Min Yoongi - Idol's love

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter 28: A Line in the Sand

A week had passed.

A full seven days of cold silence, stolen glances, and words that never made it past our lips. We spoke only when necessary—brief exchanges about schedules, soundchecks, and travel logistics. But anything beyond that? It was as if we had become strangers overnight.

At first, I was sad, heartbroken, even. I had spent the first few nights lying awake, waiting for some sign from Yoongi—something told me this was temporary, and eventually, he would return to me. But as the days dragged on and the space between us grew more extensive, my sadness started to morph into something else.

Anger.

I was angry. No, I was furious.

Furious that he had shut me out. Enraged that he had let the CEO's words dictate our relationship. Enraged that I was here, stuck in this emotional purgatory, while he walked around pretending as if nothing had changed.

Because something had changed.

I wasn't just sad anymore—I was done.

Done waiting for him to talk to me. Done hoping he'd come to his senses. I did not feel like I was the only one fighting for this.

I deserved more than this.

I realized it one night after another show while I sat alone in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The city hummed faintly through the window, but nothing compared to the storm raging inside me.

Why was I letting him do this to me?

Why was I letting myself suffer in silence while he got to pretend this was fine?

I sat up abruptly, the decision made before I could even fully process it. Enough was enough. I wasn't going to wait for Yoongi to be ready. He owed me an explanation, whether he wanted to give it or not.

I grabbed my room key and stormed out, my feet carrying me down the hallway before my mind could catch up. I barely noticed the quiet hum of the hotel, and the distant voices of staff moving through the hallways. My entire focus was on one door.

Yoongi's.

I stopped in front of it, my hand hovering over the door for a second before I clenched my jaw and knocked. Hard.

No answer.

I knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Frustration boiled over, and before I could stop myself, I gritted my teeth and pressed my palm flat against the door. "Yoongi, open the door," I demanded, my voice sharp.

Silence.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "Yoongi, I swear to god, if you don't open this door right now—"

The handle turned.

The door swung open just enough for me to see him standing there, his face blank, his expression unreadable. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, his hair slightly tousled like he had been running his hands through it—but none of that softened the anger burning in my chest.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, staring at me, waiting.

And that was the final straw.

I pushed past him into the room, slamming the door shut behind me. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped, spinning to face him.
Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not now, Y/N."