FAME's 99

038.

JUNGKOOK
AT LOMBOK
PT4

The next day rolls around, and the tension is still suffocating. The house feels too quiet. I haven't seen or heard her all morning. I keep glancing up at the stairs, hoping she'll come down, but it's like she's locked herself away. The door hasn't opened once. Not for food, not for water—nothing.

I sit at the kitchen counter, scrolling through my phone, pretending to be distracted, but my mind's upstairs with her. I know she needs her space, but damn, this silence is killing me. She's mad, I get it. But I hate this—this distance.

After what feels like hours of pacing and doing absolutely nothing, I finally give up. The silence upstairs is too loud, and the tension's crawling under my skin. I grab a bottle of water and head up, each step feeling heavier than the last.

I stop outside her door, hesitating. I don't want to make things worse, but I can't just leave her like this.

I knock lightly. No answer.

— Mylann ? I call out, my voice low.

Nothing.

I press my ear against the door, trying to hear anything ; movement, her breathing, something—but it's dead quiet. That silence hits harder than it should.
I suck in a breath and turn the knob, pushing it open just enough to peek inside. She's in the bed, her back to the door, wrapped up in the blankets like a cocoon.

— Mylann ? I step in, my voice quiet.

She shifts slightly but doesn't look at me.

— You've been in here all day. Can we talk?

— I'm coming down stairs, she says.

She didn't even turn to look at me.

— Okay, I say softly, lingering for a moment like an idiot, waiting for her to say more. But she doesn't.

I nod to myself, even though she can't see it, and back out of the room, closing the door behind me.

Downstairs, I try to keep myself busy, scrolling through my phone, pacing the living room, doing anything to distract myself. But my ears are on high alert for the sound of her footsteps. Minutes feel like hours, and the tension in my chest refuses to let up.

Finally, I hear the faint creak of the stairs. I look up as she comes down, her face blank. Her eyes are puffy, like she's been crying, but her expression is cold, guarded. Her energy unreadable. She's dressed in sweats and a hoodie, her hair pulled back.

— You wanted to talk ? She says, her tone dry as hell, eyes narrowing like she's already over it.

I stand up from the couch, wiping my hands down my sweatpants, suddenly feeling like a kid about to get scolded.

— Yeah, I do, I say, trying to sound confident, even though my voice comes out tighter than I wanted.

She arches a perfectly shaped brow but doesn't say a word. Just stares at me like I'm wasting her time.

— Look, I start, exhaling hard. Yesterday, we both said some stuff. And I know I probably said something that hurt you or triggered you. I'm sorry for that.

Her expression doesn't shift an inch. Not even a blink.

— But what you said, I continue, pointing at her slightly, it really rubbed me the wrong way. You don't talk to people like that. Don't threaten me.