you've really outdone yourself this time." The voice belonged to Taehyung, a longtime friend and the gallery's curator. Taehyung's sharp eyes caught the smallest details, and he'd noticed the way Jungkook's expression seemed distant tonight. He handed Jungkook a glass of champagne, clinking their glasses with a knowing smile. "But you seem... distracted."

Jungkook forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes, and took a sip. The taste was crisp but bitter, much like the feeling lodged in his chest. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess," he replied, though even he didn't believe it. His eyes drifted toward the windows, where the city lights glittered like stars against the darkness. Somewhere out there, Jimin was living his life, untouched by the gallery's glamour, unaware of the gnawing emptiness in Jungkook's chest.

The memory of Jimin's laughter crept into Jungkook's mind uninvited, soft and melodic, like an old song that played on lonely nights. He pushed the thought away, tightening his jaw. He had chosen this life, hadn't he? He had chosen to walk away, to seek something bigger, something more. But what was the price of ambition when it left your nights quiet and your heart echoing with regrets?

Taehyung watched Jungkook for a moment, eyes narrowing. He knew his friend well enough to see through the facade. "You know," Taehyung began, a hint of mischief in his voice, "sometimes, the past has a way of finding you when you least expect it."

Jungkook's gaze snapped back to Taehyung, a question forming in the tension of his brow, but before he could respond, another guest approached, pulling Taehyung away with a cheerful greeting. Jungkook let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and turned back to the paintings that lined the walls. Each brushstroke was a part of him, a story of passion and sacrifice. But they were not the stories that mattered most.

Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the whispers of a storm that promised change.

And across the city, Jimin held Minjae a little tighter, an inexplicable shiver running down his spine